Skara Braens

Part 28

Part 27 Vote Tally

Option A: 0
Option B: 2
Option C: 0

Onward!

You trust Mordina, and she did save your life.  You turn and follow her, wondering if today is the day you get to repay her for her courage.

"Where are you?" you hear the singing voice as you run.

There are two others who have run with Mordina.  You recognise them, surprisingly considering their faces are covered with bandannas, but do not know their names.  Everything around you appears to be in chaos, and yet it is eerily silent. There are no battle cries.  The enemy does not rush you in a deafening roar.  Your fellows do not bellow in return.  There is no clash of weapons, no screams or cries.

The enemy comes at you in a shuffling lope, jerking like an amateur puppeteer is twitching their strings.  Their jaws are open, but no sound escapes them.  Not even the hiss of breath.  The only sound you can hear from your fellows is the panting of exhaustion and the occasional grunt as they engage with the undead, taking their heads wherever possible.

You strike twice yourself, your long spear providing you an easy way to remain free of undead blood and guts as you swipe at their necks with the long blade attached to the spear's end.

The tactic is simple; run, strike, run.  In this way, your group of four are able to hit the fringes of a the horde, and slow their progress.  But the sheer number of this army of undead is overwhelming, and despite your best efforts and those of the other groups of defenders, you find yourself surrounded.

"Shit, shit, shit," Mordina says, as she spins, seeking a way out of the circle of undead that has formed around you.

"There you are!"

You turn and watch as the rotting bodies of undead shuffle to the side, creating a path for a dishevelled man with a twisted face move forward through them.  He wears rags that must have once been red and plush, but were now threadbare and almost pink.  A tall walking stick, stretching head and shoulders above his own height, moves awkwardly as he attempts to use it to help his limping walk.

"Found you!" the man smiles, revealing rotted tombstones of teeth.

"Found who?" you ask.

The man frowns slightly. 

"No, seriously," you say.  "Who am I?"

Beside you, Mordina snorts in wry amusement.

"You," the man hisses at her.  "We are not pleased with you."

Mordina raises her dark eyebrow at him and readies her weapon in response.  "You have brought a lot of your pets just to collect one person," she notes.

"Ah, but not just anyone, no," the man croons.  "They're the one Master wants.  And what Master wants, Master gets."

"Not this time," Mordina replies.

The man laughs, a strange choking sound that sounded as if his lungs were melting.  "No, woman of the sea.  This time, Master wins."

"The hell he does!" someone shouted from behind the crowd.  You hear a hissing sound and light and heat explode into the air.  You duck and turn, seeing three figures spraying fire into the crowd of undead.

"No!" the man in rags shrieks.  "No!  You are ruining everything!  You are making Master mad!  Don't make him mad!"

By the time you straighten, Mordina has jumped into the fight, her spear flashing with such speed you can barely see it.  All you can see is its effect, as heads go flying.

A brutal roar from behind you reveals Artair, a long sword in his hands bursting through the crowd of undead, his eyes blazing over the line of his bandanna.

"Faigh do làmhan dhiubh, thu bastard!" he bellows.

You blink at him, then turn back to the man in rags.  The man leans heavily on his walking stick, staring balefully at you.

"You will pay for this treachery!" he shrieks.  "Master will see to it.  You will all bow!"  And then he was gone.  Just like that.  One moment he was there, and then he was not.  You blink and stare at the space where the man used to stand.

The masses of undead do not disappear, but they do turn around and start to shuffle away.  The men with flamethrowers continue to burn them, and those that could continue to take their heads.  But though they move slowly, the majority of the undead walks from the hamlet in a silent mass.  You stare out after them, feeling more than unsettled.

Mordina, however, is less concerned with the undead than she is with the men with flamethrowers.

"Who the Hell are you?" she demands of them.

You turn away from the spectacle of shuffling dead people to face the men with flamethrowers.  You notice immediately that they are wearing the plain green uniforms of the military.  One of the men turns off the weapon and lifts his helmet from his head.

"Drest!" you exclaim, recognising him immediately.

He looks at you with his strange, pale grey eyes and smiles.  "Hello, Stranger."

Another man removes his helmet, revealing familiar red hair and sharp, sombre features.

"David," you greet, less warmth in your voice.

The man regards you, his face impassive, and nods, just once.

"You know these men?" Mordina demands.

"Well, do you remember when you first met me and I mentioned having my mind read by a psionic?  Mordina, this is Drest.  He's the psionic that examined me."

"Hello," Drest says, stepping forward and extending his hand.  Mordina declines to take it and Drest lowers it with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat.

"He's a friend, Mordina," you say, the slightest hint of disapproval creeping into your tone.

"A friend you abandoned," David says.  You turn to him and scowl, but can find no retort.

"Easy, David," Drest says.  "Courage is not easy.  You were not always so."

"I've never abandoned my fellows to a fight," David snaps.

"Fellows? I was a prisoner," you retort.

David turns to you, his face once again falling into impassivity.  "Bastard," he growls at you, before turning off his flamethrower and marching away from you.  The other man with a flamethrower looks between Drest and David.

"Go on," Drest says, and the man turns and walks after the angry redhead.

"Sorry," Drest says to you.  "David is angry at everything these days."

"It's not his fault," you say.  "He's right.  I did abandon you.  I'm sorry."

Drest shrugs.  "We didn't give you much of a reason to say, it's true."

"Will someone please explain to me what is going on?"  Siona's voice rings out over the group and everyone turns to her.  She stands with her group of fighters one of whom is injured.  He leans on a woman, a hand pressed hard onto his side.  You can see the blood spill through his fingers.

What do you do?

Option a: Tell Siona everything.
Option b: Let Drest do the talking.
Option c: Redirect the conversation to what needs to be done now.

Voting ends 9 February, 2017 at midnight.  Good luck, Adventurers!