Race: Aasimar
Class: Paladin
Location: Stormrider, railing near the bar area
Interactions:None (but feel free to witness what he’s up to)
Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute.
Attire: Clothing and gloves
Gold Balance: 97
Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
"This is Captain Cindralis. The situation is… less than ideal. Most systems are compromised, and the harsh truth is that there’s no riding this out, not this far from Breland."
The announcement did not come as a surprise to Ezekiel, he’d picked up that much from his time with Scratch and Val. He’d made his way to the medbay shortly after finishing up with the surgeon/engineer and his leg was almost finished being patched up. Hands more talented than his, had taken care of the majority of his injuries as best they could and all that was left was to let time finish their work.
"I’m initiating emergency descent protocol. Closest survivable option is the Lhazaar Principalities. Not a choice I make lightly. But it’s that or drift until we burn out."
He knew Scratch was doing his best to ensure their landing was as safe and smooth as possible. The passengers' lives were all in his capable hands, and Ezekiel held no doubt that they’d ensure the best possible outcome given the circumstances. The only thing for the paladin to do in the meantime was take care of himself, recoup his strength and mana, so that he could be of optimal use after what would be a difficult landing.
And after that. Landing in the Lhazaar Principalities, that absolute den of villainy and debauchery, he’d need to keep his wits about him. Needed to be on top of his game.
The Lhazaar Principalities…on second thought, maybe those lawless lands weren’t the worst option.
A medic attempted to stop him from leaving, surely medbay was one of the safest places to ride out the landing.
But there was no stopping Ezekiel’s trajectory now. His mind had been set since the second he’d spotted that necromancer on board.
And he highly doubted anyone from The Lhazaar Principalities would investigate any deaths on board too closely.
"All hands, brace for descent. The Stormrider is coming in hard...find a seat or a rail and hold tight. Medical attention will be standing by once we’re grounded. Stay clear of the cargo hold and let the crew do their job. This isn’t over yet."
Ezekiel limped his way around the perimeter of the ship, his focus as sharp as it had been within the cargo hold.
The ship lurched and dropped. His balance did not falter.
Finally, Ezekiel spotted the necromancer, one deceptively frail hand wrapped around the rail as he looked entirely unbothered by the entire ordeal.
It took no great leap of imagination to wonder if he was enjoying all this.
He remembered exactly what men like him were like during the war.
The rain fell hard. Droplets smacked against armor. Boots splashed against mud. As the sun began to fade, the scent of too much blood filled the air. Mixed with that fresh rain scent and turned it into something stomach churning.
They followed the orders of a man who listened to his heart more than his head. They checked the decimated village for any sign of survivors, but found only the dead.
Too many Cryans with slit throats.
Slaughtered like animals.
Men, women, children. And not a warrior among them.
Not that such a thing mattered to Karrns.
For a few seconds hope stirred. A few of the bodies moved - showed signs of life.
The dead rose up, fought with impossible strength. Their faces weren’t the enemy but the very people Ezekiel and his fellow soldiers fought to protect. Few made it out alive.
They were neither the first, nor the last, group to find themselves surrounded by a village of reanimated dead. A grotesquely cruel trap laid out by necromancers.
There would come a time in the war when Cryan’s would burn their dead on sight. When they torched such sites to ashes before even checking for survivors. Once they realized how willing Karrnath was to turn inclinations of compassion and mercy into weaknesses.
Ezekiel was not going to find himself trapped on a crashed airship surrounded by undead. He limped forward, made his way to a spot just behind the necromancer with a handful of other people spaced out around them. All gripping the railing like the lifeline it was, all focus on their own survival as chaos erupted around them.
He could see only a handful of people lingering near the bar, they appeared to be focused on helping the wounded there.
It was as good an opportunity as he was going to get.
The ship rattled and dropped once more. Ezekiel hand shot out, gripped the old man by the shoulder and spun him around to face him. Lightning sparked from inside the ship. They veered hard to the left.
A flash of flame shot out from one of the engines. The people around them screamed as most turned their attention to the fire and the ever approaching islands as the ship began to fall.
From the corner of his eye, Ezekiel could’ve sworn he saw a silver gleam to the flame - a sign of divine blessing. In an instant both hands gripped the necromancer's face as the paladin stared deep into the other man's cold, empty eyes.
“This, is for Cyre.” He whispered and acted without a second of hesitation. The sounds of screeching metal as the ship crashed covered up the sound of a brittle neck snapping without resistance. The body of the necromancer tumbled off the side of the airship.
It only took a couple seconds. No one around him seemed to notice anything more than an old man falling overboard as the ship crashed. If they even saw that much through the ash and mists that surrounded them.
Either it had truly been an act of divine intervention aiding him, or that had been far too easy.
A grim feeling in the pit of his stomach made him believe it was the latter. But it didn’t matter. Either way the necromancer was dead, the war may be long over but retribution had come from the necromancer nonetheless. Those who had fallen upon the Stormrider would not be forced to rise again.
It was a righteous kill. He felt not a tinge of regret.
"This is Cindralis. We made it. All passengers report to the main deck. Watch your step...we’re in one piece, but only barely. We’ll assess the damage once we’re sure no one’s dying. Stormrider out."
Ezekiel headed to the main deck to offer to help any who had been wounded during the landing or the battle that had preceded it.
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