On the Second Shank...
Sigmund, happy that he has avoided grotesque mutilation at the hands of Mark just this once, expresses his sincere gratitude.
"I'm glad you didn't do anything else. That would have been both a waste of body parts and something really unpleasant."
Such as it may be, anyway. The two undead head upstairs, getting out on the deck. Sigmund, upon noticing the others, flashes his new, rather flabby and swarthy arm to the rest of the gathered undead.
"Now I'm fixed and ready to get devoured by who knows what lies in the Sea of Death. Do we have an actual plan if we happen to be attacked by something?"
All bothered eyes fall on Erin, who shrugs.
"Hey, no clue. The Artiste doesn't tell me a thing. Not that I asked, but... well, ya know."
"It is entirely probable he has a plan, but I would not count on it. Perhaps he is relying on some kind of miraculous providence in Mothdale."
"Ah, sir Sigmund, you're back again. I do believe we made a ballista, did we not? Stock to actually use it however might be another matter, I can't rightly say as to if we addressed that pressing issue," Morton says, not acknowledging the fellow's clearly stolen arm under the pretense of examining his new teapot, which seems to have a very teapot-like shape and a lack of features aside from the fact that it seems to have a pressure seal on it. On both the top and the spout, actually.
"I'm afraid that neither of us know how to operate a ballista. And it would be pretty unwieldy against something living, I guess," Sigmund answers, shooting down that idea. As a dialogue begins, Mark casts his eyes across his companions. Let's see... Morton's all right, Sigmund is fixed... the ghost is beyond his current equipment... Scott just returned, he seems pretty happy and unusually functional... and even Kevin seems to be all right now. Damn it all, nobody needs help!
"Hey, I'm back. Gunther fixed me up."
"It seems that we are all in a better condition now."
Oh, rub it in, will you? Mark is about to grab one of these fellows and beautify them for the sheer principle of the thing, but something interrupts him. Something's tapping against his leg. He turns to look what it is and discovers that seems to be a magical pumpkin of some kind. With legs, no less. It has a note impaled on one of the legs, which it shows to Mark.
It says 'Improve me, please.' in a calligraphic, elaborate script.
In the streets of Shriekpot...
Niklas, not a big fan of being followed, becomes loudly indignant at his pursuers.
"I say! It is terribly impolite of you to follow an individual on their business without asking permission first!"
The three people pause momentarily, then start whispering to one another. After conferring with each other, they do absolutely nothing, staring at Niklas and evidently waiting for him to make a move.
"Ah! I was right! They most certainly deserve a good vanquishing!"