After a night of rest, the party leaves town, heading west in hopes of tracking down the source of this ongoing terror. The weather and mood are, if anything, worse than before. The infernal mists still cling to the ground more than ever, obscuring sight. The road is empty, and deathly quiet. The air is devoid of the usual sounds of birds and insects, but there is an odd crackling noise to be heard now and again. 

The day passes uneventfully, until suddenly out of the mist a form lurches towards the party. Alarmed, everyone reaches for their weapons, but as the form approaches, it can be seen that it is a wounded man. He wears the leathers of a woodsman, his shirt torn, and bloodly gashes can be seen along his belly. He is bruised and cut, and his beard is matted with blood.  

"Gods be praised!" he exclaims when he draws near.  "Ye are livin' folk!  Please, 'elp me!  Me wife and boys, they're in tha cabin, but tha dead 'ave crawled from the ground, an' are tryin' to drag us down wit' 'em!  The 'ad me, nearly killed me, but I go' away, went fer 'elp, I did.. gods be praised, ye lot are 'ere!  Please, there are too many fer me, I canna save them meself!  Please, I beg 'o ye, I'll do anythin'... please save me family!"

Ch’dau moved to intercept the man. “This cabin, human,” he rumbled, “Where is it?”

((OOC: Assuming an answer of some sort… ))

At the man’s words, the Kazari looks to Aranwen and the expression on his feline face is not one seeking orders or even asking permission. Instead, without the words needing to be spoken, the big cat’s look says; “I’m going. Who else?”

Gib begins searching through his bag, gathering bandages and healing salve.

"When did this start?" Cedric asks the man. "How many creatures did you see? Have you noticed anything strange over the past few days?"

(OOC: Assuming an answer of some sort... ))

"There does appear to be a need for alacrity," Gib reluctantly agrees, closing his bag as Cedric begins the prayers to his god for a miracle. Looking directly at Ch'dau he continues with his advice, "Rushing into such a situation without any surveillance would be folly. Should the God of Light and Life find it prudent to provide this poor soul some healing, I'll take that as a definite sign that the Divine are in favor of the goal."

Now looking to Aranwen, he continues, "If we are to break from the road, I suggest we do so in formation and with all due caution."

Kith folds her arms in front of her, "I am with you, my friend, but let us consider Gib's words before pursuing our raid. They've caught us by surprise every time we've faced them thus far. Let's turn that around this time. What say you?"

Aranwen carefully watches the surrounding area, searching for signs of movement in the mists, or sounds that speak of anything amiss in the area. "I agree with the need for caution. Let us see to this man's needs, but let us do it as one." Addressing the injured man, Aranwen asks "Please, good sir, direct us, as you may, to your cabin, so that we may rescue your family from those unholy creatures."

Cedric lays his hands on the man's wounds and appeals to the god of light and life, and the injuries visibly improve.  The woodsman has no time for gratitude now, though; he is desperate to return to his family.

"This way!" he cries.  "Tha cabin es jest over tha ridge!" 

As you move, Cedric peppers questions at him.  He is unsure as to the exact number of attackers - a half dozen or more, he thinks.  The attack was less than a half hour ago.  He cannot place anything strange, save the dead attacking his home.

You crest a ridge and behold a scene that corroborates the wounded man's tale.  A sturdy log cabin sits ahead, with several shambling forms milling around it.  Wooden shutters are closed fast in the fading light

The heavy wooden front foor is cracked and lies off its hinges.  Seeing this, the man pitifully cries out.  "Gods, no!  Ella!  Boys!  Please 'elp them!" he pleads. "Oh, gods!  Mother, save them!" 

There appars to be but one entrance in or out of the cabin.  There are several undead outside - all appar to be of the slower zombie form.  There is no way to know if the man's family lives, or how many undead might be inside. 

"I see five of the undead," Gib states in a low tone just loud enough for his fellows to hear. "If there are only the five, we have the advantage. Speed could be our advantage. We might be able to get two of us through the door of the cabin while the rest tend to the corpses."

Sensing the panic in the woodsman doesn't help one keep a clear mind, but the warrior priest is determined not to allow his friends to fall prey to these foul, unnatural creatures... not another one. Flashes of his fallen friend's desecrated body strike the cleric's mind like enemy's blows and he hastens to quell the rush. 

Drawing his sword, Gib unshoulders his shield and settles it on his arm, "The risk we take is in not knowing what's waiting for us inside the cabin." Refusing to look at the poor father, he continues. "There's nothing scrambling down there. We could take the time for a scout to investigate." 

Glancing at Kith, the Priest of Therassor raises his eyebrows before turning his attention to the man. "Do you have a cellar? Anywhere inside the cabin where your family might have hidden?"

"Time???" the woodsman wails, "there is no time!  They 'ave broken tha door, they are in tha 'ouse!  Me wife an' children are in there!  If all ye plan ta do is scout about, then give me a blade, an' let me die wit 'em!"

He tries to collect himself.  "There is no cellar!  Mayhap they barred tha doors inside, but if tha dead could break tha fron' door, there be no way the doors inside could 'old fer long!"

"I see five of the undead," Gib states in a low tone just loud enough for his fellows to hear. "If there are only the five, we have the advantage. Speed could be our advantage. We might be able to get two of us through the door of the cabin while the rest tend to the corpses."

Kithran draws her shortbow and nocks an arrow, a weapon far less personal than she prefers, but time is of the essence. She glances sideways at her large cat friend, and can sense there is not much time left before he pounces on those seemingly terrorizing this man's family. And she wouldn't let him do that alone, "I like this idea."

Kith makes eye contact with Gib once more, then with Ch'dau, and back to the shamblers. Then raises her bow, taking aim as she whispers, "If they are hiding for their lives, we should make haste. I will be with the monster-slaughtering party to draw them away from the cabin, if we decide to split up instead of charging in together," one of the creatures walks into her sights, and she keeps him there until either her party decides to attack, or the creatures come racing their way, "We should hurry though. I can scout if you like, as I don't mind this man throwing himself to his own death if that is what he so chooses, but I doubt the rest of you feel likewise."

When the woodsman had first staggered toward them, Ch’dau was all but set to leave his companions where they stood and face the abominations alone if that’s what it might have come to. Had it not been for Kith’s words, in fact, the big Kazari might have done just that. In deference to his dear friend’s caution, though, Ch’dau mustered what patience he could manage and waited as the woodsman’s injuries were tended by Cedric and words buzzed in the air like flies about his ears. No sooner had the bedraggled man’s wounds stopped seeping than he, too, seemed ready to charge back to his family no matter what hell might lie between him and them.

"This way!" he cried, frantically leading the way.  "Tha cabin es jest over tha ridge!"

Beyond the ridge, the scene that awaited them was much as Ch’dau might have expected. The man’s sturdy little cabin stood there, it’s windows shuttered against the shamblers that milled about the place but it’s door was rent and ripped from its hinges.

“Gods, no!” the man wailed, “Ella!  Boys!  Please 'elp them! Oh, gods!  Mother, save them!”

Your Mother won’t help you any more than She helped Crandel, Ch’dau thought even as a growl welled in his chest. He shifted anxiously, wishing that Aranwen would give the order to charge the horrors…

 "I see five of the undead," Gib murmured. "If there are only the five, we have the advantage. Speed could be our advantage. We might be able to get two of us through the door of the cabin while the rest tend to the corpses."

…The Silver Cat tugged his blades free and nodded, his eyes keen on the zombies. Only five, he snarled, and no sign nor sound of a laughing one. Easily done. The woodsman’s dread had become a palpable thing; seeping through the mist-laden air and testing the cat-man’s patience. The growl had reached up from his chest and into his throat, threatening to burst from behind his teeth at any given instant...

"The risk we take is in not knowing what's waiting for us inside the cabin," Gib continued, drawing his sword and readying his shield, "There's nothing scrambling down there. We could take the time for a scout to investigate."

…Whatever words came next from the warrior priest were lost to Ch’dau’s ears. Between the roar trapped behind his teeth and the battle-anxious blood ringing through his skull, the Kazari had no more patience for speech…

"Time???" the woodsman wailed, "there is no time!  They 'ave broken tha door, they are in tha 'ouse!  Me wife an' children are in there!  If all ye plan ta do is scout about, then give me a blade, an' let me die wit 'em!"

…Enough!!! Ch’dau snarled inwardly even as, outwardly his calm broke and his roar escaped, No more words!!! Leaping from his anxious crouch the battle-mad Kazari hurtled toward the cabin, prepared to lay waste to anything that stood in his way. “NNNNGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!”

((OOC: Oops! Kitty snapped! With any luck, though, the zombies outside will focus on him and give the others a moment, at least, to get inside and/or manage a flanking effort of some sort. Meanwhile, the psycho-cat will be trying a new zombie mince recipe.   ))

"Thank you, Solanis for healing this man. Now give me and my friends strength to destroy these abominations." Cedric casts a Bless spell over the party. Then pulls out his staff and moves to attack one of the creatures outside the house.

The gibbering old man let them to a cottage.  A cottage currently surrounded by the undead.  Pants took hold of the man and he pleaded for the party to save his family.  Even going so far as to ask for a weapon to lead the attack.  Midge was not sure the man was completely stable but then again he was in danger of losing his entire family.  A family that very well could already be dead and soon to join the ranks arrayed before them.  At least five of the undead wandered outside and with the door destroyed it was likely more were lurking inside.  As his companions drew weapons for close combat, Midge thought it a bit safer to keep clear.  His hands wove an intricate pattern and he called for aid from the tiniest of creatures.  Things that creepy and flew, but and stung these were his weapons.  At his bidding a swarm gathered.   

Casting summon swarm

DM's note: before you read further, I warn you once more - this game contains adult horror themes.  If this bothers you, click into another thread now, please. 

DM's note, part two: with the rest of the party acting, I felt like Aranwen's hands were pretty tied.  He is a front line fighter, the most skilled among the group; unless Blackthorn decides that he's not going to help, he pretty much has to be moving into the cabin, doesn't he?  Blackthorn, if you object - let me know.

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With a roar, Ch'dau charges headlong towards the cabin.  So swift is the kazari and his rage that he outpaces his companions before they can react. 

Cedric and Midge begin incantations, while Gib and Aranwen draw blades and move to support. 

Realizing that her big cat companion has left her side - and that any element of surprise is now long gone - Kithran looses the drawn arrow, clipping one of the zombies in the back of its shoulder, and spinning it around an instant before the full fury of the raging Kazari is upon it.  One of the short blades drives through the abomination's chest and exits its back, even as the huge felanoid warrior drives fangs into its face in his mindless fury. 

Midge's incantation completes, and within moments, every wasp and hornet within the surrounding acres are swarming in an angry, stinging cloud.  Of course, wasps are indiscriminate; they sting the zombies, they sting the warriors trying to get past the zombies. 

Gib and Aranwen arrive, with the former battering a zombie out of his way, while the latter nimbly sidesteps and hamstrings one in passing with her blade. 

Kith sheaths her bow and draws her dagger in the process of moving to support Ch'dau as Cedric also pushes up to attack. 

The warriors struggle forward, intent on escaping the stinging wasps.  Near the doorway, it can be heard - a child's cry of fear.

At least one of the woodsman's children still lives! 

A zombie moves to block the kazari's path, but Ch'dau will not be denied.  The hulking warrior sweeps it to the side, where its head splits open with a sickening crunch against a wooden post.  Heedless of anything else, the kazari pushes inside to the scene of a waking nightmare.

The cabin is laid out as three rooms - a large common room has a dining table in the center, with a counter on the far wall with pots, eating utensils, and such on it.  To the right are two doors, each presumably leading to a bedroom.  There are a couple of zombies standing at odd locations in the main room.

One door stands open; a cursory glance reveals a larger bed inside that must belong to the woodsman and his wife. 

The second door is broken off its hinges; visible through it is a set of bunk beds.  A small child of four or five years sits on top, as far back agaist the wall as he can squeeze.  The child is screaming and crying, as his brother - perhaps eight years of age - is being pulled down by at least four zombies clearly intent on tearing him limb from limb. 

A few feet to the side lies a woman with a cast iron skillet a foot or so from her open hand.  The form of one of the undead is on top of her; she lies completely motionless, with her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

The initial threat assessment in the big warrior's brain indicates that the woman died fighting here to protect her children, and is in the process of being comsumed, but perhaps her sacrifice need not be in vain. 

As he begins to move, Ch'dau registers the motion by the undead on the floor, and horrified understanding begins to dawn in his mind. 

The abomination is not eating the woman - at least, not yet.  Its long, forked tongue slips out of its mouth, traces along the woman's throat, up to her ear.  The poor woman's legs are parted, her skirts are pulled up - the creature is not truly lying on top of her, as much as its own lower body is nestled between her thighs while it makes a jerky hunching motion.  It glances up at Ch'dau, fixing him with unnatural, hateful yellow eyes as it begins to giggle sadistically.

His vision tinged with the red hues of bloodlust, Ch’dau acts on little more than what he’s always known – boldness, battle, and blood – and tears his way through the undead and into the cabin. He doesn’t even bother to pause to spit out the rotting meat he’d chewed from the face of one the abominations as he slams into the tiny domicile’s common room until he hears the child’s cry. At that point, the failing flesh falls from his mouth and his eyes focus enough to perceive the scene into which he has just strode…

The common room in which he is standing is all but empty, save for the furnishings and, sadly, what can only be the mother in the process of being devoured by one of the undead. The doors to the other rooms stand open, broken doors or otherwise, and, in one of them, two boys struggle against the non-living horde. He gives a sorrowful glance at the woodsman’s wife, her eyes wide and blank as they stare at the cabin’s ceiling, before he moves to resuce the lads, then, with no small amount of horror filling him at the realization, he comes to understand that, while she is dead, she is, at the same time very aware and very horrified at what is happening to her. In this intant, Ch’dau is conflicted. Does he save the woman from the unnatural humiliation she suffers or does he, instead, tend to the boys she has birthed and, relieve her of the worry for them? In the end, he chooses the latter, striding purposefully into the room where the boys fight for their lives and wordlessly striding into the room where the younglings fight for their lives and promising to end it for her and the horrific thing atop her when he returns.The growl (or is it a roar?) that issues from the Kazari as he stalks into the boys’ room is as miserable as it is angry and, once inside, he sets mercilessly upon the creatures seeking to rend the older boy’s flesh…

((OOC: So sorry, mother, but I think you're done! Ch'dau is intent on saving the boys at this point. If possible, he'll try and draw the flesh-eaters away from the older one before hacking, slashing, and munching them, keeping his own back to the wall as best he can to avoid being flanked. If that's not possible, I suppose, we're gonna go with psycho-kitty comes off the hinges.))

While sympathetic to the fouling that the mother is receiving, Ch'dau was also aware that the older boy literally had seconds to live.  So with a roar, the big mercenary leapt among the zombies, heedless of his own safety. 

In the tight confines of the smaller bedroom, Ch'dau looked every part of the cornered beast.  He layed about with blades and teeth, shattering one of the zombies holding the boy.  With no room to manuever, the undead were free to pummel him, but the kazari barely registered the pain from their blows.  In the melee, the boy was dropped, where he lied motionless on the floor after curling himself into a ball.  Ch'dau stood over him, straddling his prone form, using his own hulking bulk as a shield, roaring a challenge to any who dare to try to take him. 

His actions drew the other zombies in the main room, whose press blocked the doorway, ensuring that the strugglee in the smaller bedroom was now truly a fight to the death.  There would be no escape, no surrender.  There would be victory, or all in the bedroom would perish.

The giggler did not leave its place atop the prone woman.  It continued to thrust away, giggling with a hateful leer, content to let the zombies handle the warrior for now.

The fight began to go poorly for Ch'dau; while he was vastly superior to the undead foes, he was significant;y outnumbered and unable to properly move to avoid their blows, which seemingly rained down upon him from every side.  He drove a blade through the chest of a zombie, killing it and pinning it to the wall... but even as he did so, a corner of his mind registered that his wounds were piling up.

But then, Gib and Aranwen made their way past the zombies and wasps and inside the cabin.  They saw the prone woman with her attacker, they heard Ch'dau's battle roar, and the situation was clear.  With a wordless glance between them, the warrior priest sprinted for the doorway, crashing into the read of the zombies, while the Bladesinger opened the giggling monstrosity from collarbone to armpit.

Even sorely wounded, the giggler was not killed; it gathered itself and leapt upon Aranwen, cutting her with filthy claws and pinning her back against the wall.  The sylvari struggled for a moment, feeling the cold touch of the grave try to take control of her body, but she shrugged it off and smashed the pommel of her blade up into the thing's hateful face; it staggered, then went limp as Kithran drove both of her daggers deeply into its back. 

Gib carved another zombie back away from the doorway, and Ch'dau, heartend by the aid, redoubled his efforts, ripping another of the undead nearly in half.  In moments, the two companions felled the last of them, and the cabin was once again quiet.

The father arrived, and his sobs of fear turned to joy as the two boys came running to him.  At first, he did not seem to register the exposed position of his wife, so great was his joy that his children lived.  Then, his eyes fell upon her. 

He saw the bleeding wounds on her neck and chest, knelt at her side, sobbed.  And then... the woman's legs slowly closed.  Not due to gravity, but due to the fact that she had begun to shake off the paralysis inflicted upon her by the giggler. 

The woodsman's wife was alive.  Her wounds, while ugly, were superficial.  He soon coaxed her into a sitting position, helped her to pull her skirts down, and she cooperated... but her gaze never faltered.  He kissed her, her children wrapped their arms around her... but the woman never stopped staring, wordlessly, into some space that only she could see.

The man was pathetically gratetful for the party's assistance.  He offered venison in way of thanks, he offered the only silver coins that he owned.  Any worldly possession that he owned was yours for the taking, so great was his gratitude.  The boys thanked you, heroes that you are, for saving them.  The smaller boy shyly asked if it would be all right to pet Ch'dau, who saved his brother.

 

The crowded confines of the boys’ bedroom weren’t particularly suited for the Kazari’s method of battle but the plight of the defenseless children prompted Ch’dau to ignore that fact. A wordless but far from silent invocation to Rrowl rumbled through his snarling visage as he stormed into the tiny chamber and laid into the undead. The slashing of his blades and gnashing of his teeth made quick dispatch of, at least, one of the zombies that clutched the older boy. As the Silver Cat pressed further, the creatures abandoned their claim on the child all together and, as the boy curled into a ball between his feet, focused their attacks on Ch’dau. Despite defense of the boy dominating his thoughts and very little room in which to maneuver, the cat-man held his own for a time but, given the number of opponents and the limited space, it wasn’t long before the undead assault had begun to take its toll.

Blows rained down on him from all sides and, as quickly as one attacker was thwarted, two more seemed to instantly take its place. There was room to move in order to avoid the strikes, either, especially without exposing the boy, and some part of his mind knew, even as he pinned a zombie to the wall with his blade, that he would either die in this room with these human children or, Rrowl willing, they, all three would wade out, hip-deep, through the ever growing pool of blood on the floor. Since more and more of that blood was his own, Ch’dau had begun to prepare himself for the former as more and more of the rotting fiends pressed in. He was willing to meet his fate, of course, but he was far from resigned to it and when… by Keziri’s mercy… the familiar shape of Gib’s shield smashed into the ghouls choking the doorway, the Kazari abandoned any thought of the creatures sending him off on The Eternal Hunt. Indeed, the timely appearance of his companions stoked the embers of his ferocity and, as the priest of Therassor hewed away at the zombies at the door, Ch’dau halved another which had made the mistake of coming within reach of his now bared claws. Soon enough, thanks to his comapnions’ intervention, the fight was over and the cabin was quiet once more.

Breathing heavily… raggedly… a blood-soaked Ch’dau, at last, nodded his acknowledgement to Gib. He stood there, wobbily-legged and chuffing, surveying the carnage about him for a long moment before crouching down in the midst of it, taking hold the woodsman’s oldest son by his tiny shoulders, and lifting the boy to his feet. “Take your brother and go, little one,” the Kazari managed to rasp out as he nodded toward the door, “your father is worried and waiting.” From his crouch, he watched blearily as the children exited the room. After they were out of sight, he heaved a weary sigh, and dragged himself to his feet again, though he had to use the wall to do so and cringed at the effort.

Ch’dau tore his blade from the chest of the corpse pinned to the wall, then, and, lacking the strength to kick the thing as it fell amongst it’s putrid kin, spit a mouthful of blood at it instead. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, his eyes drifted toward Gib and the Kazari snorted out a decidedly weak chuckle as he met the cleric’s gaze. “You look as if you wish to chastise me, friend,” he chuffed, wincing as the adrenaline seeped from him. He could scarcely raise a paw to offer a dismissive wave. “Go on, then,” he breathed, leaning heavily against the gore spattered wall, “I shall wait here for a moment and hear it.”

((OOC: Anything from Gib here.))

Moments later, following behind the battle-cleric, Ch’dau staggered back into the cabin’s common room and, at the sight of the reunion of the woodsman and his family, the big cat’s tail swished happily (if weakly) behind him. As he propped himself against a wall, his eyes sought out Kithran and, when they found her, his ears flicked in what she had come to understand was the Kazari equivalent of a smile as he offered her a reassuring nod. Then, unable to fight the wounds and weariness any longer, a satisfied (if pained) purring rumbled in his chest and the Silver Cat of Coria sank slowly to the floor.

Cedric is trying to use his staff as best he can to put down a zombie. As the other members disappear inside the cabin Cedric his maniacal laughing and fears for the worst. Cedric will try to keep the zombies from getting to Midge and allow him to cast spells as needed.

Also keeping an eye on the cabin to see if any healing is needed. Muttering a little prayer to Solanis to keep everyone safe.

Leaping from his anxious crouch the battle-mad Kazari hurtles toward the cabin, prepared to lay waste to anything that stands in his way. “NNNNGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!”

"Thank you, Solanis for healing this man. Now give me and my friends strength to destroy these abominations." Cedric calls upon his god to bless them in their sudden—and inevitable, Gib has to admit—charge. Then, the other priest pulls out his staff and moves to attack one of the creatures outside the house.

Already moving, the warrior priest pushes thoughts of retribution on the Silver Cat from his mind and focuses on the undead in their path. He can hear the spidery sounds of Midge's incantations behind him and sets his teeth having experienced the little person's conjurations in the past. Here we go again, he vents. 

Ch'dau is already far ahead of him and the Silvari, the plan that the priest of Therassor had been hoping to act upon is blown away with much less consideration than an annoying fly. Hoping that the muscular cat man at least sticks to some part of the strategy, Gib huffs against the impact of a shambling body off of his shield while bits of flaking flesh fly into the air about him.

Of course not, he groans at the sight of the Kizari warrior vanishing through the cabin door. Why would I ever have held out hope? Aranwen is still by his side, fighting forward through the few creatures in their path. Now, Moreno's thoughts turn to what he's going to do in light of there no longer being a plan.

Buzzing and humming gain volume about them but the sound of a panicked cry from within the cabin steels Gib's insides and he presses on. Leaping through the door and into the dim light of the interior, the warrior priest quickly makes an assessment. Three rooms; one in the middle with two on either side. Ch'dau will be in the room where the zombies have collected.

Using the rim of his shield as much as the blade of his sword to fight his way inside the room, Gib can see that the fight is beginning to go poorly for the Silver Cat of Coria; significantly outnumbered and unable to properly move to avoid the undead's blows, which rain down upon him from every side, the ferocious silver furred creature drives a blade through the chest of a zombie, killing it and pinning it to the wall.

To the side, Gib is caught by a ghastly sight: the prone woman with her attacker. With a wordless glance between them, the warrior priest sprints for the doorway, crashing into the press of the zombies, while the Bladesinger opens the giggling monstrosity from collarbone to armpit. 

Carving another zombie back away from the doorway, Gib catches sight of Ch'dau—heartened by the aid—redoubling his efforts, ripping another of the undead nearly in half. In moments, the two companions fell the last of them, and the cabin is once again quiet but for the heavy breathing of the combatants, the crying of the children and the pounding of rushing feet as the father arrives, his sobs of fear turning to joy as the vision of his two boys alive presents itself. 

Breathing heavily… raggedly… a blood-soaked Ch’dau, at last, nods his acknowledgment to Gib. The warrior priest of Therassor retrieves his water, his eyes flicking between the woodsman's wife and his worn and beaten friend. Ch'dau stands there, wobbly-legged and chuffing, surveying the carnage about him for a long moment before crouching down in the midst of it, taking hold the woodsman’s oldest son by his tiny shoulders, and lifting the boy to his feet.

“Take your brother and go little one,” the Kazari manages to rasp out as he nods toward the door, “your father is worried and waiting.” From his crouch, he watches blearily as the children rush to their father's side. After they are reunited, he heaves a weary sigh, and drags himself to his feet again, though he has to use the wall to do so and cringes at the effort. Both are things that the annoyed priest takes notice of.

Ch’dau tears his blade from the chest of the corpse pinned to the wall, then, and, lacking the strength to kick the thing as it falls amongst its putrid kin, spits a mouthful of blood at it instead. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, his eyes drift toward Gib and the Kazari snorts out a decidedly weak chuckle as he meets the cleric’s gaze. “You look as if you wish to chastise me, friend,” he chuffs, wincing as the adrenaline seeps from him. He can scarcely raise a paw to offer a dismissive wave. “Go on, then,” he breathes, leaning heavily against the gore spattered wall, “I shall wait here for a moment and hear it.”

Pausing in lifting his wineskin to his lips, Gib narrows his eyes and shakes his head, "And what good will it do?" Slamming his open wineskin into the cat man's chest he notices the small spray of water that strikes his companion's furry chin with little amusement. "Drink something and rest while I look over your injuries."

Glancing to where the woodsman has taken notice of his wife and moved to be by her side, Gib looks at her more closely. She has bleeding wounds on her neck and chest that appear dreadful and blood is all about her, but as the woodsman kneels at her side, sobbing, the woman's legs slowly close. Not due to gravity, but due to the fact that she had begun to shake off the paralysis inflicted upon her by the giggler. The action very nearly sends Gib forward in attack mode once more, but he changes his urged momentum as he realizes that she's alive.

"Cedric! The woman needs attending," the warrior priest calls out in surprise. Therassor will appreciate Gib's attention on the warrior cat while Solanis is better suited to tend to these others.

Her injuries, while ugly, are superficial. The woodsman soon coaxes her into a sitting position, helping her to pull her skirts down, and she cooperates... but her gaze never falters. He kisses her, her children wrap their arms around her... but the woman never stops staring, wordlessly, into some space that only she can see.

What she's been through is terrifically horrible. Gib can clearly remember the feeling of helplessness he had when he was struck but to be trapped as she was and to endure such foul treatment... She would have been better off had she died, he grimly decides while investigating his furry friend's beaten body. "Come with me," the priest of the Battle Lord orders, hooking a hand around Ch'dau's elbow and helping him from the wall.

Guiding more than anything else, Gib assists Ch’dau to stagger back into the cabin’s common room and, with the big cat’s tail swishing happily (if weakly) behind him, he props the Kazari against a wall. A satisfied (if pained) purring rumbles in Ch'dau's chest and the Silver Cat of Coria sinks slowly to the floor.

Grabbing his wineskin before it falls from weakened hands, Gib inadvertently sprays the silvery-furred feline with water. "Serves you right," he chides as he takes a swing and then places the stopper in the nozzle. "You seek death."

In the better light of the main room, Gib returns to tending the wounded. Bad kitty, he thinks in dark humor. Sitting back on his heels, the priest scratches at his beard and considers their situation. We're barely on this path and already one of our best warriors is beaten to a pulp. This is a strange and ghastly affair. What are these creatures that command the zombies and yet don't behave as undead should? I cannot recall an undead fiend that rapes. Think... Turning his helmeted head to peer back into the other room, the warrior priest frowns. These creatures are about something more sinister than we've seen. Ch'dau still has work to do in this, otherwise, the Battle Lord would not have seen fit to keep him alive through his crazed rush. Perhaps...

"I will ask Therassor for another miracle on your behalf, friend. You have survived your foolishness by his design and maybe he will continue to show you favor. Be not dismayed if it is not the case, though." Gib looks his friend directly in the eyes. "But if it is, you must remember the grace he's shown."

(OOC: Ch'dau's response, if any.)

Gripping his holy symbol from where it dangles at his chest, Gib holds it high with his right hand and places his left over the Kizari's broad chest. "Battle Lord, hear me! This Kazari warrior is from another land but he does you honor on this day. In his just battle, he has sustained injuries that I pray you'll relinquish. You've shown him favor for his deeds already and we dare not ask too much. We accept your will, Therassor."

(OOC: Cure Light Wounds, please.)

Once finished, the man begins to show his gratitude for the party's assistance, and Gib let's Aranwen deal with such matters while he makes his way to the defiled woman. Doing his best not to be offensive, the priest tries to study her behavior, to see if her lost gaze is due to the trauma she's received or something more sinister (if possible).

"Can I pet him?" the child's words barely catch the warrior priest's attention, whispered as quiet as they are. Looking down at the boy, Gib raises his eyebrows inciting a second attempt at the question. "Can I pet him? The big cat that saved my brother."

Feeling a little mischievous and that it would just desserts for Ch'dau, Gib responds, "Definitely. Pet him to your heart's content."

Walking over to Kith, Gib motions Cedric and Midge to join him. Once the others are gathered, he says in a low tone, "One of those gigglers was having its way with the mother when I arrived. Not in the same way as we've seen thus far. It was raping her. Have any of you ever heard of a creature such as this, or a circumstance?"

With the swarm spell being less effective than anticipated, Midge was feeling a bit sorry for himself.  Once he entered the cabin and saw the amount of Carnage that occurred he was pretty sure it would have meant his death had he entered during the fight.  He helped check the woman and children as best he could.  When the man offered his coins, Midge peeled up.  "well we couldn't take all your money, half would be fine".  No reason the group should not profit a bit even if they would likely have added the family for free.  

   Looking around, Midge saw the regular zombies and then the word creature.  With the others describing the rape and the laughing he was sure this was no normal undead.  He had never heard of anything like that and the thought of it have him the creeps.  Undead were supposed to be slow, mindless creatures.  This one seemed sentient.  Carefully Midge took a closer look at the body so he could identify another one of the creatures is he ever saw one again.