The Trials of Bandit "Hunting"

[Zelferan]

25th Ashan, 717

Zelferan didn't expect his job to be this hard. Seriously, when did trying to find bandits become hard? They always showed up at the worst times harassing you for your money and the moment you actually want to cross paths with one they had all suddenly dropped off the face of Idalos. Zelferan's patience was starting to run thin, that was for certain. After phase one he expected this to be considerably easy! How hard could joining a bunch of bandits be in comparison to throwing ones self at the feet of the Tower of Flesh? And yet here the lothar was, stumbling through a sea of sand on what could only be called a wild goose chase to find a faction of bandits he wasn't entirely certain actually existed. Perhaps he should turn back before he actually went as far as to lose the city? A bout of stubbornness hit the lothar, he refused to give up! He'd come this far, he'd come this damn far, he wasn't leaving until he found those stupid raiders and demanded that they let him join! He was Zelferan! Soon to be feared overlord of the deserts. Of course no one would know that for a couple arcs yet, but he was getting there. A slow rise to power at the start was always best. He didn't want to be noticed before the game had even begun. The raiders, like the tower, were vital to gaining a position of power. He needed as many buffers and protections as possible in case the city actually did catch wind of what he was trying to do. Or if one of the factions he was joining figured it out. If such a thing happened then he would need some powerful friends to be able to hide behind. The raiders weren't as powerful as the tower but they were still good allies to have. He'd talk around them, make promises, tell lies, whatever he needed to do in order to best get what he wanted out of the situation. Lie, cheat, and steal. His mantra had served him well in life so far, now was really the time to put it to the test.

His attention turned towards the horizon where he could see a pair of specs in the distance. His smirk widened as he approached. "Greetings friends!" He called out. The pair turned to him quickly. Definitely bandits.

"Friends? Ha, and who would the likes of you be?" The first asked. Zelferan smiled holding up his hands in mock innocents.

"I'm just a random man looking to share his wealth. Not material wealth, something greater," he said with a widening of his grin. He tried his best to keep the snake like element out of it. He tried his best to keep it from becoming a sneer. But damn, was it hard when you knew you had them interested.

Despite that, they had to act like bandits. And bandits usually tended to be on the side of stupid. "Oh? No material wealth but something greater? Are you offering to hand over your life to us? How cute," the second bandit laughed to their companion. The two continued like this, trying to play the game with Zelferan and see what he was made of. The lothar was not impressed. He knew he wasn't as strong as them, not as practiced as many in the arts of getting what he wanted, but he was no idiot. He knew how to play his cards on a most basic level and situations like this could only help him to improve. These two idiots would help him learn how to better play someone right into his hands.

"Now, now gentlemen," he said completely ignoring the fact one of them could be a woman. Or both. It was hard to tell with bandits. "I mean that in a sense but I don't believe it's quite the way you would intend it to be. I come offering instead my service to you and your great leader. I've been searching for you all trail, it's been quite the task! That however is well besides the point. Please, allow me to speak to your leader. I would like to offer my services to him. Please?" The lothar said. Though his tone was a little more demanding then might of been appropriate, he believed he was doing a good job as the situation stood.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Eddrick was in his private cave/niche, within the Rhakrii cave network, looking over some schedule charts his contact in Nashaki had provided him. Someone hit the mini-gong outside the bead curtain he used as a door to request a moment of his time. None of the schedules indicated on the chart he was perusing suggested any need to hurry to make any plans, so he folded them up and set them aside.

"Yeah? Come on in. What do you need?" he called out, expecting it to be something like a protest over one of the men sneaking an extra mug of ale, or cheating at dice,or something along that line. But it was the falconer, Perig'ah, with a message strip from the eastern camp.

Eddrick was a reasonably skilled falconer himself, but his was usually of a more tactical bend. Perig'ah had a way with all birds that made him a natural fit for "the aerie", a section of the upper cave system that served as the cote for a number of pigeons. He ran all the birds to every remote location at which the Rhakriis ever kept lookouts.

They had a program of misinformation messages that was run weekly in the case of an enemy taking over one of the outer stations and waiting to intercept tactical intelligence. At first Eddrick thought this might have been some sort of gag reply to the misleading directive that had been sent a trial or two earlier, the bored men at the station enjoying a prank.

It seemed that there had been some lothar that had approached a pair of scouts, demanding to see "their leader" and offering his services. There was no additional information to be had. Eddrick let a slight scowl crease his face. He could picture how the ensuing conversation probably went; neither his men nor the stranger offering any more details, both wondering why the other was not more forthcoming with such information, and getting more and more tense.

Message strips were not large enough to contain much, but his man at the site had gone so far as to put down that the man seemed to approach them like some broke merchant would. Eddrick chuckled at this image. He could see it in his mind's eye, the guy cranking out rhetoric, making grand promises with little to lend them any credibility. A real salesman, this one sounded like.

Shrugging off the lack of immediate alternate tasks to see to, Eddrick walked through the cavernous stronghold, calling, snapping fingers and whistling at various men to come along, as he grabbed a few additional layers of garb to serve as either insulation, cushioning or bedding, as the situation may call for, and mounted up.

If everything went as indicated, the half dozen men that would accompany him would ride on ahead. Their horses would be swifter than his Poko insect mount, allowing them to ride wide of the eastern camp and circle back as surprise support in case of a trap. Eddrick himself and two honor guards would approach directly.

The mounts were too valuable to break at a one-trial pace to reach the camp, so it would be mid-light on the second trial that they would arrive. This would serve a second purpose as a test of this lothar's patience. If the man was from the city, there was no telling what he might be able to offer as far as skills and/or intelligence.

But he may also have that typical city attitude of feeling that the nomads had an innate obligation to scrape and hasten to serve his convenience. This brazen approach of simply walking right up to known bandits and demanding to speak with their warchief seemed to fit that type. Well, they would find out some time the next trial.

[Zelferan]

When the lothar received word that he would be waiting a time he had no complains with that. He wasn't happy, that much was certain, but he wasn't impatient. The world didn't revolve around him after all. Yet. Either way this was the lothar's primary mission for a couple of trials which meant he had nothing else he needed to do. Plenty he wanted, nothing he needed. Just like life. He wanted the world on a silver platter, but he didn't need it. That meant he could wait, he would wait as long as he needed to and savor whatever came out of it, be the flavor something bitter or sweet. There was always another chance, something else to try should he mess up. And try he would. Whatever he earned he earned and he would try harder next time.The lothar could wait. He could wait as long as he needed to, which were of course his exact words when he was told he would be waiting. He could handle waiting wherever they wanted him to for as long as they wanted him to. He followed orders as they were given to him, waiting for the bandits to tell him what to do.

It was impossible to tell if he was just playing dumb and tactless or if he actually was dumb and tactless. It was impossible to tell with someone like Zelferan. Confident, acting like they were in control. One thing was for sure though, he was an ass. An unpleasant ass that didn't really talk to anyone that tried to talk to him. All things considered perhaps he was just an idiot, but then again, there was a dark glitter in his eyes. A cold and calculating glint that made it hard to be completely certain. With people like him you could never be completely certain. Zelferan was well aware of the fact he seemed like an idiot at the moment to anyone with half a brain. If there was anything past that understanding, well, that was up for debate. Did he actually care? Was he playing them? That decision was left up to those around him, those very irritated bandits trying to figure out what was up with this man before their boss did show up. Hell, did he even know what he was doing right now? Again, up for debate. The intelligence of the lothar vs. what he was actually doing didn't seem to match up one way or another. There was some kind of awkward gap that implied what he was doing wasn't exactly all he was capable of, or perhaps he'd somehow managed to make himself come off as more capable in regards to bartering and getting people to go along with his ideas.

The lothar wandered his thoughts trying to occupy himself as the breaks passed at the pace of a one legged old man. He smirked to himself quietly at the though, watching a one legged old man without any kind of crutch would be funny. The old bastard was likely to deserve it too. Everyone deserved to suffer, even him. Everyone was a back stabber in one way or another, especially him. But the world worked in a funny way, only the weak ever suffered. That's exactly why Zelferan needed to be stronger. That's why he needed to get power. That was exactly why he needed to join these bandits. If he had to play useful idiot, so be it. If he had to beg, so be it. If he had to try and act smarter than he really was, so be it. He would do whatever he had to in order to get as many positions of power and alliances as possible. He decreed it! So be it.

[Eddrick Brodon]

Mounted atop his poko, the giant insect skittered smoothly across the sandy surface; more smoothly than any horse could. Eddrick would often stand up on the carapace covering and look through his spyglass for any oddities worth diverting from this errand.

It was not necessarily often that the Rhakriis got a request to join, but the war chief mostly like to make the offers of his own accord. He'd prefer someone that did not think themselves a would-be bandit and come strutting in to act like his band must be looking for this very person. That was someone that was all too likely to blab proudly and create difficulties.

The one upside was that it was highly unlikely that he was a plant, sent by one of the towers to infiltrate the band. Such a brazen façade was the last thing an agent of the towers was going to adopt. And if the fellow was too much of a noisy fool, they could always leave his corpse for the scorpions.

Something caught his eye and he swung back with his spyglass to focus on a mar in the surface of a nearby dune he was passing. 'Burn the scorpions...' he muttered to himself, '...we may be leaving him for the corpses themselves!'

An all-too-familiar sight brought a grim sigh to his lips. Headed directly toward the west camp, where this stranger was supposedly waiting, were a number of the risen dead from his Bone Yard escapade. And judging by the sandfill of the tracks, and the general lack of any heavy winds, they were a good five or six breaks ahead of him.

For a moment he started doing the math in his head, trying to calculate the distance gain he would achieve, with his mount's speed, against the shambling pace of the risen; mutliplied by the number of breaks he would take to arrive there; subtracted from the estimated sum of the distance the risen would travel, times the speed they possessed.

He shook his head. It was definitely worth taking a moment to see what he could glean from the tracks. Bony undead would be much slower, having far less traction in sand than full-footed corpses. His mood sank as he got close enough to see the nature of the tracks. "Rits!" he cursed, it being short for 'Raskits', which was short for Raskithecals. There was no mistaking the tracks of the snake-bodied troops of the northern invaders.

They were pretty fast over the sand too, if they were already in pursuit. These did not look to be in any particular hurry, as far as Eddrick could tell. It was impossible to tell if they carried weapons; being undead they probably tossed them aside, instinctively opting for bare-hand and tooth attacks. But he could see the divots in the otherwise smooth tracks indicating that they still had their armor on.

Whoever this new guy was, he was about to get his baptism of fire. At least the pair of established Rhakriis at the camp would have a spare mace. Bows would be useless, and a blade would only be effective in specific situations. Eddrick triggered his poko to greater haste. This was going to be close.

[Zelferan]

Zelferan wasn't expecting that. "Rask what?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

"Raskithecals you daft Lotharro!" He was quickly snapped at and silenced as the growing madness began to ensue. Baptized in fire was putting it lightly. "Corpses too, this is gonna be a mess," the bandit growled in a low tone. The group was already under attack, and Zelferan was quickly having a mace shoved into his grip. "You wanna join us? You wanna live? Then fight you muscle brained fool!" The bandit quickly barked out the order. Zelferan sighed. So this was how things were going to be, was it now? He'd fought with his hands before, but never a mace. He hefted the weight in his hands, trying to judge how it would swing. He found it heavy and slow compared to his fists, but situation standing it was bound to do more damage. He couldn't stop the frown that was slowly etching itself across his features. He wasn't a fighter, he was the one that let everyone else die and then scooped up the treasures on his way out. But he supposed such a tactic wouldn't work here. If he actually wanted to join these bandits, actually wanted their help that was, he'd need to keep his head in the game and actually try to help out.

"This isn't what I signed up for," he muttered to himself in an icy voice as he shook his head. Of course he kept his tone low as to not allow the realization of his internal rebellion to fall on any in his near by area. He was at least smart enough not to let his inner thoughts seep into the ears and opinions of those around him. If he was that stupid he would have been killed years ago. "But, so be it," he said. His voice was a little bit louder now with the second phrase. The all too common sentence felt like fire in his mouth. It burned with iron and greed and hatred. Best to cultivate such a fire if he was getting into a fire fight. "What did you say these things were again. Rask whatever? Corpses?" This was important information to the Lothar, vital even, so he knew better how to deal them. Something living could be reasoned with, but something dead would be utterly unreasonable, or so he assumed. Dead usually meant they were also brain dead, meaning they tended not to partake of any delightfully intellectual banter. Apparently, the bandits around him were also brain dead, assuming off the response he was greeted with.

"Just shut up and fight," the bandit snarled in response. What was everyone freaking out about anyways? Oh, right, he was the only one that would reincarnate if he got killed right here. There was no real reason to worry as long as someone found his newly formed baby self nestled among the remains of his corpse. That was as long as nothing completely destroyed the corpse beyond its ability to reconstitute itself. That was a Lothar thing, just a Lothar thing, not an everyone thing. Which explained why corpses were walking. You'd never find a walking Lothar corpse. Or would you? Zelferan would have to look into the idea later. Maybe if he ever figured out how to do it he'd test the power on his brother. Or maybe he'd just make him a slave. That would be nice.

"Shut up and kill," the Lothar chirped in return. A smile crossed his face, his lips pulled back to show a mouth full of glittering fangs. "You got it," he said trying to get used to the feel of the mace in his hands. Of course being as he was a Lothar his default was to punch things. But he wasn't sure what this would do to him. Would he become a walking corpse to if they got a scratch or a bite in on him? He'd have to watch and see what happened to anyone that got caught in their grip. As the corpses approached Zelferan allowed the bandits to charge in and take the first attack. Maybe it was a good thing he'd shown up since it meant their boss would be there sooner. This boss of theirs had to be a pretty strong man, so Zelferan would try to keep himself alive until this boss man showed up. Perhaps he'd actually be reasonable and have the ability to form a complex sentence. That would be nice after everything Zelferan had done trying to find him. It really had been a pain!

The creature that approached him didn't seem like it would be very strong, but as one soon found out in the middle of a fight, looks can kill! The creature lunged at him, showing farm more strength and speed than he would have expected out of such a creature. The mace made contact with its face, but it did little if any damage considering the Lothar was attempting to stab at the beast like he was using some form of a fencing sword. "On guard!" The Lothar cried out. "Wait, no, that's something else," he murmured to himself. The corpse took another shambling lunge at the man but this time he stepped out of the way and actually swung the mace properly. The attack connected with the face, sending the creature backward slightly. The impact left a nasty looking dent, further displaying the decay the creature was currently enduring. "Oh dear, that does not look good. Maybe you should go sit down," the Lothar offered with a snicker only for the creature to once again, shockingly enough, lunge at him. "Easy buddy! No need to get nasty, I'm just trying to make friendly conversation!" That conversation was easily ended when one of the corpses friends decided to join in. "Alright, I get it, you don't want to talk," the Lothar said with a sigh.

"No one ever wants to talk," he muttered with a bitter pout as he put all his strength into his next swing of his mace. This once connected with the head of his first enemy, and with a sickening crack finally caused the creature to fall on the sand.

((OOC: I sincerely and whole heartedly apologize for the delay of this reply. Life got in the way and I was unable to get to it properly until now I hope you are still willing to continue this thread with me and see it through to its outcome. I just hope that the quality of my reply cam at least somewhat make up for grievous delay.))

[Eddrick Brodon]

By the time Eddrick crested the dune nearest the eastern camp, it was in the process of being overrun. Not that the men, the living men, were now dead bodies trampled underfoot, or under tail rather, by the encroaching Bone Yard denizens. In fact, their retreat formation was preventing them from being flanked by the superior undead numbers. But the rocky breaks making up the crude camp's outlines were just about to open up to the wide, featureless, flat hardpan dirt of an ancient lake, long since gone dry. Then there would be no preventing the instinctive flanking of the outnumbered men, by the mob of risen attackers.

There would be nothing for his men to do then but run, and Eddrick had seen all too well the futility of trying to outpace an untiring mob across the desert. One such man's fate he'd had to suffer the spectacle of had cut his own throat with the last of his energy before skeletal hands and teeth caught up to him and shredded his still-warm flesh.

But it was the fact that these horrors were still enclosed in flesh that made it all the more difficult. Actual skeletons were not that difficult to deal with. They were light, they broke relatively easy, their armor tended to slide off them as they chased after you, and they had a bounty of handholds for clever leverage techniques. No, it was the dry, but still leathery-fleshed, half-mummified ones, still securely encased in their Raskithecal armor, that were the toughest lot.

Eddrick groaned at the lack or foresight that prevented him from bringing spears and ropes, or a half-dozen grappling hooks. There were all sorts of pierce-and-twist, or hook-and wrap methods of binding a bunch of risen dead into a bundle. Then you usually had reasonably easy access to remove the heads. But it was not the time to dwell on proven tactics that you lacked the means to implement. The men were now being pushed into the open. But they saw their warchief approaching with two bodyguards abreast.

The horses of the bodyguards suddenly reared and shied from advancing any closer to the unnatural enemy, and the riders were forced to dismount. They quickly started waving and shouting loudly to draw the attackers' attention away from the beleaguered retreat. About half of them took the bait and drew off of their original targets to lurch towards the new arrivals. Eddrick turned his poko to the frightened horses, to be sure they did not bolt in supernatural fear. He had no doubt that the mens' mounts at the campsite had done so. His men would know that their warchief would never expect them to stand their ground for a mere campsite in the face of such a foe; and that sudden lack of mounts must have played a large part in their current predicament. He quickly led the horses to a safe distance and released them to turn back towards the conflict.

Pokos had an almost freakish calm about them. This had the downside of making them easily led away by an enemy, but for now it was essential to Eddrick's plans. He sighed and pulled out a couple of the additional items of silken garb he'd brought with him and resigned himself to their destruction. He pulled his dagger and grit his teeth as he gave himself a lengthy cut across his forehead. 'Another scar for another badge of leadership,' he muttered to himself.

As most head wounds were inclined to do, it bled fairly heavily, and the cloth was soon considerably blood stained. Even before he draped them on the spikey edges of his pokos carapace, and rode it by the undead raskies, they were already noticeably distracted by the smell of fresh, warm blood. The poko ignored their grasping hands as they grappled to get hold of the bloody clothing items; it's carapace far too tough and thick to be in any danger.

Eddrick new that he was still the original violator of the Bone Yard's curse, and his blood would be of particular draw to these ghouls, once detected. One of them even uttered a sudden and disturbingly singular grunt that turned the heads of all its fellows, even the ones that had broken off to attack Eddrick's bodyguards. It was as if it had announced the presence of this original transgressor, and revealed their new priority.

Eddrick could not have been more pleased. A special motivation to follow him was precisely what he needed. He turned the poko to speed it up to just a moderate pace, enough to keep a gap between his pursuers, but not so much as to give them cause to give up. He shouted back to his men, "You know where I'm going, boys. Get the bonfire ready."

There was a sloped plateau a few miles away. It had an easy rise on one side and a sheer drop on the other. The idea was to prepare a fiery landing for the risen raskithecal as Eddrick engineered their fall from the top. The rocks at the bottom would shatter bones enough to immobilize them, as well as being pre-soaked with oil for easy ignition.

[Zelferan]

Zelferan has exactly no clue as to what was going on as the bandits around him shouted orders and tried to keep themselves together. He didn't know where the leader was or any of his allies was, and no one seemed to care about his wandering around the battle completely clueless. That didn't really bother Zelferan though, how could it? It was exactly how all the rest of his life had been up until that point. Best to embrace the feeling and try one's hardest not to die. The man continued to try his best to beat back whatever undead ended up following him around, though most of that usually ended in him running away and trying to convince the monster to think of someone else as a better snack. Dipping through the bandits he tried to convince the risen beasts that they were far tastier and easier to catch. Of course, he didn't voice this prompting, seeing as it might have gotten him either killed or with no way of joining the bandits. That would just be stupid, to say such rude and offensive things!

Instead, he tried to look like he was fighting valiantly, thrusting with the mace as though it was a sword. He just came off as completely inept with a weapon in his hands. Of course, his skills didn't lie with weaponry and when he finally met the leader he would make that completely obvious. That, however, meant he was getting a couple of odd looks now. He could practically hear the thoughts buzzing through their minds. This man wants to be a bandit they would think to themselves with a scoff and huff. Such an assumption was completely inaccurate to the true intent of Zelferan's little excursion into unfamiliar territory such as battle. His powers lied with that of sway, not swords.

Surely once they actually knew what he could offer, what he could do, they would think in invaluable! Without equal or match, he would become a trusted part of this little group and then he would suck them dry for every sweet ounce of power and money he could. That came at a later date though, a much later date. The objective for the situation standing was little more than to survive until the leader got here. If they had a leader. If they still had a leader. There was no saying how strong or weak this man was. For all Zelferan knew he was already dead and had left the rest of them to rot. In which case it would be smart to make a hasty retreat before there were too many of the dead for the bandits to shield him from. And he was quite literally using some as shields when he ducked behind them. Merchants.

This would continue on for the foreseeable future until it became apparent he should be doing something else, or the leader showed up. Well, no, even then Zelferan wasn't a fighter so maybe he'd still be doing the same thing when the leader showed up. If the leader was there already or 1000 miles away Zelferan sure as hell wouldn't know. He watched the creatures continued to bear down on those around him. Humming slightly he thought on what in that day had brought him to such a position.

[Eddrick Brodon]

It did not take long for all the undead to have their collective focus turned to Eddrick, atop his big insect mount. He trotted, if such a term could describe the gait of a massive beetle, toward the rock formation his men would also be heading for now, bringing any along who happened to be among them.

Eddrick, however was heading for the opposite side where the ground sloped easily up to the top. This was not for his sake, so much as to ensure that the undead were not dissuaded from their pursuit. Though he had not brought better weaponry for an encounter with risen dead, he always had rope.

The only other things he needed were the two trees atop the rocky plateau he now ascended, and a treat for his poko. He could see by the column of smoke coming from the cliff side that his men had a nice fire going below.

The two trees were at the edge of the cliff. Eddrick tied one end to the most distant one, at about shoulder level and laid the slack in a large arc back toward the side where his pursuers would arrive. Then he ran the rope back around the far side of the next tree and tied the end to a rear flange on his poko's carapace. The second tree would serve as a capstan for the rope to slide around when the poko surged forward to get his treat.

Eddrick gave the command to "squat" to his poko, and the beast responded, its legs tucking beneath its shell, turning its image into something not much different from a large boulder, half buried in the dirt. This was a common command, given that it was done for most anyone to climb aboard, or to load cargo. Eddrick walked forward about thirty yards and whistled for his mount to mark the spot where he set the treat, a fatty slab of skoda meat.

He gave the beast a "stay" command before walking over to look down over the edge and wave to his men, "Stand by, boys, you'll have company dropping in in a few."

He watched the undead advance, heedless of the arc of rope they stepped over, and the nature of its positioning. Eddrick himself stood dead-center in its area of effect, his back to the inset vertical cut that took up much of the center of the edge, as if some gargantuan woodsman had chopped into the top of the cliff with an axe the size of a large ship.

When the rope was drawn taut, much of its center length would lie over open air; open air over which these undead would be pulled, to drop hundreds of feet onto unforgiving fire and rocks. Any that were not sufficiently smashed could then be easily dispatched by his men.

When the time was right, Eddrick gave an odd shrill "bark" to his poko, who surged eagerly at the signal, to snap up the yummy skoda meat it knew was ahead. Eddrick dove to his side as the rope snapped up and pulled tight against the trees, catching the undead at mid-torso level and yanking them to the edge where they dropped exactly as planned.

Well, not exactly. As usual, there was one that got caught on the rope and found its "footing" again. As well, the initial half dozen falling corpses, served as somewhat of a cushion for those that came after. Still, the living raiders now faced less than half their number of tough, undead serpent-men; many with mangled arms or disrupted senses.

Eddrick faced his one opponent confidently. Assuming his men below would do likewise.

[Zelferan]

Zelferan... wasn't even going to pretend he knew what was going on. He had never been useful in a tactical fight, the same still rang true now. He understood nothing of the complex plan which had been crafted by Eddrick. In his bid to keep his own life he had thrown observation to the wind and had simply followed whatever path seemed the most likely to get him out of danger. Sometimes this involved following the other men and sometimes this was just standing around and trying to figure out what was even going on at this point. He watched in pure and total confusion as the tide of the battle seemed to shift, the undead following a new quarry and meandering away from the group of men of which Zelferan found himself a part of. He could hear orders being shouted and some of the men in the group began to depart, following whatever orders had been given.

While the group of men swept Zelferan up with them he quietly made some observations to himself. The first was that he had to respect whoever the leader of these men was. In a matter of moments something of a plan was being cobbled together as quickly and effectively as possible. The second observation the lothar made was the fact he really hated fighting the undead. In situations that called for him to test his combative skills he could usually revel in the fact he'd be causing death. If he was lucky there would be screaming, crying, and various degrees of begging. The perks that caused the temptation to originally want to join the tower. The undead however, no matter how much someone wailed on them, never seemed to release any noises of pain. They were relentless, unshakable, and completely boring to play with! Perhaps if he'd at least been rewarded with blood or some vague semblance of agony he might have been tempted to try a little bit harder in the fight. But what was the actual point? The mace was still clutched tightly in his hands. He supposed maybe, just maybe, he could have found something enjoyable in getting to destroy them, smashing them into as many tiny bits as possible. Perhaps he'd try that when this plan finally started to come to its climax.

Before he could really understand what was going on he found himself waiting at the ending of some kind of trap, waiting for the undead that would apparently come falling on fire, rock, and weaponry. He’s been swept up in the wave of men who followed their leader, which was okay with him all things considered. He watched quietly, so far not really impressed with the display. What was the point of killing something if you couldn't make it enjoyable? There needed to be some element of showiness, some kind of grand finally that made the battle worth it!

Ask and ye shall receive apparently.

As the thoughts began to cross his mind undead were thrown into midair, the creatures getting flung off the edge and towards the waiting embrace of their second death. Flying was the best word Zelferan could use to describe the bodies thrown off. Vaulted into the air they plummeted downwards to an ultimate true demise. The sound of the very first one hitting the ground was enough to get Zelferan completely on board again. A giant smile began to grow on his face as smack after smack signified another undead falling to its doom. The first was the most satisfying as it landed with a sudden crack, all the bones in its body snapping before it had a chance to respond to its free fall. Its body had landed somewhat before Zelferan, directly in his line of sight. Twisted and mangled it had landed on its back, blank eyes gazed up at the lothar, creamy and empty. Its body was leathery and seemed to ooze a dark brown black substance, it slowly leaked from the mangled places of the corpse but only in certain areas. In some places none of the substance came out, or perhaps it was just so thick in some areas it couldn't get out. "That's what I call a show," the lothar muttered to himself as more bodies from the free fall started to smash against the ground. After about half of them however, the noises started to become less pronounced.

The corpses eventually started to cushion each other's fall. If you tilted your head in the right direction, it was another case of the weak providing support for the strong. Just like they were always meant to do. A satisfied smile came to the face of the lothar. These corpses that continued to move, they'd become mangled and disfigured from the fall. Some of them were barely able to move. They were the weak. Zelferan was the strong.

As the bandits fell upon the undead mass Zelferan joined them, actually putting effort into the idea of combat. Even if they were already dead, even if they didn't make any noise, there was something satisfying in being the one to cave the monstrosity’s skull in. He fell upon the first one he saw. A pathetic creature that writhed on the ground, the lower half of its body becoming motionless after the fall. No matter how much it wiggled its waist the tail which it was attached to remained completely motionless. It groaned slightly as Zelferan bore down. He pulled back his arm and with all his strength curved down with his mace. The weapon smashed against the face of the creature causing its nose and mouth to partially cave it. It looked up at him with creamy white eyes, barely holding any amount of their prior color. Again he pulled back his arm, again the mace connect with the face of the monster, and this time it stopped moving. Zelferan pulled his mace out with a satisfying pop, watching as the same brown black sludge started to seep out of the wounds. He smiled, flicking the goop off of his mace.

The rest of this battle was promising to be fun.

[Eddrick Brodon]

It was a small matter for Eddrick to call quickly to his Poko. As the giant insect approached, the rope slackened drastically. The bandit rushed the risen corpse with a grand kick to its chest which would hopefully sending it flying off the edge to join its smashed and mangled brothers below.

Unfortunately, the tail that the raskithecal possessed, even corpses, gave it unexpected balance and stability. Eddrick's kick did send it back a "step" or two, but it surged quickly back to grab Eddrick's foot and give an alarmingly potent tug. Desiring neither a fall nor a chewed foot, the bandit scrambled to scissor his legs and kick himself loose from the hold.

It was not for a half tick that the bandit realized that the hold was also the only thing keeping him from sliding over the edge. Giving voice to a loud and sincere profanity as he hit open air, the bandit was profoundly grateful to see that the slack his poko had given to the rope allowed it to hang just a few feet conveniently under his accelerating body.

He did not build up so much falling speed that he strained anything as he grasped the rope for dear life. A cascade of dirt and rocks was the only warning of the falling raskithecal that plunged after him in its oblivious hunger. The end of its tail laid an ugly whip-like weal across his face and arm, bringing a hissed curse of pain from the human as he climbed back up to the top of the plateau.

By the time he reached the bottom, and circled back around to the other side, the battle there was over. The bodies were being burned, and a few of the men were digging a communal grave for the ashes and remains to be tossed in. Eddrick did not know what burial customs the "Raskies" clung to, but he figured that these were probably beyond the scope of normal consideration now anyway.

The bandit chief looked around, recognizing all but one face among the living. he took a swig from his water skin and strode over to him, hand extended, "So, you must be the Lothar that wanted to speak with me. I trust you enjoyed the little baptism of fire that Vri and I arranged for you. He's the Immortal that put the curse on the graveyard I violated that brought these folks outta the ground to lodge this complaint. I hope you're not looking for more privacy than this. I keep no secrets from my men. I am Eddrick Brodon, War Chief of the Rhakrii Raiders. What can I do for you?"