You've been pronouncing it correctly, my friend. I just had Nya mispronounce as she's likely only heard it once or twice in the past few hours and wtf is a "Chuh Dow" anyway?

There ya have it! Not much besides a quick convo between kitty-puss mcfurface and Nya. Just wanting to figure out her decision before making his own choices, I suppose.

His wounds tended and what little gear he’d left in his room retrieved, Ch’dau found himself at the inn’s cellar door. A test of the latch reveals that the girl, Nya, had done as he’d told her and blocked the thing from inside. A gently as he could, so as not to startle the girl any more than she already had been, the kazari rapped on the door with the back of a furry hand. “Nya,” he called, “It is safe, girl. You can come out now.”

It took a moment but, soon enough, the sound of footsteps from the other side of the door reached his ears, followed by noises that were likely the girl dismantling whatever barricade she’d cobbled together. Finally, the door inched open and Nya peeked through, her wide eyes darting nervously about as if to verify that there were no more of the horrid zombies shambling across the floors of the Nicked Shill. When her gaze found naught but the cat-man awaiting her, the barmaid finally managed a blink and a breath. “Sweet Mother Miellyah,” she sighed, scarcely able to form the words on that shuddering breath, “An’ ‘ere I thought you’d be th’ mos’ frightnin’ thing what I’d see t’night.” She pulled the door the rest of the way open, then, and, as she stepped into the kitchen, offered the kazari a smile full of gratitude, yet still tinged with the terror that had recently flooded through her. “Thank ye, Mr… Shadow, was it?”

The Silver Cat chuffed in amusement at the girl’s mispronunciation. “Ch’dau,” he answered with a nod of his furry head, “yes.”

“Right,” Nya returned nervously, “Ch’dau… Well… thank ye. Thank ye a hunnerd times! I dunno wha’ might’ve become o’ th’ place ‘ad you an’ yer friends no’ found yer way ‘ere t’night! I…I…” The big cat blinked as a sob of relief squeaked out of the girl’s mouth and she threw herself against him; her arms wrapping around him as best they could and her face buried in his fur. “Thank ye, thank ye, thank ye,” came the muffled continuation of her appreciation.

Not as frightening as I was earlier, it seems, Ch’dau chuckled silently as he peeled the girl away from him. “You are welcome, girl,” he said, holding her at arms-length, now, “The Inn is safe, for now, but this night is far from over. Calm yourself and tell me, where is Greenfield?”

A little bit less terrified (and, perhaps, a bit embarrassed by having hugged the kazari), Nya gawked at him for a moment and wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks. “Mort? Errr… Uh…,” she blinked and her eyes darted toward to door and back, “ ‘e’s go’ rooms ‘bove th’ stables. I reckon tha’s where’ ‘e’d be… Gods! I ‘ope them things din’t get in there! D’ya think ‘e’s okay? ‘E were a good fighter in ‘is day, Mr. Ch’dau, but ‘e’s older now an’ no’ as spry as once ‘e were… Oh gods!”

He could almost feel the panic welling in the girl, again, as she worried on the fate of her employer. His hand gripped her shoulders a bit tighter and he stooped a bit in order to look her in the eyes. “I said to calm yourself, girl,” he said firmly, “This is not the time for panic. Are you able to go find him and tell him what has happened?”

Nya blinked more than once at that and here still wide eyes danced back and forth between the doorway and the big kazari for a few seconds before she was able to manage a reply. “Out… out there?..” Ch’dau was almost sure he heard her swallow the lump in her throat. “…Me? I’m naught but a servin’ girl! Only thin’ I ever held a blade fer was peelin’ taters an’… an’… What if’n there’s more o’ them things out there?”

The growl that threatened to rumble in Ch’dau’s chest escaped as little more than a resigned sigh. The girl was scared, he knew, and, if there were more shamblers between the inn and it’s stables, Nya wouldn’t be a match for one let alone more. “Very well,” were the words that followed on his breath, his hands falling away from the girl’s trembling shoulders, “I shall see to him, myself, yes? The choices you have now, Nya, are whether you will follow along or return to the safety of the cellar…”

((OOC: Up to Nya what she wants to do, here… Not going to make an assumption one way or another. If she chooses to follow along, so be it – Ch’dau will protect her en route to the barn and, with luck they’ll find Mort alive and such. If she chooses to return to the cellar, Ch’dau will wait for her to be safely barricaded behind the door before returning to join the rest of the group and, upon leaving the Inn, will suggest a detour by the barn in order to check on Mort (and rouse him to action as need be))

Working one up, now! Had intended to post yesterday but work ran away with me. Should have a bit of something for Ch'dau soon.

For some reason, Ammpe was surprised when the Computer activated the defense system rather than opening the door… Well, he thought, that just doesn’t make sense. Why would it be the yellow button? Yellow is treasonous and… That thought, and whatever thought might have followed simply disappeared as the defense system’s lasers blasted him and sent him sprawling. For a long moment, nothing registered in his mind except for the rather confusing image of the room’s ceiling, occasionally streaked by a laser bolt or two.

Slowly, it seemed, his wits returned to him… there was shouting, and singing, and… “Ow,” he grumbled, finally with it enough to register that he’d been shot. He gave a slow shake of his head to clear the cobwebs from his mind and then, started to sit up. Since it had been Friend Computer’s defense system that had shot him, he couldn’t help but wonder if, when he made his report, that he should quantify this incident as Friendly Fire…

“GO!”

…Before he could finish pondering on the friendly fire bit and, also, before he managed to register the voice that had just shouted as Steam’s, Ammpe felt himself being hauled to his feet and shoved toward the now open doorway…

“Good idea,” he murmured, stumbling a bit in the direction he’d been flung, “good idea… Going.”

Yeah... oops!

*is stunned*

Doooo it!!!

...when I made reference to Ch'dau burning the bodies, I had imagined it happening while the clerics were healing the others but, whatever works best and/or is general consensus from the party works for me. 

As to Mort, I figure that when the cat checks on Nya he'll ask after the proprietor at that point... if she's bold enough to do so alone, I'm okay with that. If not, I imagine it can be done once we're all geared up and ready to set out into the town. His chambers are liekly to be closest to the Inn, anyway, right?

Rear guard, please... Hard to lead if you step in the "puddle" first.

*wonders what re-hilting his falcata with the leg bones of a wizard might do*  

"The Plan" works for me.

...got his guts all hanging out and still wants to heal others first. You honor your god, rrow'ka!

As to the bullet points proposed by our battle-cleric, I agree on all counts. Have some ideas about Davena and her man, Garn, based on silver screen moments and the lady's encounter with Aranwen, myself, but I don't think any of it would translate to IC knowledge (or even supposition) from Ch'dau.

As much as Ch'dau would love to go after the gigglers, Brom's right... probably not the best of ideas at the moment... aaaaand the "mage connection" does need to be considered just in case there might be some aide or insight that might be provided from that. That said, and our party knowing what these things are capable of, do we really want to let two of those things traipse through the town? We got pretty beat up by 16 or so of the things, what happens if the whole of the town's population suddenl;y takes up maggot farming?

Ch'dau's off to check on Nya more to ensure that Gib and Aranwen get the attention they need before he does than to make sure the girl is okay... if she was smart enough she did what he told her to, to begin with....

Also, he might be apt to filch another mug of Mort's "reserve ale" whilst he's back there checking.

Ammpe was pretty sure he’d told the team to move out to the location specified by the computer but, for whatever reason, Brighte had decided that tampering with Computer owned property was a good idea and, instead of following orders, he’d taken a spork to the table mounted speaker. Between the failure to follow orders and the willing destruction of Computer materiel, the Power Services clone couldn’t help but wonder if Brighte was a mutant, a commie, or both… nor was he surprised when Brighte’s actions raised an alarm and summoned a response team of higher level Servants of the Universal Code…

“Finally, you showed up,” Brighte proclaimed, kicking the spork toward Dweebs as the security team charged up, “He was snooping around us, claims he lost his team and then that alarm started sounding and a spork dropped on teh floor next to him. Probably trying to hurt friend Computer and blame it on new reds.”

…Ammpe shrugged when (if) the Yellows looked his way and, after a moment, drawled in that slow way of his; “I told everyone to head for Sector SWR, Section 168… Figured everyone would follow orders… Didn’t see what happened behind me… Rest of the team’s going… Can I?”

Breathless and gore soaked, Ch’dau’s feline gaze panned over the carnage resultant of this latest battle with the dead, the low, satisfied growling that rumbled in his chest reverberating from the blood spattered walls of The Nicked Shill. The strains of maniacal giggling from outside prompted him to want to pursue and bring an end to the chitterers that might remain but the condition of Gib and Aranwen stayed his bloodlust for the moment. “Keziri curse these infernal creatures,” he grumbled, sheathing his blades and kicking the sundered form of the giggler at his feet, “and may Rrowl feast on what is left of their souls!” He reached down, then, hefted the body of the twice dead Lysoran, and carried it toward the ruined door.

“Friend Cedric,” he called as he chucked the corpse into the street and moved to gather up another of the vanquished, “if you would, call upon your god and see to the wounded.” Unconcerned with his own injuries at the moment, the Kazari occupied himself with gathering up the fallen zombies and piling them up outside the inn’s walls. Once the last of them had been removed from the Nicked Shill, he doused them with oil from the table lamps and set the stack ablaze. Satisfied that none of these would be rising again, Ch’dau rejoined his companions as Gib started to come free of the giggler’s paralysis…

"Tha -- than -- thank you," the warrior priest manages, clenching his fists again and again to work the stiffness from his bones as he gazed about at the carnage. 

"Please tell me that I am imagining that gods-forsaken laughter," he groaned.

“I’m afraid the laughter is all too real, my brave friend,” Aranwen replied, “It seems we have foes yet to face.”

“We’ve Therassor to thank for the strength we managed this night, friends,” the battle-cleric said, assessing the wounds sustained by the party, “If you come near, I shall plead with the Battle Lord to grant us more favors. And then... well, then it sounds as though we will be needing to don our armor for the night is not over.”

“We will be most grateful for any healing Therassor can provide,” the bladesinger countered, “Please do not forget to pray for your own health; we cannot lose our mighty companion because he neglects his own wounds.”

“Truly,” the big cat chuffs his agreement with Aranwen’s suggestion, “you and our brave khatun have born the worst of it, Gib. See to yourself and the others before worrying on any of my scratches.” His gaze ticked to the fire outside and, then, swept the common room before settling on the bar and the door beyond it. “I will return in a moment,” he said, moving toward the kitchen, “I wish to let Nya know the danger has passed for the moment.”

((OOC: As stated, while the clerics work their magic, Ch’dau is going to see to Nya… Hopefully the girl made it safely to the cellar. Should there be any magic left when he returns, he’ll accept healing of his own wounds then. ))

...NOTHINGK!!!

If I could applaud you twice for that one, Blackthorn, I surely would!

...but they're all dead and laughing at us!

@ Han Solo

How close does it sound like those other two giggler's might be? Would it be worth the trouble to go check?

"The job isn't done until someone bleeds on it!" 

That was glorious!!!

Someone just sporked up!

I'm no Lance Card or anything but I do get inspired from time to time.

Yay for updates!

 Team leader? Ammpe blinked. Me?

That Friend Computer had selected him for the position was an honor, of course, however unexpected, but, at the same time, it made him wonder why one of the others hadn’t been chosen. Steam was a military sort, after all, and certainly more qualified for a leadership position. Blowz, too, might have made more sense for the role but…

He shook the thoughts from his mind. Questioning the Computer was treasonous. Better to let those thoughts go before they made it to his mouth and just accept the fact that, in it’s infinite wisdom, Friend Computer had made the right choice. Besides, Ammpe considered as his gaze skimmed over each of the other faces under the table, it could be that one or all of them are traitorous commie pukes and the Computer knows it.

“STOP THAT!!!”

Ammpe was startled by the volume of the Computer’s admonition as it blared from every speaker in the cafeteria. It had caused him to flinch, in fact, and bang the back of his head on the underside of the table hard enough that he thought, for a split second, that he’d shorted out his hearing. The cafeteria had gone completely silent, it seemed. Rubbing at the bump growing on the back of his head, he risked a glance around the place and found that no one – not even the irritating little gnat, Dweebs – was bothering to look in the direction of his team’s table (or even bothering to talk among themselves for that matter). It was only the hum of electricity through the wiring that convinced him his hearing was still intact. Satisfied with that, the red-haired power services clone dipped his head back under the table and heard out the rest of Friend Computer’s instructions…

"Get to Section 168 of Sector SWR, out the door and take a left. NOW. Thank you for your cooperation."

…“Friend Computer is good,” Ammpe drawled slowly, coming out from under the table again, “Friend Computer is wise. You heard it, team; Section 168, Sector SWR. Let’s move.” Abandoning his lunch and getting to his feet, he waited for his comrades to head for the door before following behind them, taking a second longer than the last to point a finger at the still-lingering Dweebs; “Not you!”

...that Ch'dau may end up out in the mist with a flaming tabledozer if things start to look really bad. We shall see!

Speaking of Ch'dau, those of you who follow me on ye olde book o' faces have likely seen this already, but for those of you that haven't...

Got some of the others in the works, as well... Once they get to be presentable, I'll certainly share.

Cutting down the reanimated corpses that sought entry to the Nicked Shill through the windows was effective enough. Between his efforts and Gib’s, not a single zombie had managed it’s way entirely through either of the windows. Despite these efforts, though, it had begun to look like an exercise in futility; as soon as one shambler was hacked down, another took it’s place and, from what Ch’dau was able to see beyond the death-choked casement, there were hordes of the things yet to come…

“If we can funnel them through a single entrance, we stand a better chance,” Kith called out from behind him, “Perhaps we can cut through the first of them and use the tables as barricades to redirect the others!”

“Grand idea,” the cleric of Therassor responded from his position at the other window.

…Whatever Gib might have said next was lost to the Kazari’s ears, though. In the wake of one last furious slash at the zombie currently trying to work it’s way in through the window, Ch’dau backed away, sheathing his blades, and sought out the nearest table. He scooped a lamp from the top of the thing and hurled it through the window, then hefted the table and slammed it against the gore-spattered portal, hoping to deter any more of the undead from coming through, if only for a moment. With the makeshift barricade in place, the Silver Cat quickly assessed the room, catching sight of Aranwen as the bladesinger boldly danced into the swarm of insects summoned by Midge. Fur or not, Ch’dau mused, impressed by the Syl’s courageousness, Rrowl’s blood flows in that one’s veins!

Beyond the stinging swarm and Aranwen’s flashing blade, Gib continued to call out direction; “On second thought, Cedric, please see to Aranwen! Atharis, assist Kith!”

Growling, Ch’dau pulled one blade as he stalked across the floor, leaving his other hand free to haul another table into play. Before he could grab hold of the table, though, an unnaturally swift figure darts through the swarm and succeeds at making the interior of the inn. The cackling laughter that it emits stirs a phantom ache in the big cat’s joints and the tattered remnants of the sky-blue robes it wears ties a knot in his gut. Abandoning thoughts of the second table, Ch’dau pulled his second blade, instead, and roared as he leapt to aid Aranwen, who had already moved to intercept the giggling monstrosity.

((OOC: If there is another zombie closer to Ch’dau than the chitterer, at this point, he’ll take time to engage that one, of course… especially if Aranwen seems to be holding her own… might even be a good time to bring some of Ch’dau and Kith’s “synergistic” fighting tactics into play if the rogue is up to it – the cat seeking to take the zombies legs out from under them while Kith runs up his back and catapults herself into the air for some good old DfA action?... Either way… ))

“By the blood!” Gib’s oath booms over the battle. “Back to the stairs! Retreat to the stairs!..”

“Kazari do not retreat,” Ch’dau snarled even though his steps had already brought him closer to the staircase.

“…Midge and Atharis, to the very back,” Gib’s orders continued, “Cedric and Kith, defend their position! Aranwen and Ch’dau, take the front and I shall support you two from behind!”

A savage, sharptoothed ‘smile’ spread across the kazari’s face, at this, and he clanged his sickle-bladed falcata together as he barked out a quick succession of barking roars to challenge their attackers as he placed himself between the walking dead and his friends.

 ((OOC2: This assumes that the rest do, in fact, fall back to the stairway… Ch’dau will play big, fuzzy wall and keep himself in the way of anything that tries to gain the steps. He’ll do his best to fight defensively but… you know… kazari and all that! ))