Name: Charisse Race: Human
Ht: 5’6, Wt: 130, Sex: Female,
Archetype: Rogue
HP: 7 / 7 Mana: 0 / 0
Stats:
Physical : 2, Moxie : 3, Spiritual : 2, Luck : 3,
Agility : 3, Magic : 2, Mental : 2, Energy : 2.
Relevant Skills: Agility - Jump, Agility - Climb, Archetype - Awareness, Archetype - Opportunistic Strike, Knowledge - Basic Survival, Melee - Knife, Stealth - Hide, Stealth - Move Silent
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Creeping through the trees, Charisse mentally wished for some magical stones with silence cast upon them. Unfortunately, the underbrush where it grew thick was also very noisy, where it was easy to walk, held surprises of its own. The soil was moist in patches, causing some steps to sink, forcing her to shift her weight or grab onto a nearby tree because she didn't want to know how deep it would go. Then, stepping carefully over some dried sticks wrapped in what she guessed was moss, she weaved her way deeper into the woods.
A nearby tree branch moved, but the canopy of leaves above did not. Charisse froze midstep and watched the branch. The tip of a polearm poked through the leaves as the figure of a zombie soldier marched by. The long polearm looked like a can opener on a stick, held in the rotting hands of its owner.
Slowly lowering herself down so the next bunch of leaves would block line of sight, she carefully and slowly moved as the zombie did, keeping the leaves and tree between them. As the creature moved further away, she started moving away from the path in case another zombie was following, but close enough, she could see the slightly worn trail many other zombies had taken. The way led deeper into the woods and towards some hills.
A group of undead marched behind, each seemingly focused only on the space in front of them—none glancing in Charise's direction or even to the sides. Charisse prayed to the gods all the undead were as dumb as these, as they'll be quickly taken care of by her friends. Quickly counting eighteen, she mulled over following them but convinced herself to stick to the plan. As the undead moved further away, she carefully moved a little further from the trail and, along with it, to locate their origin.
The ground opened up as if the earth itself was yawning. Packed dirt and smashed plants near the opening made it noticeable if you were looking in its direction. She estimated the space was fifteen feet wide. A small group of six undead leaving the opening made it impossible to miss. Charisse waited for them to be out of sight then mentally counted to thirty.
With the way clear, she stepped out from behind a tree and moved toward the opening.
With each step taking an eternity, she weaved around the opening, trying to get as close as possible without being exposed in the open. Charisse felt her heart start to race as the last ten feet would leave her completely exposed no matter which way she approached. Circling one more time, she tried to view inside the hole as best she could to find an immediate hiding spot. She noted a slight curve in the tunnel, and she briefly whispered a prayer she didn't wake up in the glade again.
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A few quick steps crossed the distance, and she was underground, submerged in the darkness. Pressed against the dirt wall, her eyes closed as she slowed her breath and listened.
The sound of her heart seemed to overpower everything else around her. Cupping a hand over an ear, she tried to block out any sound from outside the tunnel and herself. After precious seconds of nothing, she opened her eyes. The veil of darkness lifted a little as her eyes adapted to the faint illumination inside. Through the opening, blazing light from outside, tempting Charisse to run back into the safety of the woods.
Several more seconds with no sounds of movement, Charisse started moving further in. The tunnels narrowed a little, but whoever made it had kept it close to ten feet across. She stopped when it opened into a junction, paths going left or right into walls of black. With a sigh, Charisse reached into a pocket and pulled out a stone wrapped in cloth. Mark had given a light stone to her a few days ago. She kept it for moments like this. Unwrapping the fabric, she frowned at the dark stone. Wrapping it back up, she put it back into her pocket while mentally cursing Mark's name.
With a glance, she quickly knelt and pulled off her backpack. Reaching her hand in, she thought of a candle; feeling it in her hand, she pulled it out and closed up her bag. Using some flint and steel, She lit the candle, several sparks caught onto the wick, and a flame sprang to life. Cupping a hand around the tiny dancing flame, she ignored the rising heat on her palm and carefully examined the hallway.
Packed dirt, interspersed with wooden poles and some stones, lined the hallway. Each branch extended beyond the limited amount of light from the candle. Biting her lip Charisse turned down the right tunnel.
The little flame on the candle pushed back the dark but only slightly. Charisse found herself removing her hand above it to shine more line. Then, holding the candle out, she cupped her ear with her other hand to try and improve her hearing.
Ahead Charisse saw a faint flicker of light. She immediately blew out the candle and flicked it to the side. Then, pressing herself against the wall, she slowly moved forward to the light. Occasionally the light would move out of view, going to the left or right, leaving her in darkness. Each step was slow and measured; the packed dirt floor did not betray her. She was mentally overlaying where the walls were, based on when there was light.
A room opened up in front of her, shelves to the left and right, like an old library. Stepping to the side, Charisse relight her candle and quickly looked at the shelves. Thick wooden slabs stretched along the rows, each a couple of feet wide and an inch thick. Resting on top of each slab was a corpse in various states of decomposing. The shelves went to the ceiling of the room, each with a body.
Sounds of something being dragged caused Charisse to jump a little. She quickly mashed the candle against her hand to put it out, then with few places to hide, scrambling up a section of the shelf, she managed to get to the top. An ancient corpse rested there, a bone-cracking when some of her weight rested against the chest. Holding back a curse, she breathed slowly and softly while waiting to see what caused the dragging sound. A wave of relief came over her as she thanked the gods she didn't hide on an empty shelf.
As the dragging sound grew softer, Charisse started breathing normally. Then, instead of fading into nothing, the sound stopped.
"Bah, this one is only good for parts; put it over there, and go find another. This time be more careful with it." A voice barely louder than the dragging sound echoed off the walls. The dragging resumed and faded into nothing.
Charisse tried glancing around, but the lack of light still inhibited her. Slowly she started reaching for her flint and steel but stopped when she heard some footsteps. The steps would pause, and the light would disappear briefly as the person walked along with one of the rows of shelves before going back into the main hallway. Slowly a glow appeared as a man stepped into the aisle. An open book in one hand and a candle in the other. Gripped firmly in his lips, an ink quill.
As he walked along the shelves, he tapped each body on the lower floor for each side. As he got to the end, he paused, scribbled something down on the paper, then turned around to continue.
Charisse moved away from the edge of the shelf as the man turned around. She carefully made sure none of her limbs were hanging off the edge. The man slowly walked down, counting the next shelf up. Sensing her hiding spot wasn't good enough, Charisse slowly pulled out a dagger from its sheath. Then, waiting for the footsteps to be right under her, she lept down.
Throwing herself over the corpse, she quickly placed her dagger near her stomach to line it up with the man's neck. The sound of the wood creaking and bones cracking drew the man's attention upward. His mouth started to open in shock.
Charisse managed to shover her dagger down the man's throat and some of her fingers. The man's jaw closed reflexively and bit into her. Her weight fell upon the guy, bringing him awkwardly to the floor.
Clenching her teeth and lips together, Charisse suppressed a scream of pain. She also managed to silence the curse that came to her lips for not wearing gloves. With the man's teeth clenched around her hand, she grabbed a handful of his hair with her other hand and started bashing his head against the packed dirt floor. He was dead before his jaw allowed her to remove her bloody hand.