"By Moradin's Beard!"  Thraim exclaims as the figures disappear in the rain.

A little unsure of the situation, Thraim stands ready and poised for action.

Semina agitation has reached its limit, as it begins to betray her.  "Thraim!" she shouts, "Those howls don't sound welcoming."   Feeling threatened by the noise and hostel weather, Semina  directs her distress towards Icerick.  She peeks out from her shelter to take note of his behavior.  

(OOC: How are the animals reacting?  I know storms usually don't go over well, but now you mix other elements in...what are they doing?)

The horses have been a bit nervous since the storm hit, each flash of lightning and crash of thunder increasing their unease.  One of them nickers, and tries to rear up.  Looking in its direction, you see the humanoid shapes are beginning to drift in among the trees.  Although closer, you still can't make out any substantial detail.

The howls and barking are getting louder, and behind the mysterious forms, moving through the trees, you see the pairs of green orbs again, darting back and forth a dozen or so yards out.  This would be less disconcerting if there was a roaring fire in your camp making the eyes blaze in that manner.

Thraim yells over the howling winds, "By Berronar's Spoon!  What in the nine hells is going on here?  Naren!  Theile!  Heathcliffe!  Anyone!  What are these things?  Is it magical, or swamp gas?"

Thraim's shout startles Semina, forcing her to act upon the excitement.  'Why delay the evitable, besides I am drenched either way,' she mumbles to herself.  

Semina comes out of her leaking shelter and withdraws her axe into her right hand slowly.  Her main concern is Icerick's nervousness, and to get a better view of the threat closing upon them.  

Reaching the horse, Semina places her left hand upon the nape of his neck.  Aware of her touch, Icerick kicks the ground with his front hoof as she leads her hand to the reins.  "I will not mount you," she confronts the horse, never taking her eyes off the images within the trees. "If all goes wrong, do your best to flee.  I'll just weigh you down in this muddy death trap," she pleads with him.  The reins are loose enough now that one little tug will free the beast, yet he stays close to his master.

As she stands under the tree stroking Icerick's mane, Semina begins to howl back at the creatures beyond the trees.  Hoping to communicate in a non-threatening manner.

(OCC: Semina can communicate with animals.  Is she able to reach out to the dogs (howlers) in this fashion?)

Naren tries to gather his wits and figure out the nature of the beast(s).

Heathcliffe steadily watches the moving lights as he speaks to Thraim, "I don't know but should it prove hostile, magic ought to work." To the magicians of his group, he bids them haste, "Wizards and sorcerers, get ready."

Quote from: Venosha;282352(OCC: Semina can communicate with animals.  Is she able to reach out to the dogs (howlers) in this fashion?)

(What would you like to talk about?)

(OOC: That we mean no harm, and only seek shelter from the storm.)

Semina quickly releases Icerick's reins and advises the horse to back away from the howls, and figures within the tree.  She walks backwards to where Thraim and the other's are within ear's reach.

"We need to make a choice," shaking the water from her clothes, "either we fight what is approaching, or we need to get back on the road to continue on..... then again there is  always the swamp," Semina snickers.

"They said they are commanded and obey, and that the intruders are to leave their territory at any cost,"  Fidgeting with her axe.

"Whoever commands them provides them food, and has advised them we will bring destruction to their pack," she looks intently at her companions as she yells.  "One more thing," Semina pauses..."This pack is strong," she glares back into the woods.

Thraim hides his surprise at the fact that, somehow, Semina is in communication with the creatures.

"The die is cast.  We cannot wander around the swamp in a storm like this.  Either way, death is at our heels.  I've made my camp, and I'll fight here."  Thraim says grimly to the others.

Heathcliffe, surprised not one iota, chuckles at Thraim's sober mood. "You have a point. We should stand here and fight. Besides I don't believe I could lead so many people safely through the swamp."

"I do not want a conflict spawned from deception" Naren says grimly. "But to travel in this weather and terrain is a death sentence."

It had been some time since he'd seen such creatures, but Sander's memory of them returned suddenly.
"I've seen creatures similar to these summoned by clerics. Dark clerics. Our enemies are not living." Sander hefted his mace, trying to think of any spells he knew which would dispel or disable the creatures, but none, other than his failed attempt at a command, would do.

Thraim spits with vile and says, "The Undead!"

"Hear me Father of Battle!" Thraim screams out loud into the storm, "even though it be that these I'll soon send to you are already dead, they still count towards my tally at the Soul Forge!"