Character Sheet now found in OOC thread

Tilting the kettle helm of which he wore, thankful at the very least that the brim had kept most of the howling wind and rain from beating at his face, glancing about every so often and checking the road of which the horse of which he rose so walked upon, checking for loose debris. "Oh for the great one's sake! I know that the village is nearby! C'mon guy, the sooner we make it there, the sooner we both eat!" He called aloud, trying to spur his beast onwards down the path, though with the sudden crack of lightening and the silhouette of the human figure down the road, the mounted soldier would raise out a gloved hand, calling out to it. "Lo there Traveller, might you know the way to the local village?"

(Check OOC thread. I'll update once a day to give Age of Fable a chance to get in or not)

For a moment, all you hear is the constant rain, but it stops for a moment and you hear a low groan. As the figure lurches down the track towards you, lightning splits the skies and you clearly see a ragged, bloody wound down the side of the human-looking figure. An almost-forgotten wood-ax dangles from its left hand.
Your horse seems more skittish than even the lightning and storm would account for.

Even through the rain he would note what exactly this was before him, having been knowledgeable of the foul magics of which could reanimate the dead, and cause the cadavers to roam and kill heedlessly. He would take the initiative by dismounting from his horse and tying it's reigns to a fallen log, soon withdrawing the Halberd from where it had been slung to his saddle along with his other accoutrements as he would approach the shambling creature, bracing his weapon at the ready as he would await for it to approach him, knowing well that he would have the advantage of his weapon's length but would also take advangage once the moment would present itself to bring his weapon down upon his foe.  

 Initiative   1d6=3
Attack Roll& Dmg     1d20+1=16, 1d8+2=6

The zombie's lurching stride is faster than you expected, especially on the muddy track, and it's stride carries it to you before you're ready to strike. It's awkward lunge, seemingly to try to claw your face off and hit you with the axe, does nothing but put it out of position and your strike cuts its left arm off at the shoulder.

(+1 Initiative for longer weapon; Zombie got lucky)
HP: 2d8=10, Initiative:1d6-1=5, To-Hit: 1d20+2=7, Damage: 1d8=2
Zombie has initiative)

Recovering, again, faster than you'd thought, it drops the axe and claws at you, scraping through your leather and ripping bleeding wounds down your side. It gurgles at you, perhaps truimphantly.
1d20+2=19, 1d8=5

It had initially seemed as though this would have been an easy task, but the creature's impressive speed would soon have the young man yelling aloud in agony, in almost as much pain as he had been from taking an orcish arrow to the gut a few years prior as he would level up his polearm once more, intent on running the thing through. "Die! Die you foul abomination!" he yelled as he would strike.

    1d20+1=19, 1d8+2=10

Your keen halberd strike rips its chest open in a spray of gore and it falls backward, now truly dead.
As the rain patters down, slowly soaking the blood away, you again become aware of the chill settling in...And that your destination may not be quite as safe as you had hoped...

He would sit there for quite some time, thinking of what exactly had just transpired as he would move to quickly take anything of value from the rotting corpse's form, the axe included as he would make for his horse once more, untying him and mounting up once more as he would quickly make haste for the village once more, at the very least wishing to see if there might perhaps be people alive yet or whether this cadaver he had put back to rest was one of many. "Great Mother protect me.." He would mutter lowly.

I think you kind of need 3 players minimum

Quote from: Age of Fable;316839I think you kind of need 3 players minimum

(Yeah, thanks for being a downer man. We already decided that the game can be run with 1 or two people in the ooc thread that was made)

The corpse holds the hand-axe, some loose change worth about a gp and a fine brass ring in a wooden box, such as a peasant might buy. Having seen some loot in battle, you can appraise its value to (Rolling estimate) 5d20=36 somewhere between 36 and 64 gp.
The corpse itself was large, broad and musclular in life and the axe bears copious signs of blood and gore. Either the zombie claimed more lives than you'd hope - Or it took quite a bit to bring him down. Possibly both.

Although the rain tapers down to constant, misting drizzle, you are unable to make much haste, due to the muddly roads. In addition, in an ironic twist, your horse makes an insistance out of going faster than safe, requiring you to frequently reign (Her? Gelding? Stallion?) back.

However, the worry proves unfounded, as a mere five hundred yards sees the trees open up to a village.

For a moment, all you see is bodies - And then you realize it's not as grim as you feared. Many of the bodies are outside a stout, twelve-foot wooden wall and are not freshly dead. The walls are manned by grim-faced peasants, with axes, spears and bows. A few have better weapons and have the look of army veterans.

As you approach the gate, you see that it is manned by a tough-looking, grizzled man and a cleric of Tarshish (The Iron Lord, Lord of Law, Justice and Just Battle), so evident by the battle-axe and shield on his holy symbol.
At twenty feet, you are called to 'Halt right there, please'. The cleric tosses you a spare holy symbol and you are instructed to "If you can put that on your bare chest, you're welcome."
The otherwise is unstated; three keen-eyed peasants have bows out and armed, but pointed politely down.

(Sorry for the delay; my body decided I'd sleep and over-ruled the protests of my mind. You get 30 XP for the zombie and 52 XP for treasure, so 82 XP)

After quickly packing together what he could manage and even after trying to keep the mare upon which he rode as calm as he could keep her, the sight of the walled village would prove to be a sight for sore eyes. Seeing the cleric of Tarshish would also be sight enough to put him at ease, soon jumping from the saddle as he would hurry to strip off the chest piece of his leather armor and even tugging parts of his tor shirt away so that he could quickly don the holy symbol to prove his not being undead.

"I'm sorry to have caused such concern by approaching so late, I've been traveling for two weeks now and was hoping to enjoy a warm room and an old ale, but there was an undead upon the rode... I took the better of him in the end it would seem but he injured me well. Might I ask of the Iron Lord's blessings to heal me before I seek refuge within your walls?" He would ask, grabbing the reigns of his mare as he would walk closer, soon trying to re-affix the chest piece of his damaged leather armor.

"Welcome, then. Blessings of the law be upon you", the cleric intones, touching your shoulder. You immediately feel your wounds ease and close, leaving behind some jagged scars to add to your collection. "I will add your deed to the annals of this battle - If you have free time, I may take your tale." Clearly done, the cleric steps back beside the gate, resting his battle-axe against his shoulder and resuming his scan of the area.

The sergeant takes up the thread of conversation. "We've got hot food and cold ale in the inn. I'll tell you bluntly, we don't have much and we can't afford much charity in this situation. We'll feed you and bed you until the siege is over; you won't want for that. But we do want for defenders and can pay the Rates." He stands comfortably in the drizzle, waiting on your answer.

(Clerics of Tarshish record the details of battles they are in; that can be done OOC or IC, if you want. Also, as a house-rule for clerics, they can trade their 'normal' weapons capability for three weapons 'favoured of their god'.

The standard Rates for hiring footmen are, in brief, 1 gp per day (30 a month) and 20 gp per Battle they are in, plus one Share of any loot.)

He would let out a gentle sigh of relief, nodding quickly as he would listen to the Sergeant's words, thinking for a brief moment. "Agreed, and if any of your militia are in need of further training, I was involved in one of the few wars that ended within the past few years down south, so I've seen my fair share of combat. But all that I would merely ask is that I be allowed to rest for the night and have my mare stabled, the poor girl hasn't eaten much other than what stale oats I had left these past few days." He would call aloud.

"Who knows? This may perhaps be just the beginning for us, girl.." He said, caressing his mare's mane for a moment before he would wait to be allowed inside, heading to the stables and thereafter to the tavern to relax.