Reaping Athena's Harvest

[The Undead]

The freighter Athena, one mile west of Rhy'Din
18 September
3:05 p.m.

The Athena was silent. She'd never been a rowdy ship, but on a sailing ship there were always people on deck, always something to be taken care of. The empty deck, and its dangerous near miss with the lighthouse, was what tipped the old tugboat captain this was a derelict. Something had happened to these men... but that wasn't unusual. Maybe they were murdered by pirates, devoured by a sea monster, starved, or all swept overboard in a storm.

Empty ships didn't too often happen upon Rhy'Din, but they'd happened before, and Captain Aleksandroff did not let it bother him. He was merely glad he was the first to spot and claim the derelict vessel.

His four-fingered hand grasped the railing and he hoisted himself over, onto the deck of the Athena. His small crew was already hard at work, checking out the ship for survivors and goods. They were all belowdecks, and Aleksandroff strolled to the helm. There was an overturned bucket in his path, a long puddle of water...

...mixed with blood. Tired grey eyes followed several bloody smears past the helm to a break in the railing, recently broken off. The coppery smell wasn't very strong. He couldn't be sure when this had happened, but it was no business of his. Still... he chanced a look over the railing into the water, and was greeted only by choppy little waves.

While he sniffed at the blood, he did notice something smelled funny. Rotten. Like meat left out for days. He wrinkled his nose.

"Captain."

"Uh?" Aleksandroff looked over his shoulder; he couldn't recall the name of the sailor speaking to him.

"There are several tons of tropical fruit, most of it still good, and sugar."

"Survivors?"

The sailor shrugged, as two others emerged from belowdecks.

The captain narrowed his eyes, remembering something... maybe. It might just be old age. "Where's Patterson?"

The sailors looked at each other, each expecting the other to know. Finally one spoke up: "Did he even come along?"

Aleksandroff paused and hesitated to answer. He hated to admit that he couldn't recall. "He's probably back at the dock playing with that goddamned dog... Come on. We've got work to do."

* * *

The West End Docks
18 September
4:30 p.m.

Two sailors remained on the Athena while Aleksandroff tugged it into port -- his crew was too small to handle the Athena and sail it in directly. When footsteps came from belowdecks, and the sailors heard the moans, they thought they'd overlooked survivors, victims of some tropical malady, they thought to themselves, when they saw the odd grey mottling of their skin. Their arms reached out, their feet moved slowly, they moaned incoherently, and one of the sailors moved forward.

"It's okay, guys..." Their hands grasped at him. The grip was like iron. "...Whoa. Hey, maybe you shouldn't -- "

His last thought was worry about catching whatever it was they had, before one of them let out something akin to a short howl and sank its teeth into his neck. He gurgled and gasped, and sank to his knees as his two attackers tore at him.

The other sailor watched in horror, and when one of the "survivors" looked at him with white eyes, he grabbed a bucket to defend himself with. He let out panicked cries, swinging wide at it but afraid to get near; one swing connected, and sent the bucket soaring off into the water. The creature grabbed him by the arms and opened its mouth wide. He backed against the railing, the creature shuffled forward and bit into his arm, he screamed, the railing broke...

...and both toppled into the water.

Aleksandroff had cut the engine just in time to hear the splash. He hopped off the boat, rushed as fast as his old bones could carry him to the end of the dock so he could see around it, and saw the blue water turned an angry red. Whoever had gone overboard, had already sunk beneath the surface.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph..." The old captain crossed himself, muttering prayer until something creaked several feet behind him. He looked over his shoulder.

Patterson. But not Patterson. His skin was grey, his eyes were white, and he reached out his arms, stumbling clumsily towards his captain. The dock workers who had already put up the ramp had been followed down by the man, thought he was drunk and sick. One had even been scratched by him, drawing blood, but jerked away and laughed it off. Few had seen the blood on the decks, and those who did chalked it up to whatever reason the ship had become a derelict. They didn't even see several more like Patterson crawling down the ramp from the Athena to the dock.

But Aleksandroff realized very little of this. He shook when Patterson drew near and actually sniffed at him. Then Patterson let out a low moan, lurched forward, and tore and bit.

No one even came to his aids... for the dock workers were already under attack.

A disease, more than capable of turning into an epidemic, had arrived in Rhy'Din.

[HGLowe]

The Eastern Point Lighthouse
September 18th
5:30PM

The good thing about living in a lighthouse, even temporarily, was a Hell of a view. Up there, and out on the very eastern most point of the main continent, Harold could see quite a ways in all directions. He had a pretty good view, if not distant, of the docks. He could see quite a bit of the city, all looking at that height and distance rather like a toy town, and though most of his time was spent up there looking out to sea, he sometimes took an interest in the more land-based areas.

Today, however, he was watching smoke.

He'd gone back upstairs to take the blueprint and package Cinder had sent, and had chanced a look out. Far off was a curl of black smoke from some fire larger than just a simple campfire; it looked like either a structure fire, or something gone amiss dockside, more towards where the WestEnd narrowed and came up against the docks for a small section.

He frowned a little, looking at it. He couldn't hear anything, not that far away, but he wondered a bit what was going on. It wasn't too far from the Port South Holding House, and the Al Na'ir was down in port, as well.

That was enough to prompt an investigation. He pulled on a black denim jacket he had picked up the day before, something to ward off the chill of approaching fall, then started down the steps to go and see what was going on.

[HGLowe]

The Brigantine Al Na'ir, Dockside
September 18th
5:57PM

At first, it had just seemed like some idiot (of which there were plenty of in Rhy'Din) had managed to catch their boat on fire. Fires at sea were an immediate and life-threatening thing; fires on boats in dock, though, left room for ridicule.

At first, it seemed that way. But despite being safely ensconced inside of the fences of the Rhy'Din Salvage Yard, it became very clear, very quickly that something terrible was happening dockside. The first indicator was almost funny; someone reeling along drunkenly, shuffling slowly, groaning.

"Stupid drunk," Greystone, the Al Na'ir's first mate, muttered.

He didn't look over until he felt Jonson tug his sleeve, and point towards the fence.

The "drunk" kept running into it, directly across from the brigantine.

Looking right at them, or not looking.

"...sh*t."

"Is that what I think it is?" Jonson asked.

"It's a *&^%ing zombie!' Grey ran aft from where he was, barking for his crew; within a few minutes, everyone who had been within earshot was with him on the afterdeck, and everyone was watching the zombie shuffling up against the fence, again and again.

Groaning louder than ever, too; off down the way, Grey could see what looked like a small group likewise shuffling that way.

"We gotta put to sea--"

"What about the rest of the crew?" Duckie asked, though given the note in his voice, he wasn't big on arguing not to.

The crew all looked at Grey, and he was just about to give the orders when they heard a shout.

Harold Lowe, former first mate, formerly presumed dead, was pulling what looked like a glowing yellow sword out of the head of the now very dead zombie.

Not surprisingly, the crew that knew him had to wonder if he was undead himself, but that didn't matter; the little Welshman hollared, his voice easily carrying to the crew. Meanwhile, the group of presumed zombies was shambling not-so-presumingly closer down the dockside, now fixed on a target.

"Get that damn boat out of here!"

"That's the plan, sir!" Grey hollered back. "You seen the Captain?!"

"I'm going to try to find her, but get the Al Na'ir out, and heave to north of the Light! We'll signal from there!"

Greystone and mostly everyone who had worked with with Lowe in the past respected him. There were no dissenting opinions; Grey tipped a fast salute to Lowe, then started giving the orders to cast off and get the Al Na'ir out of there.

Busy as they were, no one had time to see Harold take off, running fast enough to easily leave the zombies in the proverbial dust.

[Spirited Corsair]

Daily Bread Bakery, Marketplace
18 September
19:00


It was a lovely day, typical of the last of summer. The days were bright, the nights were cool. Somewhere in the middle was suppertime, and the coming dusk. Maia wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin and cast a warm smile to Bertie Hausenfelter.

“That was really delicious, Bertie, it was kind of you to invite me for supper.”

“Don’t think it’s escaped my attention that you cook about as well as I sew.” With a self-effacing laugh, Maia’s landlady attempted to scoop out and serve her a second slice of pie. Maia shook her head, trying to politely decline. Mr. Hausenfelter, the taciturn old curmudgeon, harrumphed and spoke his words of wisdom.

“Better to just go along with it. She’ll never give it up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go roll out that order for you.”

“Thank you, love.”

“Hmph,” said the grumpy old man…but Maia caught him smiling in the reflection he cast along the darkening window.

“If you let me help you tidy, I’ll eat the pie.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you are our guest.”

“Don’t be stubborn, it’ll take half the time with twice the help. At least let me take out the trash. It will help me to work up an appetite.” The charming, crooked smile Maia flashed at Bertie Hausenfelter worked like a charm.

“All right, dear, but only because Ralmo’s getting older. I don’t want him throwing out his back.”

As Maia breezed into the kitchen of Daily Bread, it occurred to her to count her blessings. Life was good. There was a place to live, there were people worth caring for in her life again, and there was a ship. By god, there was a ship. Humming a dirty shanty with a smile on her face, she gathered up the bag of trash, closed it tightly, and moved for the back door.

She opened it up to the alley, and found herself face to face with a man who had seen better days. He seemed drunk, but he smelled…off. He raised his arms, and rather clumsily lunged for her. Maia just had time to register the familiar look of a bloodstained shirt and a milky eye.

“Mother—“ The captain shoved the bag at the zombie, pushing at him hard through the trash that was currently her only barrier. The trouble with dining in civilized company…

You don’t bring your weapons.

She had long been quick on her feet, ready to improvise when the situation demanded, and if ever a situation demanded improvisation, it was that one. It stumbled backwards, clutching the bag to its chest. Maia backpedaled and slammed the door shut. Without a word, she crossed to Ralmo Hausenfelter and snagged the long heavy rolling pin out of his hands.

“What the hell, young lady?”

“Sorry.”

She closed the door to the alley tightly behind her on her way out, and Ralmo heard only a rather exasperated holler, and a few dull thuds. When he peeked outside, he watched as the fierce little thing dropped his very favorite rolling pin atop the still body of the zombie whose skull she had just beaten in.

“Zombies, eh?” Ralmo possessed all of the calm of a man who had successfully survived living in RhyDin for seventy years.

“Aye. F---ing Zombies.”

He tossed her his apron. Maia used it to wipe the gore from herself, then left it on what remained of the monster. With a long suffering sigh, he moved into the kitchen to shut down the ovens and lock up the doors.

Ten minutes later, the pie had been abandoned and Bertie and Ralmo Hausenfelter found themselves following one heavily armed sea captain through the streets. Nightfall was imminent, but there was a safe haven ahead. The three of them just needed to make it to the docks, and to the Al Na’ir. Ralmo had a sneaking suspicion that (barring zombie legions in untold numbers) this trip to safety would not be a problem for the wild woman that led them.
_________________
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.

-William Shakespeare

[Kacilla Lynne]

West End, Streets
18 September
8:15PM

Half-drunk herself, Kacey moved with a slow shamble that seemed to be spreading - she'd seen a few others moving with that slight lurch in their steps, down the street. She wasn't moaning with hangover the way they seemed to be, though.

Headed home, from one of the rotgut little bars that had no virtues but price, so cheap. It wasn't until she saw one of the lurching figures lunge at a hooker, grab the screaming woman and start biting that Kacey put two and two together.

Her answer? An unpleasant four, as in the four that she saw on this street alone. So far, it seemed, her slow and erratic path had been a decoy from a distance, her drunken state close enough emulation of zombie movements that rotted brains hadn't noticed the difference. The chill of fear and adrenalin were acting as strong counteragents to the effects of bad whiskey, though.

She was completely unarmed, and the thought of picking up a blade again was almost as terrifying as the undead. Almost. Unfortunately, she was also several blocks from her apartment building, where her weapons rested encased under her bed.

With few options open, she took the one that seemed to offer the best hope. She shambled on down the street, maintaining the same half-lurching, erratic pace that had gotten her this far. It was only a few more blocks. Hopefully the zombies wouldn't get close enough to smell her fear. It was only a few more blocks.

[Keaton]

September 18
10:50 p.m.

Keaton was in his small studio that had a new fixture atop it -- tens of feet of steel stretching from the ceiling -- a radio tower for his latest little venture, Happy Fox Radio. His feet were kicked up, his headset was on, and he had a beer in one hand and his other on the controls. He was taking care of this little radio show himself.

Five... four... three... two...

"...And we're live! Welcome, Rhy'Din, to Happy Fox Radio! This is Keaton, your host an' all-'round music man with all the bes' picks an' shout-outs. Like ta start by thankin' everyone who's listenin', an' those 'a you who called in already to speak your mind, gimme the lates' Rhy'Din neeeews.
"An' wha's in the news, but zombies! So far the Rhy'Din Watch has neither confirmed nae denied reports 'a the dead walkin' the streets, but I had plenty 'a calls. An' I hafta, say, come on, Rhy'Din! Zombies? Jus' a little local color gettin' a little too rough an' rowdy is what I say, but hey -- you got an opinion about it, you gimme a call, an' I'll put you on the air as I'm able.
"Meantime, for all you spook-believers out there, I'll kick off the night with a little Michael Jackson. It's Thriller. Watch out, Rhy'Din."

He chuckled, and then Thriller poured out over the airwaves... just as he heard a very odd knock at the door.

[Carley]

Econ-Omni Apartments, WestEnd
September 18
11:13 PM

With an everpresent bounce in her step, Carley moved quickly down the stairs leading down from the second floor of her apartment building. Hand gripping the banister, she twirled about and hopped to the floor with a thunk, bypassing the last four steps. From there her pace only increased, anticipation and smile building as she scurried towards the locked brass boxes that held the mail of those living in the building.

As she approached her own, Box 14, she dug a rather large keyring from her pocket, littered and cluttered with keys of all shapes, sizes, and metals. She picked a dull brass one that matched the boxes themselves, and used it to unlock her box, grin forming as she peered inside.

Empty.

"Awww!" Her disappointment came out in a childish whine as she slammed box door closed, stomped her foot, and stuffed keys back into her pocket. "It's been way more than four to six weeks! I want my money back if they're not gonna send me my necklace!"

Lower lip puckered into a pout as Carley absently rubbed the bare base of her neck. With one last huff, she turned on her heel, prepared to march upstairs and back to her room but paused, finally noticing a small crowd gathered at the front of the building, near the entrance and exit. A couple people there had been watching her and her tantrum, but she didn't seem phased at all by that fact. Instead? She redirected her little self on that way, pushing her way past a couple people further into that crowd.

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Bright blue eyes grew wide with curiosity as she eyed the people that towered and surrounded her.

"You haven't heard yet?"

"Gods, I'm so scared.. they can't get in here can they?"

"Do you know where they're at? Are there any here yet?"

"I think we'll be okay..."

Cheeks puffed out as Carley furrowed her brow and crossed her arms, irritated as she and her question were forgotten in the midst of the murmurings of the crowd. With a roll of her eyes she was about to give up and walk off before someone approached her. A man. Tall and somewhat lanky, dressed in the official uniform of the Watch. Carley's expression became a little more neutral as he drew closer, and her head tilted to the side and back to regard him better.

"Is there a problem?"

The guard shook his head, giving a somewhat somber smile. "Something like that. I'm warning people about the zombies as I make my rounds. This building was on my way so I figured I should drop in and spread the word..." He trailed off momentarily, noting the look of disbelief on the little elf's face. "I don't know many of the details myself, but there's been a bit of a breakout of zombies. They're spreading around the city slowly, but they're spreading. There's even been a few sightings around this area."

"...zombies." Her voice deadpan. Carley's brows lifted faintly as the guard nodded, then she rolled her eyes. "I've lived here a while, and I know a lot of stuff happens here, but that's gotta be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard!"

A couple people in the crowd watched, but most who were familiar with the little elf started backing away, trying not to get involved. The guard seemed irritated, frowning at Carley, but tried to maintain his patience. "I can assure you that this is no joke, and it's something to be taken seriously. If you're bit-"

Carley cut him off. "I know how it works! But it's still stupid! If there's zombies around here, then I'm the queen of them." Sarcasm weighed heavily on her voice, as she threw her arms up suddenly, and crossed her eyes, an attempt to make a goofy face. "Dur hur, me eat your brain. Braaain. Graaaa-AAAAAAAARGH!!!!"

The guard had drawn a tazer from his pocket, and pressed it into her side. The people who had been watching? Oh you better believe they were moving away.

"You're under arrest then!"

Taking her words seriously, he withdrew the tazer, put it back into a pocket and exchanged it for cuffs. He spun the disoriented little blonde thing around, drawing her arms behind her back in the process, and slapped the cuffs on. All business, he took her by the arm to steady her, and started towards the exit, no one stepping in to defend the elf.

All Carley could do then, was mutter a few expletives beneath her breath before she was carted off to the Rhydin Jailhouse.

[Keaton]

18 September
11:32 p.m.

The Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter" fades out, and Keaton's voice is back on the airwaves.

"...Right. Zombies are very real, and they're gathered outside my studio. Soooooo... a thousand silver to the first guy who can bring me three Hawaiian pizzas."

[Elly]

Elly's Atelier
September 19
2:56 AM

"After he was bit, they just opened fire..."
"...They didn't even wait for the change to take effect."
"He still had his humanity; his sanity. The look in his eyes. God..."

The Witch was hard at work, deep in her atelier, but she couldn't help but pause on occasion as Jameson's words echoed in her mind. She shook away the last batch however, and kept pressing on, despite the late hour.

In front of her was a mess. At least it would probably be considered a mess to onlookers, if they had been around. There were vials full of liquids, of different colors, textures, bubbling, smoking. There were pastes and powders, herbs and berries, leaves and flowers. Even a portion of the wings Chryrie had given The Witch were laid out to the side.

A mess to others, but she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew exactly what to mix, how much to mix, what not to mix. She moved and worked with expertise and poise. She had been for hours, and continued to do so even longer.

"Done, finally~"

Shoulders rose and fell as she exhaled a sharp 'whew!'. The fruits of her labor were organized together and carefully set aside before she rose to her feet, heels lightly clicking against the floor. She moved away from her work station and over towards the door, peering out into the store area of the atelier.

Sure enough, Jameson was still there. Handsome even if a little awkward, young, and wearing his uniform, the new member of the Watch looked a bit sullen. He sat alone at a table, a pie set out for him untouched. Hearing soft clicks, he turned his head towards The Witch. Standing up, he studied her inquisitively. Mouth opened to speak, but closed when she gestured for him to approach. Doing as instructed, he moved that way and followed her deeper in her work room. If he were of sound mind, he may have noticed the poster of the scantily dressed man stepping out of the shower hanging on her wall, but he was here on a mission. All business.

The Witch turned to pick up the box that contained the fruits of her labor. At least a part of it. What were they? They didn't look to be much. Small syringes with capped needles were organized in the box. There were three colors; a pale pink, a pale yellow, and a pale blue, almost clear. Turning, she moved back to Jameson.

"I managed to make a vaccine~ It's not very good since I didn't have much time, but in theory, it should work~" Honestly, she wasn't certain it would, nor was she certain about the percentages she managed to calculate. "The success rate is really low, less than twenty percent, but that's better than the current chance of survival after being bitten~" She handed the box over to Jameson. "That should be enough for your station~ Now that I have the formula right I should be able to get it to the other stations quickly, and to the townspeople~"

Jameson looked over the box, then back to The Witch. He looked grateful, even if he couldn't find the words to communicate it.

"I wrote the instructions for it too, they're in the box~ The blue is for humans, the yellow is for any human mix, and the pink is for anyone who isn't human~"

Not long after the exchange, the young guard who had just lost his best friend left The Witch's atelier, accompanied by some pumpkinheads for protection. Now armed with a big pot of coffee, she was prepared to get back to work again. Perfecting the vaccine, working on medicines that could possibly slow the change of living to undead, and maybe even reverse it. It'd take a considerable amount of work however. But she was convinced that this disease was the same as any other disease. It had a cure, and just needed to be found.

This was going to be a long night.

[HGLowe]

The Eastern Point Lighthouse
September 19th
2:49AM

He listened to the quiet, but his thoughts were still running exhausted tracks. Old tracks, and new ones. He didn't know if Maia had fallen asleep, but the elderly couple that they had gotten out of the city was. Harvey, he wasn't sure about. Sev... he wished she was up there with them, even if she would probably be safe enough in the base of the massive lighthouse.

He listened to the quiet. He was so used to the sound of the lighthouse working by now that it didn't really register with him anymore.

Somewhere, a few miles away, the city was likely in chaos. And like Maia, he felt the tug to go and do something about it.

But without rest, there wasn't much either of them could do, except try to fight tired and maybe end up dead. He'd fought enough times in a state of exhaustion that he knew he could if he had no choice... but it wasn't wise.

That didn't make waiting any easier.

It was only after trying to fall asleep for too long that Harold remembered his duty. That was when he got up, cursing himself for waiting this long, and stopped the light.

For the first time since it was reactivated, the Eastern Point Lighthouse was still and quiet. The light still shone out, but fixed in one direction; fixed on the beautiful brigantine hove to out there, waiting for word.

He used a blanket to signal morse to them, hoping someone out there would understand it. It was a very simple message:

Maia is safe- stop
Await word for plan - stop

Then he moved to the second part of the task. The light was made so that its colors could be changed. The red zone marked rocks offshore, but it was nothing for him to move the covering so that the light rotated red in all directions. He did that, and then at the small panel, he changed the sequence. It wasn't used often; he'd never seen the light pattern used in his lifetime even. It was a quarantine warning... close enough to the truth for now.

It was some small thing that would maybe save lives.

The lighthouse started up again, this time in red the whole way around. The pattern told anyone who would see it from sea simply this:

Beware these shores; death is here.

Feeling a little better that he had done one more thing, hopefully for the good fight, he went back to his nest of blankets and curled back up and closed his eyes to try and sleep.

Through the night, his lighthouse, his beautiful thing, stood sentry for him and the beautiful things it now protected.

[Reprisal]

West End – Alleyway
September 19th – 3:07 AM


Finally getting the upper hand, he crushed it’s skull with the axe handle. He winced as the putrid smell coupled with the spatter of vile liquid pelted his chest. Where the hell these things had come from, he didn’t know, but here they were. He had “killed” at least ten of them now. They seemed to be growing in number. The scum of the city he had been “bringing to justice” a week ago were now the people he was trying to save. He was sure that some of the citizens he had freed from these zombies were none other than the same criminals he had been fighting to remove from the city; but the screams. The screams of panic and cries for help were all he heard from them now. It was impossible to discern what type of people were begging for assistance; it didn’t matter.

He had seen the unfortunate result of a bite from one of these creatures. Within minutes, you became one of them. One of these undead, rotting bags of flesh. He could not let that happen to anyone, regardless of who they were. The nightmare of what you became was unimaginable. However, there she was. He turned his gaze to the woman he had tried to save. She lay on the ground in the alleyway, still breathing, but wounded. The bite was bad; bad enough. He wasn’t the only one who knew this. The woman, still conscious, looked down at the bite mark on her leg. She knew it as well.

Their eyes met. His were filled with concern. Her eyes said one thing. They plead for release. Release from what would be the obvious result of her wound. He could not deny her request. No man could. He crouched down low behind her as she sat in the alley, crying. He held her. She squeezed his arm tightly. “Thank you.” was all she said. Placing a hand on her head, and one on her chin, he twisted. Death was immediate.

Tears fell as he lit the body of the woman on the makeshift pyre. It was hastily put together, but would do the job. He had no more time to mourn. The situation was becoming grave.

[Sevarenia]

It was dark, Very dark. And there were zombies everywhere. And Eastern point lighthouse was a veritable anti-zombie fortress. Sev loved her toys and you could tell by the setup in the yard. Motion sensor cameras, explosives on a remote detonator switch, even a pressure and body heat sensitive live wire trap, not that she knew if electrical current would do a lot to a zombie.

Harry, Maia, Harvey and the old couple were all asleep upstairs. Harvey had left his com-set on broadcast so that she could hear what was going on. She had heard Harry get up, then moments later saw the change in the pattern and color of the lighthouse light.

Checking the monitors, and seeing all quiet outside for now, she decided to make a quick trip down the beach to the beach house. Sev's clothes were much to big for Maia, and Maia's were totally ruined. She had bagged them in a double layer of plastic after the woman had gone back upstairs and set them aside. But Maia and Hannah were much the same size, and Han had left her more "duty ready" clothes at the beach house. So out into the darkness Sev slipped, collecting Mock Turtle, the beige and green pegasus that ran like the wind but hated to fly, she made the run down from the lighthouse.

[Kalis-nar]

By order of Kalis-Nar, 900 troops, mages, psions and clerics of the God-Emperor of Athas, marched out the gates of the Fortress-like Embassy, just minutes after the sounding of a great horn. They marched into the streets with one purpose to eradicate all zombies in their path, with military precission and absolute discipline. Showing no fear, they would strike down any zombies they came across.

Each squad of troops, no less then ten number, were accompanied by at least two psions, a mid to high level mage and mid to high level templar. And if things got bad, the mages and templars had orders to summon fire elementals and golems of stone or of obsidian, to burn and crush the zombies. Those who served Kalis-Nar would not stop until this zombie plague was annihilated.
_________________
"War and Death are my companions, with them i shall conquer all and rivers of blood shall flow"

[Kalis-nar]

As Kalis-Nar's forces left the Embassy, The Obsidian Halls goes on limited Lockdown, all tours suspeneded, all guests and residents screened for plague through 100% effective magical and technological screening methods. This is in effect until the zombie plague is ended.
_________________
"War and Death are my companions, with them i shall conquer all and rivers of blood shall flow"

[Jake Duncan]

Meanwhile deep in the woods north of town Jake was putting on a pot of coffee over the campfire he intended to keep burning all night.

Earlier in the evening while he had been preparing a late supper for himself someone or something had spooked his herd of cattle. There had been a unusual amount of movement in the woods so he had thought to head down to the inn for some coffee, and maybe see some of his friends he had made. Before he could reach the inn there had been a run in with a few strange characters one of whom even tried to bite him before he could ride off. The strangness of that event could not come close to preparing him for the strangness he found at the inn.

When he had arrived back at his camp he had herded his cattle into the frame work that was to be his home. Now nearing morning he was sitting on a old log sipping his coffee, remington lever action 30/30 laid across his lap listening to the woods. Every rustle of leaves had him spooked, every night sound of the woods amplified. When his dog Bobbi Joe sat up from her position at his feet, and barked into the darkness Jake leveled his rifle.
"You best announce you self or else I'm shooting. Nobodies hurting my animals."
He tried to sound assured of himself, but if Eless was to be believed Jake had no idea how to deal with zombies.
_________________
Why do you ride for your money
Tell me why do you rope for short pay
You ain't a'gettin' nowhere
And you're loosin' your share
Boy, you must have gone crazy out there
Garth Brooks "Night Riders Lament"