Saorla Saorla stayed at Syl’s side, and then the green fog flooded over them. She inhaled the smoke with everybody else, and immediately recognized the presence of very dark magic. She quickly created a barrier around her brain, and tightened her blood vessels, increased her heart rate giving her the effect of adrenaline. This allowed any of the gas already in her to be pushed out by her body. Her colleagues she noticed did not have decades of healing experience and were completely wrapped into whatever this particular magic intended to do. It was then she noticed dozens of eyes staring at her through the fog. A quick scream escaped her lips, and she realized she needed help fast. Syl was right next to her, she placed hands on her back flank and projected her magic on her kidney, the other she placed on her back, and began pushing the magic out of her body as if it were a toxin, kidney’s magically enhanced to filter out. As soon as Syl’s eyes began to come into focus, she placed the same barrier on her, and moved on to the next closes person she could see, Meek. After only a few minutes of intense magic, she was on the ground panting exhausted from so much healing, the rest of her crew should be coming to their senses, the only person out of her reach currently, was Shango as he had advanced farther than she dared without someone guarding her.
Shango & Vila Shango was completely entombed in gold. He could still hear his parents shouting at him, but all he could do was sit on the throne and stare at nothing. He had given up all hope when he felt a freezing cold hand on his wrist. "Shango?" a girl's voice inquired. "Get up, man. We need you. It's just an illusion or something." Huh? Who was talking to him? And why was her hand so terribly cold, as if it was made of ice? "Seriously, Shango, get up already," the girl hissed. "The zombies are closing in!" Zombies? What zombies? King Nectanebu had banned magic that raised the dead, since they believed bodies should be preserved in muslin wrappings. It was extremely disrespectful to make a dead body stumble around and do your bidding. And anyway, couldn't this cold-skinned girl tell that Shango was entombed in gold? He couldn't help her even if he wanted to. "The Staff, you idiot! Use your Staff! It's right here, in your hand!" Shango felt the girl's cold hands cover his left hand, which was gripped around something that felt suspiciously like the Staff of Ka. But it couldn't be--hadn't he dropped it when the guards came and his own father tied him to his throne? Still, whatever he was holding was cool and solid, and it radiated strong emanations. The only thing Shango had ever held that felt that way was the Staff, and if he was holding the Staff then was it possible that he wasn't entombed and that there really were zombies attacking? Haltingly, Shango tightened his fingers around his Staff. The power in the Staff responded to him and he felt it surge through his body and purge all the hallucinogenic smoke out of his system. He gasped and opened his eyes and saw that he was surrounded by raggedy Merc zombies with luminous yellow eyes. "I just killed them," Shango commented blandly, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Well, you're gonna have to do it again," Vila grumbled in response. She was kneeling by Shango's side and her dark eyes were slit at the quickly approaching zombies. An ice-spear was fully formed in her right hand and in her left was a small crude knife carved out of black stone. Shango was shocked at first. He had never seen a blue-skinned girl. Was she some sort of Dark Elf that he hadn't heard of before? And she seemed to be in some sort of pain, judging by the way that every time she moved, even slightly, she winced. "Thank you for helping me," Shango told her with genuine feeling. He laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "You saved me from a horrible dream. I owe you one." When Shango touched Vila, her first reaction was to glare at him and she was about to tell him to remove it, but she stopped short. Shango's hand was warm, actually warm! Vila hadn't felt warmth in months and months. She could literally stand on a fire and never feel any heat, and yet Shango's touch warmed her frozen flesh. "Um...don't mention it," Vila said dumbly. "Let's kick some zombie behind," Shango said with a fierce smile. Then he stood and hurled a strong gale-wind at the nearest zombie, hoping that it would throw him overboard. Vila shook her head to regain her senses and swung her ice-spear at another zombie, aiming for his neck.
"first a mutiny, now the undead" Max sighed as he drew his crossbow, it wasn't as if he's never seen something like this before, he was young, but he got around. He faced the walking corpse of the mutineer he burned before, he extended the bayonet on his crossbow and thrust at it, spearing the still flaming thing in the neck and tearing the blade to the side to finish it. Max glared at the thing as it fell and muttered "flaming blighter" He turned away from the zombie to look over the main deck of the ship, it seems the two mages are fighting the majority of the undead and with the attention on the Max made for the ratlines nearby and started clambering up. with the fight below him he intended to climb across and head straight toward mumbles. progress was slow, however, as he needed to cling to the ropes very tightly due the the high winds.
Meek and Saorla: Witches and Zombies The taunts and screams melted away, the sound of the raging storm returned. Meek carefully reopened her eyes, wiping away tears that had wet her cheeks. She looked around, her heart still pounding at a million miles an hour. No more demons? No...something worse replaced them. Zombies. I hate zombies. Meek shuddered her eyes still looking around. Others were coming out of their magic-induced nightmares, with the same looks of terror and exhaustion she undoubtedly had. Only one looked exhausted without appearing overwhelmed with terror. The healing witch. Had she been the one to save them? If so, she felt strangely sympathetic for the human female. She looked as if she were almost to exhausted to stand. Meek slung her violin over her back, pulled her hatchet from her belt and climbed off her perch. She hurried over too Saorla, feeling strangely safer by the side of witch than on her perch. "Hey, witch." Meek called out, coming to the human's side. Even when the human was kneeling, Meek was barely a few inches taller than Saorla. The young dwarf managed to put on a sternexpression vs. a terrified one, but her voice betrayed the terror she still felt from the nightmare. "Was...was it you? The one who reversed that nightmare curse?" Saorla panted heavily, and looked up. "Hey, us witches know our curses, both to give and take." as she spoke she knew the others were fighting as hard as they could, but this time if they were injured she was far too weak to help them recover. Saorla had noted a slight quiver in the voice of the dwarven bard, "Don't worry, I've dealt with zombies before, this group ofexceptional fighters will take care of them no time." It didn't matter if Saorla had any idea what she was talking about. She just felt like she needed to reassure Meek. "Right." Meek breathed a sarcastic laugh. She wished she could think of something clever to say. Something witty, to regain her pride, but nothing came. Fear made it difficult to think. A loud moan caused Meek to jump and instinctively spin. Her axe hand spun with her and there was the sickening crack as her axe connected with the bony hip of a reanimated pirate, causing him to drop to her level. She barely kept from yelping and swung her ax again in panic, taking off his head. "Zombies...damn magic." Meek muttered. She looked over atSaorla,noting her weakness. The human could barely stand, much less fight. "We should move. Being out in the open withzombies about is a bad idea." Saorla frowned. "I don't know if..." She paused to catch her breath, "moving is an option." She winced as she began to force herself up, and quickly fell. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this fatigued and at the mercy of others. Those others in this case, we're zombies. She was relying on Meek and the rest of their crew. Meek cut down another Zombie then grabbed Saorla under her arms and pulled her between a pair of barrels where she was more out of sight. Thankfully the woman was light in comparison to alot of humans. Why am I protecting this human witch? Because I owe her. She did end that nightmare before the zombies could eat us after all. "Ugh...I hate zombies." She crouched at in front of the barrels, her ax at the ready should another undead see them. "Saorla...that was your name,right...how long till you get your strength back?" Saorla was so good at frowning, that she deepened her frown when asked that question. It made her realize what a bad spot she was truly in. She had experimented in the past with exhausting herself, but it was nothing compared to how she felt now. "A few hours," she lied. She probably wouldn't be herself till the next day. Meek just about left Saorla to her fate right then and there, but her more honorable side wouldn't let her. Even if the woman was a witch. "Great..." She laughed sarcastically. "Just great."
“What do you mean, ‘no!?’” the Black Syl said, angrily pacing in the sand, with her arms folded. “I won’t do it,” the White Syl replied. She was kneeling in the sand, with a small picnic blanket and a tea set spread out in front of her. “Now, come, have a seat. You worry too much, dear.” The Black Syl marched over and kicked the teapot away… which only earned her a mild frown from the White Syl. “We’re going to die here!” the Black Syl said. “This illusion is child’s play. A moron could beat it! But rather than fight it, you’re just going to sit there and sip tea!?” “Suit yourself,” the White Syl said, pouring herself a cup from the teapot. Wait, when had another teapot appeared? “Calm down. These things have a way of working themselves out. You will see.” The Black Syl grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to her feet. “Why do you want to die so badly!? Do you really hate me that much? I’m part of you!” “Yes, I know, darling. That’s why I’m inviting you to tea,” the White Syl said, with a smile. The Black Syl released her and sighed heavily. “I can feel it. The magic is worsening. The curse is creeping into us. You’re letting him win.” The White Syl patted her shoulder. “No, dear, that’s not the illusion you’re feeling.” “Then what is it?” “Just a healer doing her job.” She gestured to the tea set. “Have a cup before you go. And when you get out there, send them my regards.” * * * * When Syl’s eyes snapped open, she was kneeling on the swaying deck, with her parasol in her lap. Half a dozen shambling undead pirates were coming toward her, like herds of drunken cattle creeping toward the slaughterhouse. Won’t need this, she thought as she slipped her parasol-rapier into the sash of her belt and stood to face them. It was an elegant weapon, built for precision and grace. She wasn’t in the mood for ‘precision and grace.’ She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to be seen hurting them. It was revenge, plain and simple, and she wanted to savor this moment. Because no one brings Syl Nerrier to her knees and gets away with it. “That other Syl might put up with this shit,” she muttered to herself, “but I don’t.” She launched herself at the first zombie, barehanded. By the time his sword came down, it was met by another blade, made of clear crystal. She had solidified the air itself into a longsword. It shattered on impact, but Syl sidestepped his blow and plunged a dagger into the zombie’s neck. As she twisted away, the blade tore through his jugular. The vertebrae of his neck snapped the fragile air-dagger in two, but the damage was already done. With a sickening snap, the zombie’s head rolled from his shoulders and his lifeless body fell to the deck. Both conjured weapons lay in shattered pieces on the deck, slowly dissolving into mist. They were made of air after all, and not meant to hold solid form for more than an instant. Within seconds, they were gone.
Evan rocked back and forth where he crouched on the deck, trying desperately to block the memories that were filling him with sickening fear. "You're not real," He hissed through his teeth, half to himself, half to the hallucination. "You're dead, you're not real!" He looked up, his eyes haunted and far too old looking for a man his age. "But my accusations are," His father said. "You can try to run, but you can never escape the past." "Shut up." Evan growled, when he noticed something odd. His fathers form was fading; Evan could see right through his father's body, and see the ship on the other side. The smog was thinning out, and before long the vision of his father vanished, leaving Evan on a deck filled with snarling zombies. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts and memories that were crowding his mind. He picked up his daggers from where they lay on the deck, and charged at a zombie. He drove his knife through it, and it fell to the ground, but instead of feeling relieved, it only reminded him more of his past, and the people he had killed. He looked up from the body of the zombies, his jaw set, determined not to let the memories affect his fighting. He hurled himself at another zombie, and continued to fight, ignoring the self hatred and horror that was building up inside of him, even after the vision had disappeared.
