Chapter 1: Flamefade

Beric easily enough finds a small crevice in the tree trunk where he places Nok. The raven gratefully takes the goodberry and swallows it whole. His eyes grow clearer, and he starts moving carefully in his safe spot, testing out his wings in case he needs to make a quick escape.

It doesn't take long for Ophira to notice the pattern. Every now and then, one or two of the undead starts moving closer towards the hut. But as soon the creatures gets close to it, they pull back as if stung, resuming their confused, directionless patrol around the area.

Once she has an idea of what to look for, it quickly becomes obvious to the young witch. There are thin ropes, hidden in the mud, laid in large overlapping circles surrounding the house. The creatures seem wholly unable to cross them.
The ropes themselves are familiar. Woven several months ago by Beric's practised hands, intertwined with rue, sage, mugwort and stranger herbs Ophira has been sent out to find. Anathema had explained that they had protective uses, though she had, as per usual, been light on details.

Just as Beric has secured Nok, a muted crashing sound is heard from within the hut, like earthenware being shattered. The door to the hut is still closed shut, but there are sounds of a struggle from within.

Ohpira can wait no longer. She has been watching the undead shamble and circle the hut; surely they haven't been doing so with any kind of military precision. So when there is the largest gap between them, Ophira makes a run for it!

Upon seeing Nok's strange injuries, and then the eerie, less-than-human things surrounding the hut, Gaelan's hands tighten on his axe handle. Taking on all six seems foolhardy to the other, but he is about to do just that when the sounds from the house spur Ophira to action. Weir goes with the girl, making sure she knows he follows her on this risky run. Arms and legs pumping to catch up with the little witch, Gaelan readies his weapon, preparing to defend the girl if an of the creatures try to cut her off or otherwise waylay her...

Thalen pulls his harmonica from a small pocket in his cloak and begins to play. The tune is quick and lively.

Lirann had come along very reluctantly. While traversing the forest she said nothing and always lagged several paces behind the others. She was more than a little upset about her advice being so thoroughly ignored.

Upon reaching the hut she is about to agree with Beric, but Ophira and Gaelan rush ahead before she can do so. Lirann bites her lip, a lot of curses would be appropriate right now, but it is probably best to keep that for later. Instead she hides herself in the undergrowth, not too far from where Nok is.

Beric readies his sling, planning to shoot one of the creatures farther from Gaelan and Ophira.

The shrill tones of the harmonica cut through the night. The walking corpses look around in confusion, searching for the origin of the sound. When their eyes fall on Thalen, it takes a few moments before they start shuffling in his direction. As they draw closer, it becomes apparent that these ones are in an even worse state than Ulrich.

The distraction is enough to create an opening. Ophira and Gaelan take the opportunity and rush past, through the widest gap between two of them. Yet, as if pulled by an unseen hand, the closest creature suddenly jerks in their direction, lashing out with its hand towards Ophira. However, Gaelan manages to interpose himself, taking the brunt of the strike.

Gaelan and Ophira cross over the warding lines, beyond the reach of the undead. As they do, the creatures quickly lose interest in them and resume slowly moving out towards Thalen and his friends.

Once at the hut, Ophira looks for window to climb in!

Beric lets loose with his sling at the nearest approaching shambler. Then he turns to the others. "They seem pretty slow. Perhaps some of us can lead them away and then circle back."

Thalen stops playing for a moment and shouts. "They seem interested in the music." He walks backwards in front of one of the shamblers. "I'll lead them away and suggest that you all pick some off while they are distracted." He then resumes playing: a jaunty jig.

Shrugging off the blow from the walking corpse, Gaelan grimaces and carries on forward to the hut’s door, which he puts his foot into, heavily. It slams open and the man moves to rush inside, blood drizzling from his fresh wounds.

Still not entirely sure what to do here and still thoroughly upset at this mess she got dragged in to, Lirann continues to hide herself.

Outside (Beric, Thalen, Lirann & Thea)

The rock from Beric's sling strikes the nearest shambler straight in the forehead. It stops mid-step, head thrown backwards by the impact. It sways in place for a moment, and then it collapses onto the ground. It twitches slightly as whatever unlife it had drains from it.The other undead continue their steady advance towards the group. While Thalen leads the creatures away, Thea keeps herself near him, ready to jump in should they get too close.From her hiding space, Lirann gets a better look at the undead as they shamble past, unaware of her presence. Caked in mud and grime and bits of foliage, they are barely holding together as they stumble forwards. It seems very much like they've just recently clawed their way out of the soft forest soil, after who knows how long beneath the earth.

And there is something else too, carried on the wind as the creatures pass her by. At once familiar and strange. That feeling of mist brushing past, a cold, harsh intelligence sweeping over her. Incense, gravedirt. A faded whisper, like a promise of power. Those and many more of the little telltale signs she knows to associate with her old teacher in the dark arts, Queen Theune.

But something is decidedly off. It's not quite the same feeling she's accustomed to. It's somehow... colder. Harsher. Wrathful.


Inside the hut (Ophira & Gaelan)

Gaelan's boot slams into the door. With a crack and the splintering of wood, the door is thrown open.

The hut is all one singular room, and the only window is tightly shuttered. A handful of candles lie in disarray on the floor, extinguished, and the fireplace is cold. Only the faintest moonlight stream past Gaelan's broad-shouldered frame.

Even so, it is not dark inside. A spectral light fills the entire room, swirling mist blanketing the whole ceiling, tendrils of glowing smoke stretching down across the walls. The bed in the corner is cracked down the middle, Ophira's favorite chair has been thrown across the room, fractured wood and ruptured pillows strewn across the floor. Shattered jars lie haphazardly, dried herbs and spices among the shards

And in the middle of the room, floating in the air a foot of the ground, is Anathema. Her robes hang loosely around her frame, her silver hair drifts and sways in the air even without the slightest breeze. Her eyes are rolled back, her body limp. Another figure—the spectral outline of a woman, face contorted in rage, her body seemingly formed from mist and fog itself—grips her throat tight, choking the life out of the witch. Where the ghostly woman's hands touch her, Anathema's skin has grown blackened and scorched.

And all around the two of them, the air shimmers with motion. Ophira does not need to extend her sight to know what they are, their presence is painfully clear. All throughout the hut drift spirits of the restless dead, not as fully formed as the one gripping Ana, but all of them circling her, like sharks scenting blood.

Seeing the success of his first shot, Beric slings another stone at one of the other shamblers.

Thalen plays and plays, turning every so often to check and make sure the creatures are still following him. Every now and again, he turns and walks backward.

Ophira knows this hut inside and out backwards and forwards, and she recalls the many many lessons she has learned here, in this place, from the very woman she sees in front of her in such peril. So Ophira would know if there was ANYTHING in this hut that could be useful against the spirits of the restless dead, or this misty villain before her. A cleansing herb or ritual, a particular crystal that wards against the undead, or even a slivered athame (ritual dagger) that might be potent against unnatural powers. If so, she takes it up and uses it as best she can to drive back the mists and spirits from Anathema, if only for a moment.

And if there be nothing here of use, then she simply throws her own body at the misty woman, her dagger slashing through the misty form left and right!

Outside the hut

Beric lets loose another rock, this time striking one of the walking corpses at the knee. With a sickening crack the leg gives way beneath it, but the undead creature just drags itself forward by its hands, slowed but no less determined.

Thalen, shielded by Thea, leads his pursuers deeper into the forest, skillfully keeping himself out of their reach while commanding their full attention. A few times one of the shamblers stumbles forward and lashes out, but the young man dances out of the way each time. As he weaves in and out among the trees, he finally draws them far enough away to create an opening. The path to the hut is clear for Beric and Lirann, should they choose to make a break for it.Inside the hut

Ophira sweeps her gaze over the chaos of this usually so familiar place. She knows Ana keeps a silvered athame—for ritual work, never cutting or slicing, not even ingredients for her rituals—somewhere around here, but where in all this mess?

In the centre of the room, just beneath Ana's floating form, is the ritual circle where the two of them have spent countless hours in practise. The circle is carved into the very floorboards themselves, with elaborate symbols invoking the elements, the Mother, spirits of the land and more.

Among the extinguished candles is a singular, blocky candle of night-black wax, and the circle itself has been lined with black salt, but the line of salt has been disturbed and broken in several places. More than once Ophira has helped Ana with work like this before, and she knows the signs of a protection circle when she sees it.

Within the carved ritual circle is another, smaller and hastily drawn circle, painted by hand, but it seems Ana was unable to finish it. The symbols are vaguely familiar to Ophira, but in its incomplete state it's hard to be sure of the circle's purpose.

Ophira gazes quickly at the circles trying not to panic…