Yeshil, you nip a few pages of prayers offered to Tiamat out of the boxes, along with a torch-sized religious statue.  It is carved from plain wood, but with obvious care and craftsmanship.  It depicts a man with a sorrowful expression and plain robes, his hands bound and bleeding.  The base of the statue is carved with scripture relevant to the followers of Ilmater, god of compassion, martyrdom and endurance.  It also has an incription of the House of the Harmed in Beregost.

Walking to the driver's bench of the wagon, the two men and their guard make no notice of her.  Locating and sliding open the secret compartment, she sees that is contains 2 thin, dirk-like blades along 2 vials of yellowish liquid.

Outside in the cold night air, she also gets her first look at what all the commotion is. Its 100' away, but she clearly sees Jirel next to a werewolf and surrounded by an angry mob.

With the pages and the statue stashed in her pockets, and hastily swiping both the two blades and the two vials and securing them as best she can, Yeshil leaves the wagon and hurries over to see what the commotion is about. She is both alarmed but also not surprised to see that her friends are in the thick of a confrontation, and with a werewolf! How frightening!

Still invisible for the moment, Yeshil draws a short sword and slips through the crowd toward Jirel's side, presumably to defend her (if she can) from the werewolf... Or from the mob... Or both, she isn't sure.

Jirel Wis ST: 18

With a mighty effort of will, Jirel shoughs off the effects of the spell cast by the pilgrims, though it prevents her from taken any other action for now.

[Tylaerys is up, though perhaps with no current attack happening she didn't plan to do anything?  I will hold a bit more to see if Tylaerys takes any action.]

Not knowing where the green-skinned girl is, Tylaerys does not dare to break concentration on her invisibility spell, instead she continues to plead with the crowd to leave and to not further antagonize the werewolf, hoping they all have some level of self-preservation still.

Persuasion: 22

[As noted in #2189, Yeshil was about 100' away from Jirel.  So she closed a lot of the distance this round but hasn't quite made it to Jirel's side yet.

Initiative: Yeshil:  13 ]

As Tylaerys implores the mob to depart, her words reach most of them.  As the knight of Tempus continues to walk away, the mob begins to fracture.  Some exchange uneasy glances, their anger and fervor wavering now that their protector has abandoned the cause.  A handful begin to drift away, muttering among themselves, their fire for vengeance cooled by the knight’s departure and the looming presence of a very angry and very nearby werewolf.

But others are not so easily swayed.  A group—smaller now, but still emboldened—moves in pursuit of the knight, their emotions running hot with frustration and scorn.  They call after him, voices rising in a mixture of pleas and jeers.

"You would leave us to die, knight?"
"Coward!"
"Was she not a monster in need of destruction a moment ago?  Has she bewitched you, then?"

The taunts grow sharper, more desperate, until one of them stoops, fumbling at the dirt.  A shape is lifted—a battered, rusted gauntlet, steel corroded by time.  It is thrown with sudden, reckless force.

The rusted gauntlet clatters against the knight’s armor, bouncing off with a dull, metallic clank before landing at his feet.  For a moment, all is still—until the bones within the gauntlet move.  The brittle fingers twitch, then curl into a fist, the unnatural motion sending a ripple through the air.

Then the wind comes.

A low, keening howl sweeps through the clearing.  The flames of the campfires flicker wildly before they are snuffed out, plunging the encampment into a deep, starless dark.  Gasps turn to shouts as men and women scramble for torches, only to find that even their embers have been stolen away by the chill.

The mist follows.  It rises from the ground in curling tendrils, slithering through the grass and around boots and wagon wheels, coiling like fingers grasping at the living.  Then the ground shifts.  Loose pebbles tremble.  Abandoned scraps of armor rattle where they lie.  A rusted helm rolls free of a forgotten grave, tumbling to a stop as the skeletal remains beneath it begin to stir.

From all around, the dead begin to rise.

They claw their way up from the dirt—skeletons draped in tattered remnants of armor, grasping weapons that have not seen battle in an age.  The remains of warriors long buried answer some ancient call, poleaxes and rusted blades gripped tight in bone-white fingers.  Others are less complete—mere swarms of bones animated by some unseen force, shifting and assembling into grotesque, roiling masses.

And at last, their leader rises.

A figure taller than the rest, its skull obscured beneath a horned helm, emerges from the swirling mist to stand beside the knight of Tempus.  As it straightens, a spectral glow burns within its empty eye sockets, and a voice—not of this world—echoes across the battlefield.

It points an accusing finger at the knight of Tempus.  "You disturb the slumber of the fallen.  You mock the honored dead with your feeble squabbles.  You fail your oaths in your weakness.  Now you shall join us."  It raises its arms, gesturing widely.  "All of you shall join us.  All who tread this cursed ground shall dwell with us… forever.”

The mist thickens.  The skeletons advance.  And the knight of Tempus finds himself standing before a foe long beyond mortal reckoning.  "I have business away in Greenest," he declares.  "Trouble me not, spirit.  Go back to your grave!"  He draws his longsword again and strikes.

• Longsword Attack:  23  Slashing Damage:  5  Divine Smite:  10
• Longsword Attack:  15

His first strike deals a glancing blow to the skeletal knight, and a flash of radiance briefly illuminates the battlefield.  A cry of euphoria briefly goes up from the mob, seeing the knight deal such a mighty blow.  They cry quiets, however, when the skeletal knight effortlessly parries the second strike.  "Tempus has abandoned you, warrior..." the dead knight growls, "... as he once abandoned me...".

As this unfolds the transformed Mirreki pulls away from her sisters grasp, bounding ahead to the nearest skeleton.  

• Bite Attack:  23  Piercing Damage:  3
• Claw Attack:  6

Her sister moans in frustration, but then sighs.  In a moment, she too begins to transform, long dark fur erupting from her body as her limbs and jaws elongate with sickening pops and clicks.  A werewolf now herself, she moves off to the northeast, toward another cluster of skeletons.

Where moments ago it had seemed the party nearly diffused a festering conflict, they now find themselves in a dark, pitched battle for the survival against an army of the dead.

Round 3

• Jirel  
• Finn  
• Monks and Pilgrims  
• Tylaerys  
• Yeshil
• Crowds 
• Undead
• Knight 
• Mirekki & Akreni  (Werewolves)

(( Do we wait for each other to take their turns? Or can we act out of sequence? Sorry, I can't remember if I've been in a combat yet.... ))

[Sometimes it matters, but in this case, its really everybody vs the undead, so its probably ok to just post when you have a chance.  You are all up before the undead have their first real turn.]

The scene changes in a flash: the werewolves leave Jirel's side and everyone responds to the new mutual threat. Taking in the chaotic scene before her, Yeshil quickly scrambles up on to the cart beside her, and draws a bow out from under her cloak...

Perhaps unnoticed by most, a small figure suddenly materialises on top of a nearby cart and begins firing at the nearest tangle of bones, then ducks back out of sight...

Move: 5' north and Climb up onto the adjacent cart

Action: Shortbow v large blob at bottom-right (with advantage from being invisible - thanks Tylaerys, you've been patient!): 
24 Damage: 10 piercing + 7 piercing from Sneak Attack

Bonus Action: Hide (Stealth: 18).
If Yeshil can Hide on the top of the cart, among the contents, then she will stay there. Otherwise she can jump off and go under or behind the cart, if possible.

Technical question:  DM mentions a deep, starless dark as well as a mist...  Are these things atmospheric only or are they actually obscuring what we can see, target, etc?  

IF vision is indeed going to be affected by the darkness and/or mist:
     Finn casts Light upon a copper piece and then throws the coin to Jirel's feet so that she will have illumination in which to fight.  He does momentarily have second thoughts about the idea as it will also light her up for the undead to easily see...  But Finn expected they could see either way and if the warrior woman wishes darkness once more it should be easy enough to step upon the coin and hide it's light.

     Finn uses whatever movement he needs to feel sure he can properly place the coin with his throw and uses his remaining movement to get back to Jirel's side if the cart and watch her back...

IF vision is not affected by the darkness and/or mist:
     Finn sends an Eldritch Blast towards the skeleton closest to him (about 25' west of him) and then scrambles to the other side of the cart and positions himself at Jirel's back, drawing his weapons.

Eldritch Blast Attack vs Skelly:  Nat 20 for 25 to hit, force damage of 18

     "So, fields of the dead..." he says to Jirel either way with a bit of unwarranted merriment in his voice.  "Why you think they call it that?"

[Great Question.  I suppose I had intended it to be Darkness, but the more I think about it the more I feel like that adds more complexity than fun.  It also means out of all the non-undead combatants, only Yeshil and Tylaerys even know what's going on.  So for mechanics sake, lets call it dim light (disadvantage on perception checks but thats it) but for roleplaying sake just imagine a dark, mist shrouded scene with lots of rattling bones, snarling werewolves and people screaming.]

"How humerus of ya." Jirel grunts in response to Finn's question as she feels him against her back. "I'm dead serious, ya crack me up." She'd say with a straight face, cracking her neck from side to side. "I won't rib ya too much." She pushes on the back of her hips and leans back to crack her back. "Tibia honest they got spine teh throw a dog a bone like that." The giantess then finally gets her hand on a weapon, drumming her fingers on the hilt. "Think they made a grave mistake." She says after Yeshil's jaw-dropping snipe. "See how well some shoulder it..." She rolls her shoulders back, a low grumble building in her chest.

Inhaling a deep breath, Jirel slams a foot on the ground and lets out a deep bellied warcry. Her heart races, muscles flex and her hide thickens. Pulling her arm back she hurls a javelin to Mirreki's target prior to rushing in to her side. The giantess aims to close the gap between her and the north eastern group in preparation for their descend, hoping her cry would assist with drawing them to her.

BA: Rage
Attack: 24 Damage: 7 + 2 rage

The young blonde half-elf gasps in horror as the undead rises from the ground.
Noticing the green-skinned girl appearing on the cart beside her, Tylaerys calls upon her draconic powers to blast the undead by the crowd.

(Cast Shatter to shatter bones, Thunder: 8 Con 14 for half, should be able to target closest skeleton.)

Tylaerys then backs away towards Jirel, hoping to stay in some kind of formation.

(Move 20 feet to the north.)

• Skeletal Swarm CON (w/disadv):  7
• Skeletons CON(w/disadv):  16,   10

A thunderous crash shakes the air around the southmost cluster of undead, though none of them fall.  Finn obliterates a single skeleton with an eldritch blast, while Jirel's spear smashes in and out of the ribcage of another, breaking it apart and sending it tumbling back into the dirt.  Yeshil's arrow looks expertly placed... but the amount of damage it deals seems less than satisfying [the swarms are resistant to piercing damage].

[To save on clutter I'll omit the rolls that don't involve the PCs.  From the description and map you can gather who or what is doing well/poorly in the fight.]

Noise and violence erupts across the battlefield as the dead surge forward.  The oxen, tethered and helpless, bellow in terror as skeletal claws and rusty blades rake across their flanks.  Their wild thrashing only tangles them further in their harnesses, making them easy prey for the relentless undead.  Wagons rock violently as beasts collapse, and supplies spill onto the bloodstained earth.

The angry mob scatters like dry leaves before a storm.  Some vanish into the darkness, their screams trailing off into the night, while others, too frightened to run, rally in desperation near the knight of Tempus.  Their pleas for protection are drowned out by the cacophony of battle—clashing steel, snapping bones, and the gut-wrenching wails of those dragged to their doom.  A seething mass of bones surges forward, its form ever-shifting, a writhing nightmare of skeletal limbs and gnashing jaws.  It overtakes the desperate, clawing at flesh, wrenching limbs, and dragging struggling figures into the abyss of its grasp.  Their screams turn to gurgles, then silence, as the bone swarm consumes them.

The werewolf sisters snarl and tear at the skeletons with fang and claw, but their attacks land with little impact against enemies who feel no pain.  Bones shatter and reform, relentless in their pursuit.  The monks of Tempus, trained for war, split up to meet the threat, their disciplined strikes breaking undead bones, yet even they are hard-pressed to stem the tide.

At the edge of battle, the knight of Tempus and the skeletal knight remain locked in brutal combat.  The clash of their blades rings like a death knell through the night.  The skeletal knight is faster, stronger—his cursed blade wreathed in tendrils of darkness that hungrily lap at the air.  The knight of Tempus lands a solid strike, but it is met with only empty laughter.  Then, with terrifying precision, the skeletal knight retaliates.  One, two, its devastating blows land, each strike leaving a trail of shadow that lingers in the air.  The knight staggers, armor dented, blood dripping to the earth though he does not fall.  And then, as if to punctuate its dominance, the skeletal knight turns.  A single sweep of its blade cuts down one of the nearby pilgrims—a figure who had clutched their holy symbol in trembling hands, whispering prayers that would never be answered.  Their body crumples to the ground, lifeless.

The skeletal knight lifts its dark sword and laughs, the sound hollow and dripping with mockery. Its voice, the voice of the grave itself, reverberates through the battlefield.  "You call yourselves warriors.  You call yourselves righteous.  But you are nothing before the passage of time.  All flesh rots.  All blood spills.  And all who stand upon this cursed ground shall join us—one by one—until the living are no more."

Round 4

• The Party
• Everything Else

Watching the mayhem around her, struggling to fight off despair, Tylaerys again calls upon her draconic powers to blast the cursed undead with bone-shattering thunder.

(Cast Shatter, Thunder: 5  Con 14 for half, target skeleton and swarm to her west.)

[Looks like Tylaerys only rolled 2d8 on that last Shatter...]

(Yes, sorry, thanks, another d8 rolled: 7 )

     Finn is torn between sticking with Jirel and guarding her back and helping out the werewolf sisters... But Jirel is heading off to seemingly assist one of them, and she has Tylaerys with her.  So knowing in battle he cannot take long to make decisions, Finn recklessly heads off in the other direction, running along to the back of the cart and then curling behind it to engage the large mass of undead there...

     I need me some blunt instruments, Finn thinks to himself much too late to be useful and pulls the weapons he does have and does his best.

Rapier Attack vs Undead Mob:  18 to hit for 11 piercing damage
Bonus Action Scimitar Attack:  8 to hit for 6 slashing damage

Quote from Bartjeebus >>

  Yeshil's arrow looks expertly placed... but the amount of damage it deals seems less than satisfying [the swarms are resistant to piercing damage].

 

 All her weapons are piercing, including her wit...

oh, and kudos for changing the background map image from a living ox to a dead one. Nice touch!