What does the death of Atharis do to effect our party's visit to Crandel? Weren't we originally headed this way so he could meet with a council of his order? Do we need to send someone in his stead to, at least, let the Secret Strom know that their mage is meat and won't be able to make it? Is it even important to the plot? What can I kill next?

The feral grin spread all the wider over Ch’dau’s savage features as, leaping into the battle, he saw Midge’s brave efforts pay off and one of the gigglers (and the zombies flanking it) burst into flame. The diminutive mana-slinger, stricken by a swipe of the flaming giggler’s claw and preparing his sling-staff, had already begun his retreat but…

“Back from the fray, my brave little friend,” the Kazari snarled as he placed himself between the Cidal and the immolated chitterer, “You have done more than enough from this range!”

…Ch’dau feels more than sees the little mage’s withdrawal as he lays into the giggler with a vengeance and, then, advances on the next nearest threat, cutting down the fire enshrouded zombies before easily finding fresher fare.

Despite the clerics’ effective calls to their respective gods, foes are not difficult to find in the press of stinking flesh. Nevertheless, this is where the big kazari does his best work and, paired with the deft, dancing style of the bladesinger, Aranwen, plus adding the redoubled efforts of what remained of Crandel’s watch, the tide of the battle slowly but surely changed. One more of Crandel’s guardsmen fell in the course of the fight but, with the party’s intervention, more than a fair share of the zombies and their laughing leaders were shuffled off to their respective hells, too. The most truly unfortunate casualty, though, came with the loss of the Mage of the Secret Storm.

In the thick of it, at the time, neither Ch’dau nor Aranwen could do a thing when, simultaneously, Gib’s woeful warning – “ATHARIS!!!” – and Kithran’s vengeful shout went up. Apparently, more than two gigglers had been present and, as fate chose to see it, the monkey-faced mage had been chosen to meet his ancestors. For as much as he can, the man-cat turns his eyes to where the cries draw their attention. He saw the mage gutted… saw Kithran seek vengeance and be frozen (and thankfully not killed) for her response… saw Cedric bravely start to come to the aid of his dear friend… and felt it as Gib freed himself from the melee to lend aid of his own. Once the battle-priest of Therassor moved to engage the heretofore unseen laugher, the Kazari let his rage speak for itself and, alongside the nimble Sylvari and the reinvigorated town watch, laid waste to what remained of the pressing horde in due time. For several battle-lust filled seconds, thereafter, after the last zombie fell, the Kazari paced and chuffed and growled, oblivious of the injuries he had sustained and eagerly seeking out another enemy…

“Gods be praised,” a vaguely familiar voice finally broke through the blood singing in Ch’dau’s ears, “Ye saved our lives, ye did!”

…Still chuffing, and the angry growl still rumbling in his chest and throat, the Silver Cat found his eyes coming to rest on the gate guard who had, earlier in the night, granted the party passage into the town. Ch’dau flicked the blood and gore from his blades and, still chuffing heavily, forced himself to sheath the things when no obvious threats presented themselves…

“One 'o those laughers cut me at tha gate,” the gate guard continued as the cat-man blinked down at him, “I couldn'a move, an' they all came in.  By tha time I could do summat, they were movin' in tha town.  We fought them, but they just kep comin'!  If na fer tha lot 'o ya, tha whole town'd be lost!”

… “Unrrrrngggnnnnh,” came the cat-man’s initial reply, his chest heaving and his battle-hungry eyes still darting about the death-strewn thoroughfare. He offered a very curt nod of acknowledgement, too, before his gaze darted purposefully toward where his fallen companion lay…

The gate guard’s own eyes panned the scene in confused wonder and, after an instant, lifted back to those of the big cat-man. “Cap'n Stran 's dead,” the little man observed, “So's Les an' Ben.  Mother protec' us, I don' think tha any o' tha officers are still alive!”

“That makes you an officer, now, I suppose, rrow’ka,” the Kazari rumbled, clapping the man on the shoulder with a bloody paw, “See to it that you do a better job than they did, yes?” His cat-like eyes flicked away from the man and regarded the spot dominated by the frozen form of Kithran and the lifeless form of Atharis for an instant. “Rouse whatever is left of your men and burn the bodies of all of the fallen,” Ch’dau ordered, giving a gentle shove to punctuate the statement, “but get the gates secured, first. I have my own dead and wounded to attend.”

Without another word to the gate-monkey, the Kazari strode to where Kithran’s frozen form stood vigil over Atharis’ fallen body. His blood-soaked paw brushed delicately over the half-Syl’s cheek, an unspoken request going out to Khr’a for her speedy recovery, before he knelt at the side of the fallen mage. “You were an honorable companion, Atharis the Great,” Ch’dau murmured, dipping his fingers into the blood that soaked the mage’s robes. He streaked the wizard’s blood under his eyes as war-paint might be applied, then; “Your death will not go unanswered. May Rrowl welcome you into his hunt.” Both hands went into the wizard’s blood, then, and streaked bloody paw prints across his chest as Ch’dau threw his head back and roared into the mist-choked night by way of honoring his fallen comrade.

((OOC: Assuming we're not going to leave a fallen party member in the street, Ch'dau will carry Atharis' body to wherever it is to be disposed of/interred after he waits for Kith to roust about and makes sure she's okay. If she needs a ride, as well, I think ol' fuzz-face can probably haul the both of them.  Kitty is out for blood, now.))

...I knew him not well, Moreno! 

  LOVED the battle-scene, though! Super intense! Hooray for most of us surviving it!

Post for ol' Fuzz-face coming soon.

Delays happen... posts are good... fire bad... tree pretty!

While on the Computer mandated down-period as they awaited the arrival of Blowz 2.0, Ammpe took a moment to assess his team. Very few of them, himself included, had escaped the room unscathed and the thought occurred to him (much like it must have occurred to Steam) that one or more of his underlings could be treasonous, commie mutoes… Could be all of them, he imagined, and that’s why the Computer chose to put me in charge… Maybe?... One hand rested on the hammer that hung from his belt while the other reached up to scratch thoughtfully at his chin… But to what end?

He didn’t have overly long to contemplate Friend Computer’s reasoning or wisdom, though, for, no sooner had the thoughts started to arrange themselves in his mental matrix than Blowz second clone appeared from behind a previously hidden door…  "Comrrrades!  Ees goot day for mission, da,” Blowz-R-Upp-2 greeted them, donning the fuzzy red hat that had been abandoned by his predecessor, “Enemies of de state haf no chance veeth us on de job!  Hy!"

Ammpe’s brow furrowed a bit… New vocoder in that model, it would seem, he thought, that’s not quite the voice I remember… Despite the curious “upgrade” to Blowz-2, Ammpe nodded a return greeting. “Da,” he returned, “a good day. Welcome, comrade. Speaking of on the job…” He motioned down the corridor. “…We should probably get back to it.”

With that, the team started, again, toward their destination and, for a few moments, all seemed to be going well. And then the lights went out. “Perfect,” Ammpe droned, coming to a halt and trying in vain to peer through the dark.

 "If we all get in a line behind the team leader,” Brighte’s voice came from the darkness, “and hold onto the clone in front of us we can at least stay together as we move blindly forward.  Always forward."

Unseen, Ammpe nodded again. “A good idea, comrade,” he said slowly, “but first, why don’t you give me a boost up so that I can check the power conduits? I am with Power Services, after all; it wouldn’t be treasonous for me to, at least, have a look and, maybe, get us some small bit of lighting back on line in order to light our way…”

I liked it, BV. Keep it up!

My condolences on your loss, as well, Ayrn. 

Here are my intended actions for ol' kitty-puss.

• Offense: Kill anything and everything that get's close to Midge, first and foremost. When/if Midge falls back to play artillery, again, Ch'dau will seek out the nearest giggler and do his very best to make mincemeat out of it.


• Defense: Don't let anything get close enough to even have to worry about defense, of course.  If someone is overwhelmed, though, and Ch'dau get's an eye on the situation, he'll certainly divert to assist.


• Retreat: Kazari do not retreat...

Khr’a, take this damnable haze, Ch’dau cursed to himself as he prowled from the Nicked Shill to its nearby barn, The more it persists, the less I find it reminding me of home. One of the many Hells these monkey-folk have seems more likely, now.

From the Kazari warrior’s perspective, the scene that awaited the party when they entered the barn wasn’t entirely unexpected, though it also wasn’t what he had hoped to find, either. On and around the bottom of the stairs were a trio of crumpled bodies; two are rotted, missing chunks of flesh, and have had their skulls beaten in, and the other was that of Mortimer Greenfield. Ch’dau’s shoulders might have slumped a bit at the sight…

I am sure you fought well, rrow’ka, he thought, moving cautiously toward the bodies, expecting to retrieve Mort’s corpse, I swear your falling will not go unanswered.

…Behind him, Nya finally laid eyes on the bodies strewn at the foot of the stairway and, at the realization that Mort is among them, let out a wailing sob, the sound of which was enough to have roused the fallen innkeep.

“Aye now,” Mort grumbled as he sat up, “what’s all this?”

The kazari let out a chuff of a chuckle and his tail flicked happily as Nya rushed past him and nearly crushed Mort in an embrace fiercer than he might have expected from one her size. “It pleases me that you still live, Mortimer Greenfield,” Ch’dau said as the former mercenary got to his feet with the assistance of (or, perhaps in spite of?) the serving wench’s help.

“Damned walkers came shamblin' up tha stairs,” Mort smirked. “I 'ad 'eight on 'em, bashed their damned 'eads in right proper, but one 'o tha bastards caught me bad knee an' I fell like a sack 'o taters.  Musta clipped me 'head on tha way down,” he added with a sheepish grin. “It looks like ye're all well, then?” Before anyone else could answer, Nya excitedly began to recount the attack on the Inn and lauded the party’s bravery in defending it.

When she had finished, Mort shook his head and turned his gaze to Ch’dau and his companions; “I cannae thank ye lot enough. So much fer me repayin’ me debt, eh?”

“That debt you have more than repaid with your honor, rrow’ka,” the big cat offered with a faint nod and dismissive wave of a furry hand.

Finally off the steps, Mort took a moment to give the party a critical once over, then chuckles; “I expect tha watch will nae object to tha lack o’ peace knots, now. Ye'll be seein' to the trouble, I'd wager?”

“We will,” Ch’dau nodded as Mort struggled to fall in with the rest of the party, his limp extremely pronounced.

Even as Ch’dau’s hand came to rest on the man’s shoulder in hopes of forestalling his joining the fight, Gib rebuked the staggering innkeep; “Nay, sir! You're in no condition to go rushing off to battle.”

“He is right, Kh’ur Mort,” Ch’dau concurred with the battle-priest’s assessment, “Your bravery endures, but your battle is done, here.”

“Perhaps you and the maid would see to disposing of these,” the priest of Therassor motioned with his sword at the twice dead corpses on the floor of the barn, “and the others we've left about your establishment. You would be serving your community and the Battle Lord well in doing so.”

Again, Ch’dau grunted his agreement with Gib. “There are quite a few of them,” he said, a rather savage grin on his feline features, “I recommend setting them to the torch… keep them from coming back a third time, yes?”

Mort grinned and nodded in resignation. “Right, then. Nya and I'll go back inside tha Shill an' 'unker down there. May Shinara watch over the lot 'o ye.”

“Keziri keep you,” the cat replied, offering Mort a salute by placing a closed fist over his heart.

“I'll not turn down the assistance,” Priest Moreno quipped, striding over to rejoin the party. “Shall we return to the business of heroism?”

“Until the last, my friend,” Ch’dau rumbled, stalking for the door.

*******************

The sounds of battle had been easy enough to follow through the sticking mist and, again, when the party reached the scene of the struggle, it was much as the kazari might have expected. A tight knot of what likely remained of Crandel’s watchmen were surrounded by a horde of zombies, numerous enough not to bother counting, and at least two of the giggling monstrosities. Amidst and at the fringes of the frey, there were as many dead uniformed bodies as there were still living to fight and woefully few bodies of the rotted sort.

Rrowl’s blood, he swore, stripping his blades free of their sheaths as an excited rumble built in his chest, we will change that!!!

Much to Ch’dau’s surprise, even as the Silver Cat’s battle-roar tore through the mists, so, too, did the startlingly quick form of the troupe’s Cidal mage…

“Bjartr Isaltri, eldrvari pömnuria fjandi,” the little conjurer shouted as he charged forward, his tiny fingers moving in ways Ch’dau’s mind failed to comprehend.

… “Bak’chu’s balls!” Ch’dau cursed aloud, invoking an ancestor’s name, as flames began to sprout from the Cid’s fingertips. “That little one is either very brave or completely mad!”…

“Battle Lord, I beseech thee,” the sound of Gib calling on his god came from beside him, then, “Send these wretched bodies hence!”

Snarling, the big kazari nodded, his fierce gaze eagerly scouring the battle. “The chittering ones first, Gib, yes?” Ch’dau guessed. Thus far the priest of Therassor had seemed to read this enemy better than the rest and Ch’dau was all but certain that would be Gib’s recommendation. “I will see to the safety of our mad little mage!” With that, and another roar welling in his throat, Ch’dau leaps into battle in Midge’s wake.

Standing in the corridor just beyond the doorway, Ammpe gives his head one last shake to clear the cobwebs and blinks as slowly as he speaks as he surveys the scene once the lasers stop firing. Not the greatest of starts as a Team Leader, he muses, more than half of us injured in some way and one of us off to be recycled. Were he the truly treasonous sort, he might have questioned Friend Computer’s wisdom in selecting him for the role to begin with but, as it was, he could only bow to the Computer’s reason and wisdom in this matter…

"Attention, Troubleshooter team MAO-17859 Dot R-2. Sensors indicate that your team has sustained a regrettable casualty. Mission success relies upon a full strength team; please stand by as a replacement clone is activated and dispatched to your location.

Have an enjoyable day in Alpha Complex."

…Ammpe sighs, again, and shoves a hand through his static-spiked hair as Brighte and Steam have words and Artie begins to sing following Brighte’s impromptu eulogy of the fallen Blowz. “Squabbling among ourselves is not in the mission parameters,” he drawls in Brighte’s direction before glancing at Artie, “and singing is…” He stops, spends a moment contemplating, sighs again, and dips his head, “…good for morale, I suppose.

Well done, Team. Despite our missteps, here, Friend Computer has seen fit to let us continue. Let’s see to our wounds while we await the arrival of Blowz-2.”

...what the boss said!

Don't be intimidated, we're all just people like you.  

And, hey, if you need some input or assistance, don't be afraid to reach out... Ch'dau might bite but I don't.

Sorry for the delay... ended up having to do some automobile diagnostics and repair last night as opposed to writing. 

Nya’s eyes fluttered as she considered the options presented to her by the kazari. On the one hand, she’d been safe in the cellar during the initial attack; on the other, though, if Ch’dau and his friends were pursuing these horrible creatures into the night, what was to stop them from tearing down the cellar door and carrying her off… or worse…???

“If ye don’ mind, Mr. Ch’dau,” the girl sputtered after a moment, “I’ll come with you an’ yer friends… far as Mort’s rooms, anaway.”

Ch’dau offered a grunt and a curt nod in answer. His gaze panned the kitchen, then, and found a decent sized knife – no true weapon, for sure, but it was enough that Nya would have a chance of defending herself with it if need be. “Take this,” he said, handing the blade over to her, handle first, “and stay close to me. We will see you to Mort’s.”

Gingerly, Nya’s fingers closed around the knife’s handle and she swallowed hard before silently bobbing her head in understanding. At that, the big kazari grunted, again, and strode for the kitchen door with the serving girl following close behind.

“Are they well,” Gib asked as Ch’dau came through the door into the common room.

“No they,” the cat answered, “just her…” Nya stepped out from behind the kazri, then. “…and, yes, my friend, she is fine.”

“Good,” the warrior priest returned, “Perhaps we can rely on them to tend to the corpses while we deliver more of the enemy to the Lands Beyond?”

“Perhaps,” Ch’dau nodded, “but she worries on the proprietor of this place and may be more inclined to do so if we get her to him. He keeps rooms above the barn nearby and, also, is a former mercenary of the Lockshir Regulars. He will certainly be of use in, at least, rousing the town to action and, perhaps, tending to these unholy things.”

((OOC: Going to cut it off there, for the time being… Ch’dau will follow along with the rest, of course, prepared to do whatever needs to be done to get the girl to Mort and rid the town of the gigglers and their goons.))

...for surely!

Have something ready by this evening, I hope.

Have a meeting in a little bit and some follow-up work to do, thereafter, but will get posts going ASAP following all of that.

Hope everyone had a great weekend.

...Ch'dau will follow orders given by Aranwen and Gib but will advocate for at least roysing Mort en route to the gigglers. The man was a Merc, after all, and, if nithnot else, he can aid in raising defenses while our group goes after the "main threat."

Well, it's not like I included a pronunciation guide, is it? Haven't gotten that far on developing the kazari language... I'm still figuring out culture and society on certain levels... I've only scratched the surface on language.

P.S. "Backpost" is a good way to consider that one. I figure, once the party takes to the streets, again, Ch'dau will follow the lead of Aranwen and Gib aside from suggesting they check on and/or employ Mort to bring additional support or whatever.

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.