The Dark One shifted ever so slightly on his throne of skulls. Something unexpected had caught his gaze, causing him to stare deeply into the scrying mists.

His attention piqued, he considered this unexpected development. Slowly, his normally baleful expression morphed into a terrifying rictus of a smile.

This situation was promising. More then promising, in fact... it opened all sorts of delicious possibilities.

One of the Eyeless Ones gestured, wondering if it should inform Her of this new discovery. For the slightest of moments, the Dark One pondered, but shook his head, causing the Eyeless One to melt into the shadows.

No, there was no point in informing Her yet. Furthermore, if things worked out to their full potential... well, the possibilities were very interesting, indeed...

11th Sempore (Thirkday), 453 E.R.
Woods near the village of Crandel (west of the Indigo river, near the Sendrian border)

Summer was in full swing, with the countryside a recent recipient of a major heat wave that had held strong now for two full weeks. This afternoon had finally seen the accumulation of clouds, and while the farmers blessed them, the group of travelers trudging down the dirt road did not necessarily share that viewpoint. As evening fell, it had begun to drizzle. Rather than alleviate the heat, the precipitation had simply driven the humidity through the roof, causing clothing to become damp, sticky, and altogether uncomfortable. Slowly, a mist rose in response to the drizzle, which further choked away the visibility offered by the dying light of the day.

The companions expected to make Crandel by nightfall, and most - if not all - of them were looking forward to the chance to get in out of the weather for a bit. Indeed, the prospect of a dry bed and a hot meal was enough to quicken their pace.

As they walked along, the mist seemed to grow almost oppressively thick. Talcanaiion Aldavathar, sylvari pathfinder, began to feel uneasy. He had spent years out of doors, had experienced many types of weather, had witnessed the fury of nature firsthand... but this, this simply felt unnatural. Wrong.

Soon, every member of the party could feel the same things - the stifling atmosphere seemed to carry strange sounds, as well as cast strange shadows. More than once, one or more of the travelers were certain that they saw something in the mists, but the shapes always faded away, and never quite seemed to become fully visible.

The road (if one cared to use such a generous term for a dirt track in the middle of nowhere) took a sharp bend, and once the group reached the other side, they lay eyes on another group of travelers ahead. This new group - comprised of six or eight individuals on foot - was headed in the opposite direction, and though they were surely close enough to see the companions, they made no sign of recognizing this fact. Instead, they slowly shuffled along, heads down, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, and continued to head directly for the party. If one had to wager a guess, one might speculate that these pilgrims were quite old, wounded, or ill - they were quite slow, indeed.

Jarenion had been weary of this particular road for some time now and, by the time the mist had risen from the earth to meet its cousin the rain, the mage’s humor had turned decidedly sour. His feet were sore, his clothes and hair were sticking to his skin, and, even though the others had assured him more than once that Crandel was not much further along this so-called road, he had begun to believe that the village would ever be out of reach as it seemed they would all soon be claimed by the muck that this little dirt track was becoming. He considered voicing this opinion more than once but, after some thought, came to the conclusion that it would be pointless… The entirety of the party - even Kith-Jora’s cleric, Galardil, who typically adored nature in all of its manifestations – seemed to be feeling the same sense of uneasiness with their current situation.

“Jusarin’s berries,” the mage grumbled, lifting a finger to push a strand of mist and drizzle dampened hair from his eyes with more than a little irritation, “if we don’t come upon Crandel soon, I fear I’ll need to rewrite every spell in my book! This cursed damp has soaked me to the skin and I am almost afraid to open my pack and see what it’s done to…”

It was then, in the midst of his directionless fussing, that Jarenion spied the faceless group trudging toward them further up the road. The weather had been playing tricks with them for long and long, already – causing shapes to appear and then vanish before a keen eye could be set upon them, causing strange sounds to echo from somewhere out in the mist and rain – but this, he thought, was more than just a deception wrought by the elements and it disconcerted him more so than did those meteorological chicaneries. There was something that was just… not right… about the group that was steadily shambling toward him and his companions.

If this encounter delays my finding some dry clothes and a fire by which to read…
“I dislike the look of this very much,” Jarenion said, now, the brim of his hat inclining to indicated the oncoming knot of mist-cloaked figures as his hand dipped into his satchel and found purchase around a sizeable stone secreted there, “Folk in their apparent state would have cozied themselves away somewhere in Crandel given this weather, don’t you think?”

A smattering of spellworks began to uncoil in the mage’s mind even as he posed the question to his cohorts and, as his fingers flexed around the stone that he had since brought forth from his pack, the words for an incantation that would identify any arcane influence ahead began to whisper past his lips…

((OOC: Not much of anything other than a bit to get us going, I suppose… Jarenion will utilize Detect Magic when in appropriate range of the other party to assure himself that they’re not illusory, at least, and to identify any other magical properties/items/whatnot amongst them that may be of concern.))

As the daily march started dog found a good size stick and began to trot up and down the line as if to say, ‘Look what I have and you can’t have it.’

A few times Ta’Arms would get the stick and toss if forward of the party. Were the dog would then run up, fetch the stick and then trot back in his very proud manner.

As the day pressed on dog dropped his stick and fell in line next to Ta’Arms. It was soon after Ta’Arms noticed things in the growing mist or did not notice shadows that he thought were there. During these times the dog would nose the hand of Ta’Arms and bring him back to the path and those around him.

It was then the approaching party was noticed. The dog’s ears sat forward and he simply watched and wondered if these people would scratch his butt. Ta’Arms heard Jarenion’s words and thought, “They are just tired and beaten. I have seen many on the roads like this after a battle.” But before he spoke this to the others he thought it best to keep his mouth shut and not be fussed at.

11th Sempore (Thirkday), 453 E.R.
Woods near the village of Crandel (west of the Indigo river, near the Sendrian border)
... 37 ... 38 ... 39 ... 40 ...
Galardil was silently counting the stones he stooped to pick up, while his comrades ahead of him slogged their way through the drizzly mist and mud along the 'dirt track' of a road as the adventurers slowly made their way through the oppressive atmosphere, on their way through the woods to the village of Crandel.

... 41 ... 42 ... 43 ...
The Priest of Kith-jora was thankful for the one good thing in the midst of this miserableness. At least he was finding the type of stones that over the years had proved to be the most effective for use in battle with his trusty sling!

... 44 ... 45 ... 46 ... 47 ...
Yes, these were fine stones for battle!

In his left hand, he held his Khord War Club that had been gifted to him years ago by a fellow Cleric of Kith-jora, 'Loco' Fungihammer, complete with the Holy Symbol of Kith-jora engraved in the 'sweet spot' to greet foes upon impact in close quarters combat, was his pride and joy, ever ready for especially bashing the skulls of vile, disgusting Goblins!

But the Half Syl had learned long ago, over the course of his 77 years, that carrying plenty of stones in his pouch for his trusty sling, were sometimes more useful as a means to battle from afar, without putting himself in harms way!

Yet the thrill of battle always surged through his athletic 5'10" 150 pound frame when he wielded his Khord War Club in the heat of battle!

... 48 ... 49 ... 50 ... better keep this last one at the ready!
Galardil was now satisfied that he had enough stones in his war pouch , now with one gripped tightly in his right fist, turning his attention fully to the circumstances at hand. He had begun to feel uneasy nearly an hour ago! Having spent years out of doors, experiencing many types of weather, witnessing the fury of nature first hand, was all a part of the natural flow of life in serving Kith-jora.

But today this almost oppressively thick mist simply felt unnatural. Wrong. Something is Wrong!
Entirely Wrong! Strange Sounds! Strange Shadows!

Not even Goblins would be out in weather like this!
Galardil quickened his pace to catch up with his friend Jarenion and the young man Ta'Arms with his faithful companion Dog.

Ordinarily, the Kith-jora Priest would engage the two in conversation to help pass the time, but not this particular day! He did not even take the time to play 'fetch' with Dog. Something was puzzling the Half Syl and he did not want to alarm the others falsely, until he was quite sure!

He lifted the Eye Patch with a Kith-jora Holy Symbol emblazoned upon it, exposing the scar above and underneath his right eye from which he could see clearly, squinting with both of his Emerald hued eyes and straining his pointed ears, as he transferred his Khord War Club to his right hand, enabling him to secure his trusty sling in his left hand, before placing his new found stone in the sling, in case it was needed to help keep a foe at bay!

It was then that he heard the mage Jarenion voice his mind in response to the shambling figures slowly emerging their way through the mists, heads down, seemingly oblivious to the approaching company of friends and advenurers:

“I dislike the look of this very much,” Jarenion said, now, the brim of his hat inclining to indicated the oncoming knot of mist-cloaked figures as his hand dipped into his satchel and found purchase around a sizeable stone secreted there, “Folk in their apparent state would have cozied themselves away somewhere in Crandel given this weather, don’t you think?”
Galardil nodded in agreement as he gritted his teeth and quickly made his way to the outskirts of the woods to the right hand side of the muddy dirt track of road, passing each of his comrades as he pressed further into the edge of the woods.

Drizzly mist dripping from his almond colored skin, his blonde pony tail matted against his leather armor that was secured over his Syl War Tunic, both fortunately keeping his shirt dry from the mist, but his sweat underneath his apparel was slowly dampening his shirt.

His soft boots kept his feet dry, but the rain and mud was spotting his dampened pants by the second as he broke into a run along the outskirts of the woods, his mind racing:

I have seen creatures such as these! Not often have I seen them! But enough to know from past battles what they seem to be!
"To Arms My Friends! Yon Figures in the Mist May Be Unliving!"

It was a simple truth, but one that wasn't a good one to face. Rae's armour couldn't protect her from everything. The weather was one of those things. She wouldn't consider herself comfortable, but she wouldn't consider herself all too uncomfortable either; she had endured worse during her vagabond days, when she didn't have armour to protect her.

Still, there was something about this that didn't seem right. Everyone was getting restless, nervous, wary. Even Galardil, which meant whatever this was, the likelihood of it being natural was not high.

Yet, regardless of if it was right or not, they had a destination to reach, and wandering off the road in an attempt to bypass the fog could be more dangerous. Rae steeled herself, pushing that chill at the base of her heart away as she had done many times before. Yes, she was a bit scared. That was just her instincts warning her. Be prepared. Rae gripped the shield in her hand tighter as she saw figures up ahead.

“I dislike the look of this very much,” Jarenion said, now, the brim of his hat inclining to indicated the oncoming knot of mist-cloaked figures as his hand dipped into his satchel and found purchase around a sizeable stone secreted there, “Folk in their apparent state would have cozied themselves away somewhere in Crandel given this weather, don’t you think?”
"They walk strangely." Rae noted, "Perhaps an illness has pressed its advantage with the advent of this fog?"

It wouldn't have been out of the question. Cold and damp weather could often be preludes to illness. She had seen it before. A shout from Galardil broke that line of thinking, however.

"To Arms My Friends! Yon Figures in the Mist May Be Unliving!"
"What?" Rae asked, slightly stunned. For what reason would creatures that were living but not be on the road? It almost certainly wasn't to get to the next town. For that matter, why were they there in the first place? Drawing her blade, Rae raised her shield, advancing to give a bit of space for movement between her and the others.

I pray that you are wrong, but you might not be. If these beings are beyond the realm of life, Falloes give me the strength to send them where they belong. Rae prayed.

((Rae is increasing her pace to provide some more room to those behind her, namely Jarenion, just in case he needs it. She has her shield raised in a defensive posture; I don't think she's entirely certain that they are undead due to the mist obscuring them, so she's not going to go for a first attack. Rae does have her sword drawn though, just in case))

As TaArms looked down at dog, who had an odd shaped stone in his mouth now, “Not good for the Prist Galardil but good enough for you.” Ta’Armas was about to pat dog on the head when the dog stopped. Ta’Arms with out thought did also.

Dog dropped his stone, his ears sat forward on his head and his tail wagged at a very slow pace. ‘Does he want to play now?’ Dog thought as he watched Galardil skirt the tree line.

Ta’Arms then heard the Lady Rae agree with what Ta’Arms was just thinking, "Perhaps an illness has pressed its advantage with the advent of this fog?"
The dog was looking up at Ta’Arms. He wasa looked down at dog, and was about to say something when it happen… "To Arms My Friends! Yon Figures in the Mist May Be Unliving!" The dog bolted from between Ta”Arms and the Lady Rae and headed back toward the ones with the long flowing clothes, they made better hiding places to stand behind. Ta’Arms boyish face lost all emotion, shield was at the ready and sword was in hand.

"What?" Rae asked, slightly stunned.
Ta’Arms replied back to the Lady Rae, “Fight.” Only being with these fine folk for about three moons now Ta’Arms had to fight the urge to close ranks. Instead he would do it right this time. As they had talked about around the campfire so many times when the conversation turned to the fights they had been in together. How ever few they may have been Ta’Arms always seem to want to close ranks.

This time he did not. With shields raised, Ta’Arms keep himself to the Lady’s flank and the two advanced. Ta’Arms was now keeping a rhythmic beat with the hilt of his sword on his round wooded shield.

A hollow sigh slipped through Danon Sount's lips as he shifted his shoulders. The weather had soured since evening broke, and the muggy heat that had resulted from the rain was unfortunate; he had so hoped the rain would provide some cool relief from the current trend of the season. Instead he now had to deal with a sweat soaked tunic clinging to both his skin and his chainmail, causing either discomfort via itching or chaffing depending on how he moved. He was sure his companions were just as uncomfortable, but alas there was little he could do at this time to relieve them of this nuisance.

But then, it was just that, a nuisance. Nothing a faithful servant of Merca could not deal with; there was work to be done in Crandel, people to help. and a little poor weather would not delay that.

However despite comforting his resolve, Danon could not help the sensation that all was not well with the thickening mists that seemed to surround them, almost seeming to want to engulf them. Something was not right, and it seemed the others were growing to notice as well.

Jarenion was the first to call attention to the approaching figures, a sight Danon had at first assumed to be like the shadows he never quite fully glimpsed. Soon the others toobegan to speak up theories of the travelers' condition. It was true the approaching forms seemed haggard, perhaps simply exhausted due to a combination of age, hour, and weather. But that in itself fell back to Jarenion's inital point of why anyone would be leaving Crandel at this hour rather than await the break of dawn, and hopefully a break in the rain.

These thought however would have to wait, for another of Danon's companions came to an altogether different conclusion.

"To Arms My Friends! Yon Figures in the Mist May Be Unliving!"
Galardil's sudden outburst put the rest of the group on edge, Ta’Arms and Rae drawing weapons and advancing.

By the Chancellor... Danon could not believe this, the mist must be playing upon his friends' reason.

Hurriedly the Cleric of Merca moved forward, his mace still in it's loop upon his hip, for he saw no need for it yet.

"Stop, my friends," He pleaded, looking to the others for signs of uncertainty in their actions. "We know not for certain the nature of these travelers. They could just be weary, or ill. To advance upon them with weapons drawn could have us mistaken for brigands. We should be looking to help them, not scare or provoke them."

He looked over his shoulded at the slow moving group; did they not notice these actions before them?

((OOC: Danon is trying to cut off Rae and T'Arms in particular (since they have been said to advance), until we are more certain of the nature of the figures))

It was wet. It was wet yet hot, and had been wet and hot long enough that even the Sylvari were looking sodden. En'Aranthea trudged with her companions, keeping her steps light to minimize the muck splashing up her legs and onto her cloak. It was almost wet through, and even her intricate braids were beginning to wilt under such relentless moisture, but the bladesinger kept her face serene. Or tried to.

Her companions were equally game, though a few grumbles reached her ears, and she smiled faintly, wondering if she should summon a tale to speed the way. The mist was so oppressive, however, she was loathe to breathe in more than she had to, and she caught the unease of those around her.

They were closing in on the town of Crandel when a bend in the road suddenly revealed the shambling shapes of six or seven travellers, oddly enough leaving the shelter of town so close to nightfall. They were clearly encumbered by the muck of the road, or their burdens...or something else.

En'Aranthea narrowed her eyes, but the distance and the mist were too much for her. She heard Jarenion express his concern, and Rae had started to respond when Galardril suddenly broke into a run, crying "To Arms My Friends! Yon Figures in the Mist May Be Unliving"

En'Arathea turned quickly to glance at Galardril and the others before looking back at the group before her, their gait seemingly painfully slow.

"Stop, my friends," Danon pleaded, looking to the others for signs of uncertainty in their actions. "We know not for certain the nature of these travelers. They could just be weary, or ill. To advance upon them with weapons drawn could have us mistaken for brigands. We should be looking to help them, not scare or provoke them."

"I agree, mellon Danon, "En'Aranthea finally spoke, her trained voice carrying to all. "You say "may be unliving", Galardril...if we are not certain, should we rally forth with weapons drawn and scare them half unto death?"

She paused a moment, knowing her startlement had forced her speech into a semblance of Court Sylvari, translated directly to common and she likely sounded like a fourth rate bard. When she felt a bit calmer, she resumed, " We are equal in number, or near enough, should these be anything other than simple and desperate travellers. Let us continue our approach, but in a guarded fashion. I shall take point, Rae and Ta'Arms, flank me, but with enough room for weapons work, should it come to that.

"Need our good men of the gods ask for guidance in this matter? The undead are surely an abomination to Kith-Jora and Merca; have thine prayers ready. Jarenion..."

The bladesinger stopped when she saw her friend already muttering to himself, his fingers dancing in a blur her non-Gifted eyes could not follow. She nodded, looked at each to see assent in their eyes (OOC: assuming, else will backpost), before turning back to the road to take the lead. She kept her cloak around her for its scant shelter, but she held her scabbard beneath, and a tuneless song rose to vibrate against her clenched teeth as she strode towards the figures ahead.

Blair was in high spirits. The weather had been the best he had seen in a long while and if there was one thing he had learnt in his years of roaming the world it was that travelling in poor weather was among one of the most uncomfortable experiences. His purse was in one of the healthiest states it had ever been, even at the height of his career in the Cirque Du Pallet he struggled to make as much coin as he had now. Of course though there had been significantly less distractions whilst journeying with the party.

Blair could not wait to get to Crandel and make his already fair amount of coins double or even triple. When Blair was young and getting his first taste of gambling with his father, he had said to his son ‘The secret of being a gambler was to always be an optimist.’ Over his years Blair worried that he may have taken this advice a bit too literally over the years, but this was a small worry pushed right to the back of his mind, which only surfaced in times of trouble when he looked for someone to blame for his most recent demise.

Blair was whistling tunelessly and fiddling with the pair of dice in his pocket when the feeling of unease settled over the party. Abruptly his whistling stopped and his fingers began fiddling with the weapons at his waist. The last few months had taught him well enough the benefits of being prepared.

Figures started to emerge through the misty haze that had quickly blanketed the road ahead and only the restraint of the others from pulling their weapons stopped Blair from unsheathing his own. Soon it became apparent that the figures did not seem unnatural, at least not from that difference and Blair relaxed a little. The group was moving slowly and seemed not to notice the party before them.

“I dislike the look of this very much. Folk in their apparent state would have cozied themselves away somewhere in Crandel given this weather, don’t you think?” Stated Jarenion. Blair was alarmed once more and his hands went back to his weapons.

Rae was next to join the speculation of what these figures of the mist might be. "They walk strangely. Perhaps an illness has pressed its advantage with the advent of this fog?"

"To Arms My Friends! Yon Figures in the Mist May Be Unliving!" The usually jovial Half-Syl called out, expressing his thought that there may be danger ahead. Blair did not unsheathe his weapons, but he did check they were loose.

"Stop, my friends," Pleaded Danon. "We know not for certain the nature of these travellers. They could just be weary, or ill. To advance upon them with weapons drawn could have us mistaken for brigands. We should be looking to help them, not scare or provoke them."

Blair found himself siding with Danon and moved swiftly to help him intercept the now weapon wielding trio. “I agree, we do not know enough about this situation to jump to hasty conclusions.”

Blair stood in front of his companions with Danon and En’Aranthea. The sylvari called them to a formation, though with no weapons drawn, and Blair hastily responded to her voice, she had made life-saving decisions before now.

11th Sempore (Thirkday), 453 E.R.
Woods near the village of Crandel (west of the Indigo river, near the Sendrian border)
Galardil took note of the command from the Bladesinger, positioning himself at the edge of the woods on the right hand side of the muddy dirt track road, squinting through the drizzly mist to determine whether the approaching Shamblers be dead, or living?

The Half Syl Cleric of Kith-jora kept his sling at the ready in his left hand, while positioning his Khord War Club in his right hand, making certain that the Holy Symbol would be facing the Shamblers, should they prove to be Unliving!

Raising his club to his right shoulder, he paused only long enough to thoughtfully stroke with his fingers the Emerald Gem braided in the long strands of his blonde hair that passed near his scarred, but fully functional, emerald hued right eye.

Then he waited for the approaching Shamblers to make their identities known; whether they be Living or Unliving, making himself ready to spring into action to Turn Undead.

"Stop, my friends," He pleaded, looking to the others for signs of uncertainty in their actions. "We know not for certain the nature of these travelers. They could just be weary, or ill. To advance upon them with weapons drawn could have us mistaken for brigands. We should be looking to help them, not scare or provoke them."
Rae gave a reassuring smile, "I know, and that is why only my shield is ready. My blade remains at my side." She indicated the blade, drawn yes, but tip pointed to the road below, "I do not seek the first blow, should one occur." Her face fell a bit to a more passive look, "You should remember that I don't do that."

Hearing En'Aranthea's words, she nodded, deciding to leave her blade loose in its sheath, shield still raised as she took up the left of En'Aranthea's position.

"My shield is ready. I just pray it's an unnecessary precaution." Rae murmured.

((Sword - loosely sheathed; Shield - ready position; Stance - tense))

Cautiously, everyone in the party moves forward. For their part, the other travelers continue to walk in their labored, shuffling pace, heads down, as if they are oblivious to any reaction that the party might have - or indeed, that they exist whatsoever.

Once the other party is close enough, Jarenion mutters his incantation, and the results are unsettling, to say the least. Each of these travelers has a faint aura of necromancy about them. Nothing powerful, nothing that feels like active magic of any kind... more of dank taint, a "taste" to their aura.

The hot, sticky night seems to draw even closer, the fog seems to thicken even more, to the point that the atmosphere is positively stifling and oppressive. As the two groups draw even closer on the road, a twig snaps loudly under Ta'Arms' boot, and the other travelers look up, fixing their gazes in his direction.

It is a scene from a nightmare.


Their flesh is a pale, greenish-gray - where it still remains whole. In many places, skin and flesh alike hang loose or are missing entirely, revealing bone underneath. The eyes are wide and empty, staring vacantly (provided that the eyes are not missing altogether); yet somehow, you instinctively know that these abominations can see you quite clearly.

One creature seems to be in much better physical condition than the others. Where the majority seem to be slow, awkward, animated corpses shuffling along... this one is different. It appears to be a twisted mockery of a human, but it does not seem to be in the same state of decay as the others. It grins broadly, revealing a mouth full of crooked fangs, then begins giggling in a maniacal fashion.

Now, there can be no doubt as to the intentions of these travelers. As one, the undead creatures groan and move to attack!

By the common sense rationale given by En’Aranthea, Danon, and the others, Galardil’s initial call to arms may have been hasty at the time he had given it but, as it turned out, Kith-Jora’s cleric was likely not far from the mark. As the two groups drew nearer to each other Jarenion murmured a simple incantation and trained his violet eyes on the more distant assemblage… then scowled when the detect magic spell framed each of them with the dark flicker of necromantic taint.

“It would seem, melloneamin, that Galardil had the right of it,” the mage cautioned his own party, “The odious aura of necromancy hangs about the folk ahead. Mind yourselves!”

As the night and the fog seemed to encroach with the same vile physicality of the oncoming group – who, at this point, had yet to give any indication they were even aware of them – Jarenion reconsidered the larger stone in his hand, returned it to his satchel in favor of a handful of smaller pebbles and, for a moment, fell behind En’Aranthea and the rest as he wove eldritch energies once more… The spellworks whirled in his mind, directing his fingers in scribing the proper sigils and his lips to uttering the proper words…

A twig snapped and Jarenion’s eyes lifted to confirm that, yes, the sound had at last drawn the attention of the rotting others. A maniacal tittering issued from amidst the necromantic group and, for some reason, this curled one corner of the mage’s mouth into something of a smile… Some not so rotten as the others it would seem, part of his mind noted as another part completed the spell, Let us focus on you, then!
His arms whirled, one hand casting the mana charged stones skyward and the other thrusting his ironwood staff purposefully in the direction of the gibbering ghoul… “ONDOR ARMEK!” The final words of the incantation boomed from his chest… and he hoped that his compatriots would stay their charge until the spell took effect.

((Okay… Hailstones, please, centered of Mr Fang-face if possible.))

Blair was glad that the team had responded to En’Aranthea and had moved into their respected positions, though their weapons were still drawn. The party relaxed a little from the call of caution and as they neared the shuffling group ahead Jarenion the mage called out to the others after muttering some incantation from beneath his breath.

“It would seem, melloneamin that Galardil had the right of it, and the odious aura of necromancy hangs about the folk ahead. Mind yourselves!”

Blair reacted quickly to the mages call and drew his hand crossbow, loading it quickly. When only a few yards from the approaching undead a twig snapped from underneath one of the party’s boots and a gruesome sight quickly revealed itself.

Flesh hung off of bone as if melted away like a wax candle in front of a hot fire. The movements of the group were unorthodox and lazy, that was until maniacal laughter broke out from the only member of the group who didn’t have haunting eyes. The creature did however have pointed fangs and what looked like some sort of control over the other grim undead.

Blair steadied himself as the pointed-fanged creature began laughing and loosed his bolt, hoping to quiet the crazed creature.

(OOC: Blair will loose his bolt at the fanged creature.)