The Castle - B2

Did Varos see where the dagger went? Or is there something else at hand he could throw?

Seeing Anton being pulled into the muck, Clarence lets out a bellow and rushes the hideous beast. Body shot to the body by "the body" yells Clarence as his makeshift staff hits home.

Varos looking around for a weapon see the skeleton on the table the femur is broken just below the knuckle and has a nice point to it. Must have been broken during the torture. He grabs it and feels it weight judging about 3 lbs. He takes aim and figures the wet rotted skin it should penetrate easily. After throwing the femur and scoring a solid hit he reaches over and grabs the other which is whole and probably weighs about 5 lbs. He now has a club and will start to move around the get the dagger.

"Watch out…" Gregory shouts, a moment too late as he sees the thing lunge for the priest. He winces, as the thing pulls free a large chunk of flesh!

When the thing is finally beaten down, he rushes over to the stricken priest and examines the wound!

"How does it feel?" the man asks, checking the priests eyes to check for any signs of a hunger for flesh!

Varos will walk over and retrieve the dagger and place it back in his. He will strip the zombie of the armor and wash the insides as well as possible while Gregory works on Anton. " I will take this armor if no one else wants it. It seems no worse for wear."

Anton groaned in pain as the zombie ripped his flesh and tore through muscle and tendons. Fortunately it was taken down swiftly by far more competent warriors.

When Gregory approached to check how Anton was doing, the young man straightened up and answered, an edge of anger mixed with shame in his tone "I'm fine! Fine I say. I've had much worse...". His attitude suggested the last part of his statement was probably untrue, but the young man tried to present an exterior toughness. "I can heal this later on," he continued. Only then did he notice the wizard's look of more prospective concern, as if he thought the priest could become a threat. "What are you looking at, Gregory?", he asked, taking a step back.

Varos looking up from his tasks says"I have always heard that a bite from a zombie isn't good. That people change somehow. But I don't know for sure."

"Superstitions and old wives' tales!", the priest snapped back immediately, showing obvious irritation at these stranger's suspicious attitudes. "We should look for a way out, that way," he added, pointing at the staircase beyond the curtains atop the balcony.

Frac's yellow eyes widen with surprise, then warmth spreads through his chest despite the cold waters as he recognizes the book from his childhood. It’s stained and warped, but unmistakable—a book that has always meant more to him than simple stories.

Because this wasn’t a storybook at all. It was a sketchbook belonging to a long-dead ranger, likely forgotten in the wild. Frac had found it decades ago in the remains of a destroyed camp deep within the forest. The drawings inside were rough, hastily scribbled, but they sparked a flame in Frac’s young mind. Monsters, both familiar and strange, filled its pages—dragons, trolls, elementals, even goblins like himself—but one sketch stood out most of all. A beholder.

The crude drawing depicted a massive, floating eye surrounded by smaller eyes on stalks, its gaping mouth lined with sharp teeth. Frac had been captivated by the eerie creature, imagining the horrible and wonderful stories that could be told about it. He often pictured himself outwitting such a beast, or using magic to bind it to his will, even though, in reality, his skills were nowhere near enough to deal with such a monster.

So, yeah, it was also a storybook.

Anyway, the book became his childhood companion, the place where his dreams of power and adventure took root. Each night, under the safety of his bedroll or in the hollow of some twisted tree, Frac would turn to that page and lose himself in fantasies of magic and might. It was more than just a keepsake—it was a reminder of where he’d come from and what he aspired to become.

As Frac carefully retrieves the waterlogged book, the familiar weight of it, even ruined as it is, stirs old ambitions. He runs his thumb over the distorted cover, a half-smile curling his lips despite the dire situation.

With the Beholder still vivid in his mind, Frac feels a surge of determination. The Castle may be full of horrors, but so were the stories he once imagined. This book was a reminder that anything could be defeated with enough cunning, even monsters worse than what lay hidden within this cursed place.

Frac slips the book into his damp robes, feeling the comforting presence of his childhood dreams close to his heart. He looks around at the group, his sharp eyes focusing on the red curtain in the distance, concealing whatever may lie beyond.
"I agree. Let's get out of these foul waters."

Tibor stands quietly watching the exchange between Anton and the others, rubbing his chin in thought. He tries to remember what he read about zombies during his time at the grand library.

Once everyone starts talking about leaving, he says "I agree we should continue on. The stairs would get us up and out of this fetid water. There was another path back the way we came, but who knows where that will lead us."

Varos will keep his eye on Aton just in case.

Seeing so many pairs of eyes turned to him, the priest clamped down, choosing silence. He realized he ought to control his temper, he would need these people to get safely out of here.

The climb back up to the balcony in easy for one of Varos's skills. "Do we have something we could use as an improvised rope?"

We can shred the armor we found and make an improvised rope, but it probably with snap.

"Oh, I have a rope and a hook. Here. Please throw it."

"I can climb back up and secure it for the rest."