Game Thread

One of the group that steps out onto the corpse-littered field is short and stout, clearly a dwarf. He stands about 4'2" with a stocky build that is all muscle. His thick, red hair lies straight down his back and a full beard is braided down to his navel. He wears a simple monk's kilt which leaves his chest bare, and he has pugilist wrappings covering all of his limbs from his shoulders down over his hands, and again from up under his robes down over his feet. Swarley trudges out with the rest of his assigned "clean-up crew", mumbling under his breath all the while...

"Don't know why I'm still here..."
"... could be leagues away by now..."

Despite his sour demeanor, Swarley carries out his assignment faithfully. Any prone body that is not clearly dead he rolls over with a kick to confirm. If they wear the colors of the enemy he lands a swift *STOMP* and *TWIST* with his foot onto their neck to end it quickly. Any living ally gets a shout from Swarley to one of his group's healers to judge if they can be saved or not. Periodically he picks up a drinking gourd hanging at his side and takes a pull from the spout.

A tall woman steps out among the bodies, following behind her dwarven companion. She has half-plate over clothes that were once fine, but have been worn with time and travel. Her black hair is bound in an intricate braid, mostly likely to fit under the helmet that hangs at her waist. She moves with the grace of a fighter, but is more concerned with healing this day. Beside each injured soldier she bends down and does what she can to stabilize their wounds, using bandages liberally and her magic sparingly. She offers words of comfort before moving on to the next, and the next...

His armor gleaming in the sun, Bog looked over the carnage and tried to keep the churning in his stomach to a minimum. Seeing the evils of war firsthand was always hard. But he had a task to do, and he waded into it, the combination of blood and dust getting added to the grime already coating him. He focused his efforts on the enemy, permanently easing the pain of those still alive and keeping an eye out of any indication of a scout or higher official. Finding missives might prove useful.

He made his way toward one of the cloaked figures and asked, "You don't suppose the enemy has a necromancer, do you? This 'victory' could quickly turn sour if they do...."

Corvoso exits the gate, following the others. His dark skin blends with his leathers, giving him a carefully constructed foreboding look. A number of cruel knives are strapped to various parts of his armor.

"Necromancer would be worked to his own death, place like this."

As Swarley helps up the current lucky soul Rose was able to save, he watches the interaction between Bog and the strange cloaked figure. With a nod to the cleric, Swarley walks up between Bog and Corvoso, watching the person retreat to a safe distance and the definite flocking pattern as they almost move in unison.

"Aye, I agree with the bladed lad, here. A Nek and all their twitchy, lumbering corpses'd stand out like a sore thumb. Though, it does make one wonder just exactly what're these robed fellas doin' out here? I don't recall seein' 'em in Iustus when we were gettin' assigned this bloody clean-up job. Mayhaps we should take a closer look? I'll circle round from the left and get in close."

The Dwarf turns to Corvoso, "I heard the Captain call you Corvoso, no? Ya seem like the silent-type. If'n ya have the inclination feel free t' come in from the other side and we'll see if we can figure out what these folks'r up to."

With a final mumble under his breath, "Beats corpse duty that's fer sure...", Swarley silently picks his way through the bodies to circle around the flock of figures and approach them unawares. He tries to get close enough to see and/or hear anything they might be doing without being seen himself. He stops about 10 meters away and kneels down, pretending to check on a body while paying close attention to what the group may be doing.

Corvoso nods to the plan. He heads off to the right, watching the vultures with a side eye, while attending to their grim business. He stops by one enemy corpse, draws his long dagger and slides it into the man's eye. Wiping the blade on the man's cloak, he keeps it to hand.

He pays attention to any reply to the bearded ones query.

Striding boldly toward the man, Bog looked up at him and answered, "Just curious as to what you are looking for. For the time being, we're merely ensuring that the dead surrounding us stay that way, but if you are needing assistance, I am always one lend a hand." he extended it to the man, "dirty though it may be."

As the words come out of the hooded man's mouth, Swarley looks up from his fake assessment of the body underneath him and grimaces while mumbling under his breath.

"Well I'll be a beardless... That dirty smallnose was right! We got us some Neks in our midst...

Swarley will keep eye contact with Corvoso across the way and the others standing behind Bog, waiting for a sign to leap in and start cracking heads.

Bog slowly nodded, "Sure, I can help haul some bodies. I'd certainly be checking them to make sure they're dead as I haul them, so my superiors shouldn't complain too much." He chuckled awkwardly, "A scientist's rotting gold mine? What are you hoping to smith out of the decaying ore?"

Corvoso, fingers a blade and nods grimly at Swarley. He checks the dead-pickers over for any signs that they are on our side before attacking.

Swarley stands up from his spot off to the side of the conversation between Bog and this person and speaks up loud enough to be heard as he slowly strides closer to the group, cracking his knuckles one by one.

"Now see here, *scientist*, some o' these bodies have families that might be comin' t' claim them and might not take to kindly t' folks such as yerselves draggin' them off t' be disected or zombified or whatver yer planning on doin t' them. Y' see we are on patrol and one of our duties is t' guard the area from any lingering enemies, and t' tell ya the truth I'm just not quite sure what to make of you fellas. One thing I *am* sure of is ya didn't come from inside Iustus here, so why don't you explain just exactly where you came from and how you came to be scavenging fer corpses outside this fair city, eh?"

As Swarley approaches he moves to stand about the same distance away as Bog, but directly to the scientist's right, so he can't look at both of us at the same time. Swarley is all but ignoring the other hooded ones; they have proven to be nothing more than pawns to the obvious leader who is currently speaking. He grabs his gourd from off his belt, takes a long pull and folds his arms, letting the gourd dangle off his wrist. Even though Swarley is a good couple of feet shorter than this gentleman, he gets the distinct impression that Swarley is still somehow looking down on him with a deadly serious glare.

"Who may or may not come t' claim these brave fallen soldiers is none of your concern, and quite frankly none of mine either. If they lay right here t' bake and decay in the sun, well then they've earned that right in my book. What *does* concern us 'deathdealers' here'r strangers from Timore rifling through our hard-won battlefield. Word is there be much uncertainty regarding your city and its allegiances. Perhaps you be enemy spies working for Nullius? And perhaps you truly are simply looting dead bodies for... experiments... Neither scenario paints ya in a pretty light in my book."

Swarley turns to the rest of his squad with a questioning look, raising one eyebrow.

"What say the rest of ya, fellas? My vote'd be t' haul the lot o' these trespassers in and hand 'em over to the city guard t' deal with. 'Course, if they told us everything they know 'bout the happenings in Timore right now, mebbe we just ferget we ever saw 'em and let them be on their way?"

"Spies? No, I fear you're much worse, leech. These people are under the protection of those walls. Leave or you'll find how far their long arm reaches." Corvoso fingers his blood stained blade with obvious intent.

Overhearing the conversation as she draws nearer, Rose makes her way over to the wagon to look at its contents.

Swarley takes a step forward, now definitively inside this guy's personal space and gives an exasperated sigh. He stretches his neck up to get as close as he can to face-to-face, arms still crossed. He emphasizes his words with clear malice now.

"Information *is* useful, inn'it? However I don't believe you actually *gave* us any jes now, so that *won't* be all. The time for pleasantries has come to an end. Let me repeat myself n' be very clear; tell us what we want t' know and ye may leave *without* yer spoils of war, r'else we be taking you inside the city walls as prisoners of Iustus n' turning you over t' the city guard."

"Still don't wanna talk, eh? Lemme be direct; who is this new ruler in Timore? How didje come t' know there was gonna be a battle and bodies t' loot here at Iustus? What's Timore's role in all this silliness?"

Swarley attention is drawn over to where Rose is being prevented from looking into the cart by the silent ones, then he slowly turns back to their leader.

"Yer friends don't talk much, do they? Whatcha got hidin' in that cart? I thought ya said t'was just bodies ye be haulin'?"

He catches Rose's eye and gives a nod of his head over to the cart.

"Terrible things happen in a battlefield," Corvoso threatens. "Do you think anyone would remark on your bodies after the crows have dined on your eyes and tongues? Best cooperate, then we can all be about our grisly business."

The shadows sliding mercurially over his face under his hood speed up slightly, with obvious menace.

Standing up on his tiptoes, Bog peered into the cart. "Hey, I thought you were just after the dead ones. That one's still alive!" He looked crossly at the leader, "You said you had no stomach for murder, but these is no cadavers! I think Swarley here is right, the Captain of the Guard will want a word with you."

Looking to the others to watch over the wagon, Bog set off running toward Iustus to fetch the city guard and their captain.

Seeing the robed figures loosening the twitching cadavers, Rose commands, "Stop that! Leave them be, and stand peaceably while we wait for the captain."

Glancing over to the cart and the abominations being released, Swarley turns back to the leader and gives a glare with no words. As he turns his back a slow grin spreads across his face. "Finally, some action!" And he begins to limber up; cracking his thick knuckles, bending his neck from side to side, and limbering up his thighs with some quick squats.

Swarley puts his hands to his face and shouts out to Bog, "OI! DIRTY GNOME! Ye may want to assist us afore ye grab the cap'n! Just a thought!"

With his back still towards the figure, "So, ya made yer choice have ya? Good, tis been awhile since my last scrap." Swarley turns his head halfway back and catches the leader with the side of his eye, "Didn't catch yer name, fella? Swarley's mine, jes in case ye be wondering who gave ya the sound poundin' yer 'bout t' recieve."

Bog faintly heard Swarley's call over his panting breath, but thought it best to get the authorities involved. He continued his mad dash across the battlefield toward the keep.

As Rose sees the men continue to release the bodies, she sets her shield and draws her sword, an angry expression on her face. Her skin appears to become lighter in hue.

Corvoso cruelly fingers his blade, ready.

Rose smiles, their foe has revealed his evil and her path is clear.

Swarley assumes an aggressive monk stance, spreading his legs sideways and dropping his body low to the ground with both his fists pulled in close to his sides. He matches Rose's smile and begins a series of deep, slow breaths.

Corvoso draws the much fingered blade and drives it into the squishy bits of the chatty necromancer.

Edit: should be +5 damage on that

Rose spins her spear above her head, casting a protective shell around herself and her two remaining allies, then leaps forward to engage the closest of the shambling creatures.

Swarley looks to the cloaked figures trying to abscond with their cart, then to Corvoso as he gets engulfed in flames, then back to the cart. He bares his teeth in indecision and growls. Taking a running leap, he soars through the air like a hurled rock and aims a flying punch to Barsk.

Corvoso hisses at the fire and lashes out with his dagger.

Rose strikes out at the closest shambling figure with her spear.