Stench from the South Pt. 02

"Ah, that was not part of the prayer proper. That refers to an old, old story from my people, one that goes back to the days from before our Kingdom proper had taken form, when the Ildiriens still reigned beyond the Crystallines to the east."

"Wow," Gravin said softly, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, indeed-though I must warn you, the tale is not a pleasant one," Mosullah said darkly.

"I should like to hear it sometime all the same," Jakobus said mildly. "I've always enjoyed and had an appreciation for folk tales, no matter where they come from. As a scholar, I find them terribly fascinating; 'windows into the soul of a culture', as my old Master used to describe them."

Mosullah chuckled again. "Well said, Master Jakobus!"

"Go on, Mosullah," said Maelee, giving her M'zaeran comrade a nudge, "regale us with a tale!"

"Well," he replied with a smile, "remember: you asked it of me. Fine, I will recount it for the party. The word 'zoumb'le' refers to an ancient and malevolent spirit of my land, one who is said to lure unsuspecting women and children to their doom. It is believed by some that the zoumb'le slowly walks here and there, across whole deserts and grasslands, never stopping unless it is to lure unsuspecting victims to him. Supposedly, on a quiet evening or during a still night, one will hear his voice upon the air-a terrible, bitter weeping and moaning that chills the blood and strikes terror into the soul."

"Three above," Seilin breathed.

"He is a tragic and wicked figure, the zoumb'le. In your tongue, the word translates roughly to 'lost one'."

"Why does he do what he does? There must be more to it."

"Yes, Maelee, I was getting to that! Well, sad to say that his given name-whatever it might have been-is long since lost to us. But, as the story goes, the zoumb'le was once a man, like any other; a man who lived somewhere in what would become Mother M'zaera as we know and love it today. He was a man of modest success, who farmed his land and grew large, bountiful crops of wheat and corn upon the fertile banks of one of the freshwater rivers, which as you know run from the peaks of the Crystallines and into the Sapphire Sea to the west. But eventually, his land caught the eye of a nearby baron, an old man with a greedy and wicked heart who wanted the farmer's land for himself."

"Oh no," gasped Anila. Mosullah nodded slowly.

"As I have already stated, it is an unpleasant tale. So, the baron sent an emissary to the farmer and his family, offering them a tidy sum of gold for the land upon which they made their living. The farmer and his wife politely refused, as they had already set down roots there, and were very much beloved by their community. The baron, incensed by this refusal, sent another emissary-this time, offering them double what he had before."

"But they refused again," Mattison said.

"Indeed they did," Mosullah sighed. "This sent the baron into a rage, and in response to this supposed affront, he hired a group of low-lives, who were then instructed to break into the family's home and wipe them out. And so it was-but things did not end as they had planned! Their two children, a son and a daughter, were murdered by this band of cowards in their beds. But the farmer and his wife? They were not so easily disposed of! They fought back, viciously killing a number of the scum before the last of them managed to plant a dagger into the wife's heart. She fell dead on the spot, and...well, as the story goes, there was nothing left of the man who killed her after it was all over."

"By the Father," Balthus said, in awe.

"When they all finally lay dead, the farmer supposedly made his way to the baron's home, knowing in his heart that only he had the means and the motive to commission such a heinous act. He stole past the guards and snuck indoors, where he found the baron sleeping soundly in bed. And, as the vile old creature slumbered, the farmer planted the very same dagger which had killed his beloved wife into the baron's chest, killing him."

"My word," said Jakobus, "that was quite the story."

Mosullah shrugged. "Who's to say if it's actually true, if it ever happened? Maybe, maybe not. We mostly tell that story to children as a way to warn them against greed, if I'm honest."

"So what happened to the farmer? Does the tale say?" Kinley was absolutely enthralled.

"Not explicitly, but it's believed that the farmer escaped and made a run for it, never to be seen again. The stories of a man slowly wandering around the dunes and grasslands came later, one who was constantly sobbing and moaning, crying out for his lost wife and children. Over time, that evolved into the tale of the zoumb'le-the tragic and terrible spirit who eternally wanders the land of M'zaera, searching for the loved ones he lost in life. Like I mentioned earlier, it is said that he will ensnare women and children, believing in his unending madness that they are his beloved family. None who fall under his spell are seen again."

"What does this tale have to do with what's happening now?"

"These things, dear Anila, these...people? Whatever they have become, they remind me terribly of the zoumb'le. The way they walk, moan, and kill the innocent. I asked the Goddess of the Sands to protect us all from these monstrous people who remind me so much of the lost one-or, at least, how he is described."

"You know, it's funny, it sounded like you were saying 'zombie' when I first heard you speak the word!"

Mosullah laughed. "That, my dear friend Kinley, is not even a word! Not in Common Western, M'zaeran, or any other tongue I have yet heard!"

"I think we ought call 'em such!" Kinley's eyes were bright. "Don't you think? It's damned catchy, I say, and memorable! And there'd be a whole story behind it too, one that goes back to the earliest times of M'zaera!"

Mosullah chuckled deeply, shaking his head. "Despite your bastardization of my beloved mother tongue, Kinley, I suppose I cannot dissuade you. 'Zombie' it is, as far as I am concerned!"

Kinley leaned toward his sister. "What's 'bastardization' mean, sis?" Balthus heard him mutter. She rolled her eyes, smiled, and simply shoved him away, the rest of the group laughing quietly as the short, stocky Nocturnal lad looked round at his party members, confusion etched onto his features.

*****

Stonecairn Hollow was as quiet as the grave by the time the collection of timber and stone buildings came into view ahead. Nestled into the base of a shallow valley between two thickly-forested hills, this little hamlet would have, at any other time, been a perfect getaway spot for those looking to escape the bustle of the cities. Now, as they walked its' streets, their footfalls echoing softly against the stone streets, they knew that it was now merely a husk-empty and abandoned, left to die, as many of its' residents likely already had.

A few defleshed bodies lay strewn about, their blood staining the ground beneath. One sat propped up against the outer wall of what appeared to be a small temple to Balugar-Soth (at least, Balthus assumed so based on the two-pronged wooden staffs planted beside the front door), its' legs and one of its' arms missing entirely. The head was slumped to the side, the skull beneath what skin remained on its' head grinning at them horribly.

"We should look for survivors," Mattison said quietly, glancing ahead at what appeared to be a small trading post and general store. "Someone may yet be hiding out."

"I agree," Jakobus replied with a nod. "If we can help in any way-"

"Then we should," Balthus finished for him. "Let's start there," he continued, pointing at the store, "because if anyone's going to hide out, I'd wager it'll be where there are a whole lot of supplies to be used."

"We did just that, back in Dragomir," Anila said with a shrug. "That's how you found us, Maelee, remember?"

"Is it safe, Captain Crick, sir?" Kinley's voice was fearful.

"No, likely not," Balthus sighed, as he made his way toward the front door of the place, "but these days, nothing about Nocturne is safe, now is it?"

Kinley had no counter, so he just shrugged. Rolling his eyes, Balthus laid his hand upon the doorknob and turned it. Nothing-it was locked up tight, of course. He turned to Jakobus.

"Think you could work some magic here?"

"In the literal or figurative sense, Captain?"

"Just see what you can do, O Wise and Powerful Mage."

After a moment of pointing his staff at the doorknob and muttering a few incantations, there sounded a metallic 'click'. Jakobus then grasped the knob and turned it, pushing the door inwards. The mage then whispered something else, and as he stepped forward, the aquamarine crystal atop his staff suddenly shone as bright as the North and Eastern Stars, brilliantly illuminating the inside of the building.

There was no movement inside, no response of any kind. Around them were tables and shelves that had once surely been packed with goods, but which now stood mostly empty. Scattered pieces of trash and debris comprised most of what remained, along with some crushed and decaying pieces of food strewn about the worn floorboards-the place had been long since cleared out. It smelled musty, the air was choked with dust, and the low stench of early decay which seemed to permeate every formerly populated place clung to the whole of the building's interior like tar.

"Ugh," Seilin hissed, "I'll never get used-"

"Quiet!" Balthus flashed an angry glare at his trooper, who blushed and ceased speaking. "Noise discipline until we search the place!"

The party filed inside, their weapons clutched tightly in their hands as their eyes flicked around the area, searching for any sign of life. As they spread out, being careful not to knock anything over or make any sort of commotion, Balthus was the first to see the closed door at the back, behind the main counter. He sidled over and slipped behind the wooden structure, grasped the doorknob, and gave it a swift turn-it was unlocked, that was good.

He pushed inwards, and the terror began.

It had once been a storeroom, that much was clear, packed to the ceiling with now-empty shelves, racks, and barrels. However, what Balthus hadn't known was that the place had also been home to a crowd of at least thirty of these 'zombies', as Kinley had dubbed them. They were slowly milling about the place, moaning softly and mindlessly bumping into one another without so much as acknowledging it every time it happened. As soon as they heard the door open and turned to see Balthus standing in the doorway, however, their entire collective demeanor changed. Their eyes flew wide open, their jaws dropped, and all of their arms raised up almost in unison as they began to howl. Balthus leapt backwards and slammed the door shut again, just as half a dozen of them closed the distance, their bodies slamming against the other side of the door and making it shudder visibly within its' frame. Balthus knew immediately that it would not hold for long-it was a simple, thin pine slab hung upon old iron hinges, and such things could not hope to withstand the stress of several dozen human bodies' worth of weight bearing down upon them at once.

"People! We've got company!"

Balthus was throwing all of his weight against the door, trying to resist the onslaught, and even he could feel it starting to give.

"What do we do?!" Kinley was shouting now.

"On the count of three, I'm going to hop away and we're going to run! There are too many of them in there! One...fuck it, THREE!"

Balthus leapt away, and as he did he heard an ominous 'crack' from behind, audible even above the cacophonous moaning and howling of the zombies behind the door. He actually saw the split shoot down the left-hand side of the door. He reached out and grabbed Anila's wrist, as she was the closest to him, her eyes wide with terror.

"Go! Everybody out, NOW!"

They all charged for the entrance. Just behind them, there was a deafening crashing and splintering sound as the storeroom door gave way and fell outward, the moans of the zombies no longer contained behind it immediately growing much, much louder. They were muffled again by Mattison's shutting of the heavy front door, just after the last of the party's number had passed through.

The party had not managed a clean escape, however, as another twenty or so of them had wandered into the street upon hearing the commotion coming from inside the trading post, whereupon they immediately began to stumble and slouch toward the group, their moans growing louder and more insistent as they approached. Balthus assessed them-their distance, placement, and speed-then glanced between the two windows set into the front of the trading post, both of which faced the street. He knew that they would most certainly not slow the horde within, let alone stop it. As if on cue, a group of them emerged from the gloom of the interior and slammed up against the glass, their bodies and faces pressed bizarrely against its' surface, making them appear grotesque and distorted as they began pounding away.

"It's looking like Elksmore all over again," Mattison said urgently, pulling Balthus' knife from his belt. "What the fuck do we do, Balthus?! We're surrounded!"

"There!"

Jakobus pointed down the simple stone street to a two-story building that stood beside it. From the look of it, it appeared to be an inn.

"The last time we were in an inn, we lost Strad! Are you sure, Jakobus?!" Seilin was clearly trying to remain level-headed, though fear had begun seeping into her voice; Balthus had to respect her in that moment for her determination.

"It may be our best option right now! We need to get off the-"

There came a sudden, colossal crash as one of the windows looking out from the trading post shattered outwards, carrying three of the zombies with it. More of them began stumbling or falling out of the newly-made opening, paying no mind to the injuries that the glass inflicted upon them. Their howls seemed to fill the street as they surged toward their prey.

"Fuck it, GO! NOW!" Crick's roar was all the rest of them needed to hear. They bolted, dodging the grasping hands of various zombies as they charged, their fingers and jaws intent on digging into living flesh. They were rapidly approaching the front of the inn as a small group of zombies, perhaps half a dozen in number, came stalking out of the space between the inn and the home next to it, effectively blocking their path. Balthus skidded to a stop, as did the remainder of his people.

"Draw weapons, all of you who have them, and prepare to engage! Anyone without a weapon or training, stay behind those who can fight, and keep an eye on our backsides!"

Balthus was back in his element, now that he had some idea of how to deal with these things. The cruel, wicked steel of his longsword sang as he pulled it from its' scabbard, and there followed a whole chorus of similar tones as swords, knives, and hand axes were pulled from their wielders' belts.

"Remember, go for their heads!" Balthus voice cracked like a whip. "Slice them, crush them, take 'em off if you have to! We need to clear a path to the door! Let's do this quick!"

And so, the fight began.

Mosullah rushed forward, determined to make his old M'zaeran combat instructors proud. With the speed and strength of a charging wolf, he planted the heavy steel bit of his hand ax deep into the forehead of a zombie, who had once been a very fetching brunette woman. Her eyes rolled upwards and her jaw slackened as she crumpled to the street, Mosullah retrieving the weapon as quickly as he'd struck. He swiftly dodged the lunging attacks of two more, their howling jaws having been intent on finding the meat of his shoulder. Balthus and Maelee swept in, the trooper knocking one on its' back as her commanding officer took the left forearm off of another. This was followed by a quick thrust up through the offenders' chin and into its' brain, whereupon it fell to the ground, dead for the second time.

The melee raged on, the troopers and the mages striking at their unspeakable enemies with righteous fury and hatred while Kinley and Anila, who were not as confident in their combat abilities, hung back. Jakobus roared like a lion as he brought his staff down upon the scalp of an elderly woman with supernatural force, splitting her skull open and sending bits of bone and brain matter flying. Mattison took one by the neck and snarled as he impaled it through its' eye socket with Balthus' knife, killing it instantly. A few more had reached the scene, and Gravin immediately beheaded one, the detached cranium popping sickeningly upwards before impacting near the fallen remains of its' former owner. Maelee swung and missed at another, underestimating the distance; it lunged and locked its' hands around her neck and left wrist, pulling its' mouth toward her face. She bellowed and planted a kick in its' knee, whereupon they both tumbled to the ground, as its' steely grip did not loosen enough for her to pull free. As Seilin and Jakobus rushed to assist her, Maelee drew her own combat knife and managed to drive it home into the thing's temple, and it went still. With her comrades' help, she pulled herself free, withdrew her blade and was back on her feet, immediately hacking down a newcomer with a pair of vicious strikes from her sword.

Finally, they managed to cut their way to the inn's entrance. Balthus charges forward and grabbed the front doorknob, and did not feel it give. He cursed angrily before casting a look over his shoulder.

"Jakobus! JAKOBUS! It's fucking locked, I need you up here now!"

"On my way!" The Master Mage swept his staff through the air and sent a zombie flying, its' body impacting upon the stones of the street with a wet 'crunch'. He darted over to the entrance, grabbing Balthus by the shoulder and pulling him aside.

"I need room! Just keep them off of me!"

"How long do you need?!"

"Only but a moment!"

The horde from the trading post's storeroom had finished surging from the broken window, and were swarming down the street toward the inn. More were trickling in to join them, coming from all directions; their numbers had swelled to at least fifty, probably more. While the party could keep up the fight for a time, they were still clearly outnumbered, and the possibility of being overwhelmed was one that looked more likely with every passing second. They needed to end this fight and get into cover, and they needed to do so very, very quickly.

"Anila, help-HELP!"

An errant zombie had managed to latch onto Kinley's tunic with one mutilated gray-green hand. It pulled the hapless young Nocturnal toward its' maw, preparing to take as much flesh out of him as it could. Anila rushed forward to help, but Mattison, who had been closer, bellowed "oh, fuck ME!", then brought Balthus' knife down in a flashing arc, severing the zombie's hand entirely. The terrified young man scurried away, seeking safety behind Mosullah and Seilin, who were slicing up a pair of enemies who had attacked from the other side of the inn. Anila rushed to join him, cursing at her brother for being so careless.

"Good save, Mattison!" Balthus meant those words wholeheartedly.

"I do what I can!"

"I have the door open! Everyone inside, NOW!" Jakobus called out loudly. Most of the party abandoned their individual struggles and rushed back to the inn's entrance, where they began to duck inside.

"Let's go! Come on Mosullah, yes! Maelee, good! Anila, take your brother, go, go, go-!"

Balthus was half-shoving people through the door as they arrived, the horde bearing down upon their rear flank with terrifying speed; Balthus knew that they had only seconds to spare before it was too late. Jakobus and Mattison both had the same idea at the same time, and began to throw fireballs at the approaching mob. The spells knocked whole groups of zombies down, sending them flying or setting them alight. Mattison, his spell hand working crazily, had brought up the rear of the retreat, knocking back the attackers as best he could.