Crimson Menagerie: The Legend Escapes

[Aristoi]

~A day, or night, like any other~ he considered as he lay, seemingly asleep, motionless except for faint breathing as his body did it's work. He lay where he had been tossed, the bruises and cuts of the combat mending as his supernatural constitution worked its magick knitting him whole once again. Oh certainly he'd have scars, he had plently already, they would add to his personal trophies.

He'd been dragged back here, feigning unconsciousness (not really hard when you've just barely survived personal combat with an ogre) and after a brief visit from the Healer, thrown to the cell floor.

His cell, like the others in their quad, was exactly large enough to survive in. Two paces on a side with an open front that opened out onto the viewing area where Bloodtwist and those he wishes to impress could view his "collection".

"Hmp," he snorted near-silently to himself, a "menagerie" would be more accurate. Nearly forty-score creatures were held in siumilar enclosures here in the mountain beneath Shiftspire, on the side of one of the volcanoes of the Thaymount plateau. It was common knowledge none of the zulkir would allow him to have his Spire anywhere near the rest of "Thay Proper" and yet, one could see several cities and towns from the upper chambers, he was sure.

It was typical of human arroagnce to assume superiority over anyone or anything else that wasn't themselves. True, Bloodtwist's Slavers had managed to capture him when he was much younger. But they paid for it dearly, he had killed three of them before them managed to enspell him and take him down. The branding had ensured docility while they beat him near to death for his strength and then praised themselves for his capture.

It had taken the placing of the ring in his nose to quell his murderous gaze though, his spirit had never been crushed. The Githyanki had not been able to do it, the denizens of two Realms had not been able to do it, even Time had not been able to slay his people; who was he to be less? Even in the filth of his own unwashed body and the enclosure in which he and his wastes were confined, still he resisted with the last shred of his being.

His large pointed ears twitched slightly, as if in the sleep he pretended to lay in, listening to the others that shared the quad. Movement from across from him, and the slightly larger enclosure, indicate Kilmore was awake after his own struggles. Shuffling steps immediately following bringing a reluctant body into the quad said that S'lanneneth had returned and the smell on the air, of blood, sweat and other things said that he had just been returned from the Master. He'd be covered in small wounds, bites and scratches, his shapeshifting body struggling to undo the damage of whatever Bloodtwist had done prior to, during and following.

For the thousandth time he thanked the Powers of Balance he was too ugly for any of the Handlers of for Bloodtwist to find him 'interesting' that way. Too bad for Adama too. He started to sit up to see the damage and to offer what condolences he could when he heard more steps and recognized the pattern.

Their Handlers.

 

[Aristoi]

S'lanneneth dragged his feet, resisting the enchantments that held all of them fast in obedience and allowed them to do whatever they wanted. He sighed slightly, not even able to sigh heavily for the enchantment kept him from being disrespectful even by himself.

His body hurt, oh how it hurt. As it had hurt hundreds of times prior and would hurt every time following until their Master tired of him. His voice, his forms, his skills had kept him from that fate already for he was such a weak creature, the Pits had proven no entertainment at all. Certainly not for him and definitely not for Bloodtwist and his guests.

He stumbled slightly as he entered the quad, feeling weakness tugging at him, He needed to eat and even "The Sludge" was better than nothing and would nourish him, if not pleasantly. ~It is almost time~ he thought, knowing how his body reacted and what it's little twinges said to him. He'd been here all of his life and known nothing else, though he had heard or and sensed the thoughts of others who had seen and felt "grass" and "wind". Here is the dim corridors and hateful enclosures, he had never seen "outside" even once.

Maybe, just maybe if the Master had been pleased this time, there might be a treat in his trough. He nearly tumbled through the opening of his enclosure, returning as he had been ordered. The compulsions kept him from disobeying and he always knew, intuitively, how to get back to the smelly den that was where he spent most of his time. He collapsed a moment after he bent to make it inside, falling to his knees at the trough, waiting. A moment later the trough filled with a thin gruel, gray and tasteless. Except for the roaches in it, which the Master had added as a reward for his performance this time. Eagerly he started to scoop up the wriggling crunchies, sucking down the tangy bitterness of their insides as the shells crunched between his sharp teeth. In his fervor to eat as much as he could and get the treats down his infernal nature began to asset itself and the features of the think evlish boy darkened and flowed, his bat-wings emerging from the flesh of his scarred back, his horns emerging through the skin of his scalp.

Until he heard the coarse laughter and the footsteps.

He froze and turned like lightning, back pressed against the trough and his tail whpping around his legs defensively, his body flashing back to the vulnerable boy-shape he wore most of the time.

Thuzzar and his cronies were coming down the corridor.

That meant one of two things and the Master couldn't want him now, so soon after his efforts. He looked at the wall to his right sympathetically, knowing Adama had heard and knowing what was coming. If he had been free to he would have wept for his fellow victim and instead swallowed hard, fighting the bile that rose in his throat.

Just within sight of his opening a peg hung the remains of a shredded and tattered purple tabard; that of a Squire-Knight of Cormyr. It was much covered in stains of blood and other less savory things. It had been torn, rent, clawed and nigh-shredded and yet one could just make out the dragon-rampant.

Movement at the corridor caught his attention and his eyes fixed on it, like a prey-animal sensing a predator and freezing, trapped.

 

[Aristoi]

Kilmor sat where he had sat for the last day. He had been placed against three ogres and had won, killing the others. But it had come at a cost. They'd been armed and he had not. They had managed to tag him a few times before they fell.

He smiled and flicked his ears slightly. He didn't need weapons with his huge hands and the training he had; his discipline. The ring in his nose itched and he shook his head slightly, his scraped down horns scudding along the ceiling of his enclosure noisily and making his skull ache lightly.

He looked across the quad and stared at the form of Elim, lying on the floor stretched out and yet slightly curled in on himself, sleeping.

Or so it seemed.

His senses were still sharp, having been brought here only a few years before and he had learned that there was nothing here that was what it seemed. And some things were all to real.

He watched the small-one stumble in after enduring yet more tortures from the Master, either having been in the Chambers of the Master or the Torturers below, he could not tell easily. He was damaged and there was blood yet it merely seemed to cross old wounds gained in previous years.

Rage simmered deep in his large heart. How they would all pay...

 

[Aristoi]

Adama moved through the postures of war, practicing with an imaginary sword only he could see, his awkward legs bent to give him space and to keep them strong. This work kept him focussed, kept him strong, it gave him purpose so one day- oh yes, one day....

Dimly he was aware that S'lanneneth had returned, hours after he had left and several cycles through the battle practice Adama had run through. He was wounded, as he had been expected to be and on some dim level Adama felt for him. But the rest of his mind, that which raged and screamed in madness and fury, remained desperately focussed on his posture and balance and the imaginary longsword in his hand.

The one his father had given him. The one the mage had broken when... when...

He stopped, his mind blanking in the grips of a terrible rage, a gibbering madness that had nearly broken him entirely and had made his mind retreat to a safe place. Oh he obeyed the enchantments on him, he followed the orders and he did as he was expected and he even fought when ordered but he never forgot and never gave up.

He could not forget. He wasn't allowed to.

Without being aware he had done so, he found he had turned and was staring at the tabard hanging upon the peg outside his tiny prison. His eyes saw it as he stared blankly, remembering when he had gotten it, the pride his parents and siblings had. He himself had been near to bursting with it and yet, he had scampered off to attend the banquet in the honor of the Squires.

Dimly, he remembered the Court and the Plots and those who he had been brought into the confidences of. And of their mistake in believing he would support a plot against the Queen.

Their vengeance against him was not so clear, only awakening under the hand of the Slavers and finding his body a parody of his former self. What had been done, how it had been done; he couldn't even guess. But it had been powerful magics indeed to wreak such a change on him.

He had been lost in his reverie for a moment, justa monent only, when he heard the coarse laughter and the steps of the Handlers. And in a moment he felt the enchantments take over, sinking to a kneeling position, a position of supplication, of vulnerability.

His world shrank away as his mind shut down, screaming.

 

[Aristoi]

Thuzzar, Donnil and Gurnar strode down the corridor laughing, dsucissing the sport they were about to have. The Gnolls laughter, a hyena's counterpointing cries, echoed through the long corridor as the token-stone the Master had given him led them to their intended quarry. It had been such a pleasure for the Master to give Adama to him, such a spirit to break. He'd been a Squire-Knight once before, so serving others had been trained into him. One would think he would come to do his duty with more grace.

Perhaps it was his new body that betrayed him. He was no longer a man, though male certainly. Thuzzar had asked and been denied several times, the permission to truly break the beast that was now Adama. Surely, like other animals, the spirit would be broken when the rut was taken from him?

But then, the game still had not ended and Adama remained yet alive. And so, the sport would continue.

They strode into the quad as if they owned it, the faint screams and uncertain rumblings of the other inmates within the Crimson Menagerie giving a brooding background to the two men and the Gnoll as they strode in.

Thuzzar wore his leather armor, stained dark in the blood of hundreds of slayings. His magic hand-axe and the short-sword 'Striker' rode on either hip. His cloak and tabard were stained with food and wine, snot and spittle for like the beasts he watched he was not one to be clean.

Though for himself it was more of choice than they who were imprisoned here.

Donnil, the man-at-arms who strode next to him, was never without his armor and weapons. He carried his longsword, a trophy taken from a man he had murdered long ago, the chainmail and shield also taken from those he had murdered. His sword and armor were magic and his shield was well-made though unlike Thuzzar, his had no names of their own. Secretly he covetted the short-sword though he felt it was too small and even in his hands, for he was a short huamn, it would keep his stature low.

In truth, he was rather conscious of his stature and lack of strength.

Gurnar strode behind them, the least-senior of them and the weakest in a fight. He had proven to be clever though and had won a she-Gnoll earlier than most, defeating his chieftain through guile and craft.

In short, he had poisoned him and issued challenge while he was weakened.

He had claimed everything his chieftain had and then in the night had fled to this region. Unfortunately, his pack had followed and chased his to the Spire where he had been discovered by Thuzzar. There had been some intial...
'unpleasantness'... before Thuzzar would take him in but becoming a member of this small pack brought him security.

And sport.

As they rounded the corner and came into the quad, their eyes all few on Adama who was already assuming "the position". Gurnar started to laugh, licking his snout obscenely before a sound brought him up short- it sounded like thunder.

They all looked up at the ceiling, a tiny amount of dust shifted down between the stones. They were hundreds of feet below the surface and the tower proper. What was going on up there?

Nobody noticed that the sounds in the Menagerie had ceased and dead silence reined.

 

[Aristoi]

Adama looked up at the sound, feeling something strange wash over him. Or rather, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted.

**********

S'lanneneth crouched and began to hum to himself quietly, understanding immediately that something strange had happened to the magic binding them. He assumed he had been released to heal himself and did so, humming the music necessary to summon up the life-giving positive energy.

**********

Elim coiled upon himself like a serpent and sat up silently, his body bonelessly slithering upright, a soft blue aura appearing at his skin and slowly pushing off from his skin as his natural psychic protections engaged.

**********

Kilmor watched Elim and smiled to himself, his eyes turning from sloe brown to reddish ornage in anger. His mind felt itself become free and he began to focus himself, pulling at the weak magical energy he could tap to rptect himself. Something had definitely happened and he intended to die fighting or escape.

**********

Adama leapt from a kneeling position and rammed his head into Thuzzar's face, breaking his nose and spurting his blood all over the place as his horns and fortified forehead did their work. He stomped with one foot onto the ranger's booted foot and reached with his right hand, snatching the sheathed shortsword from where it rode. In a moment he was armed and though without armor, he had his rage to fuel him.

His fantasy for years had at least come true- he was free to act against his tormentor and was armed. Vengeance was nigh!

**********

Donnil realized something was amiss as he heard Thuzzar react to the attack from Adama and yet, he was uanble to move. Things were happening too fast, they were under attack by the beasts. And that meant-

**********

Elim crept around the corner of his enclosure and stepped up to Donni, snatching the crossbow from where it hung on his belt and leaping away to try to fire at the heavily armed human. He was fast, so much moreso than the weakling human and yet, his senses had been dulled in this place. He failed to detect the catch on the tribber that prevented accidental injury.

**********

Adama moved, screaming an echoing stuttering cry of rage, his tongue sticking out of his split-lipped mouth as he reared back and gave voice to his madness. With blind fury he stepped to Thuzzar and stabbed at his face and torso, slashing left and right, adding his maddened strength behind his slashes and licking the blood off of his face as it splashed there.

**********

Kilmor stepped behind the Gnoll, for once allowed to stand upright, the horned giant towered over the Gnoll who had not yet been able to react to the changing situation. He lashed out with a blurring flurry of fists and landed several telling strikes, smashing into the hyena-creature with all of his strength.

Blood flew from the Gnoll's broken muzzle as Kilmor's last strike backhanded him off-balance.

**********

Elim danced back from Donni and tried to fire the corssbow, the telling 'click' of the safety sounding loud to him. Donni, on the other hand, had heard it over the din and turned to attack. The slashing attacks with his sword found not a scratch on the humanoid, for his psychic defenses had done as they should and turned aside the swinging steel.

**********

S'lanneneth cast another spell, seeing the combat happening outside fo his safe little hole. He dared to hope in a bare moment and cast to bring to himself the dagger riding on Thuzzar's belt. He missed, seeing the weak magic grasp at the belt itself but having not the strength to be effective. He looked for straps, for anything he might be able to undo or make mischief with and despite the surfiet of them, realized nothing he could do that way would be of any consequence.

Frustrated he considered what else he might do with the little magic at his disposal.

**********

Thuzzar, finally freed of the shock that had kept him immobile as Adama bleated and slashes at him, snatch up his own hand-axe and took it against the beast-boy. He hacked and hacked again, miraculously only striking once though it was a telling blow. He felt the blood splashing him from the Gnoll who's shocked cries were even now echoing down the corridor.

**********

Donni was occupied with Elim but turned and hacked at the giant bull standing within reach, taking a tiny clip and making a slash in the creatures flank. It was desperate fight now but he knew that some of these creatures weren't as impressive as they seemed. He was better than that dog Gurnar and he'd not be smashed flat.

**********

Ignoring the scratch for now, he still marked the human and kept a wary eye on the sword. Still, the Gnoll was standing which was in itself rather remarkable.

He had to do something about that.

Against he launched into a blinding series of blows, dropping the Gnoll with the first and aborting the second to step up to Donni and level an amazing punch against his shield. The *spang* from the impact was loud and momentarily paused the others.

***********

The loud impact from the shield staggered Donni and gave Elim the opening he needed, now that he ahd firgured out what clever catch ont he crossbow's stock. With a flick of his thumb and a quick movement he shot the human, burying a crossbow quarrel into his shoulder at a point between sheets of chainmail.

He smiled with satisfaction as the human cried out, though the sight of the fight between Adama and Thuzzar caught his attention. Adama was in danger.

**********

Adama made several passes at Thuzzar even as the human ranger slashed at him, taking his own toll in blood. The human was armored and wore a buckler and with his free hand he used it well enough.

But Adama, cursed with a shape not his own, had new strength as well. Summoning up a fierce series of blows he slashed and slashed, spilling Thuzzar's guts onto the stones before stepping over the body and hacking at the man's face, as if to erase him completely.

Even S'lanneneth saw the pure madness in his eyes then and dared not move, though he began to hum anyway, a romping song he had picked from one of the minion's mind years before.

**********

Kilmor and Elim heard the humming song not consciously but their limbs felt renewed and their heart gladdened, though they knew not why. Elim drew up and turned his head to that his white pupiless eyes stared straight into Donni's, speaking with his most horrible voice.

"You are meat."

**********

Donni heard the words and finally understood, seeking Gurnar lying beside him unmoving and Thuzzar being hacked apart by the crazed curse-boy, he knew he had a slim chance.

He turned and dashed for the corridor and the possible-freedom beyond, dodging past Elim who in turn seemed willing to allow him to go and seemingly past Kilmor who seemed to be turning to slowly to catch him.

At least, until he felt the hands close around his shoulders from behind.

**********

Kilmor reached out and grabbed the little human in the glittery metal armor even as he tried to dart away, closing both massive hands on his little shoulders and pulling him tightly against his chest. With a cry of fright that ended in a gurgle, Kilmor began to crush the life from him.

A moment later he turned away from the other so they would not have to see, as with a sound of much cracking woods and spatterings of wetness. Donni's arms and legs began to flail wildly around the body of the horned giant.

A moment passed and a sodden mass of red gore and shiny metal dropped, the human who had worn the armor was now packed with it, crushed into paste. His sword and shield, though both spattered, lay as mute testament to their usefulness against their opponent.

**********

The four turned and stared at each other for a moment. At that moment free and facing creatures from each other's nightmares.

 

[Aristoi]

"My name is Elim," he said as he nodded, a type of formal bow. He held the crossbow ready, reloaded already, the case of bolts hanging on a belt at his side. Like the rest he was naked and had been for some time, modesty had been burned away a long time ago.

He took stock of his companions.

Adama stood across from him, breathing heavily, dripping with gore. His shortsword gleaming dully, the runes glowing with soft blue light and sizzling faintly as the blood dried and began to flake off. The ruin of Thuzzar lay behind him, barely recognizable.

He stood nearly as tall as Elim himself, though he was more muscled and covered in a coat of wiry fur turning from russet-red on top to darker black-brown on haunches and legs to his cloven hooves. His upper body was well-developed, despite his incarcertaion, because of his endless hours of practice.

In most ways he seemed a man, except for the coat of fur, the cloven hooves and the decidedly inhuman head. His goat-eyes, backward curling horns and the nose and mouth that somewhat merged into a corvid-like face. To those who knew, he was Ibixian. To those that did not, he would be a 'monster'.

Kilmor stood closest to him, also much spattered, the tall bull-like being seemingly like a Minotaur though with subtle differences. A gleam of sharp intellect came from his brown eyes and his face had the more-forward facing eyes of a predator rather than those of cattle. His horns, now much-ground down from the small space he had been kept it, had once spanned a width slightly wider than his shoulders, which were of themselves massive. At full height he stood fully nine feet tall and weighed more than the three others here, his rippling muscles and powerful hands a testament to that.

And anyone who thought him a minotaur deserved what the got, for though they resembled one another, the Yak-folk were far more.

S'lanneneth crouched in his little hole, still too timid to emerge. He had snatched up Thuzzar's dagger at some point and held it low and to the side, shielding it from easy view, but Elim had seen and understood. He might look like a defenseless elf-child but Elim had seen both his true form and knew he was more skilled than he had been permitted to display before.

His voice could be sweet, he knew that and they all knew to what uses the Master had put the shapechanger, especially in his own quest to understand the inherent magic of such creatures. And yet, he had not discovered what it was that gave them that power.

Thankfully.

Still, S'lanneneth was a useful sort, his mind full of all sorts of tidbits that could prove helpful at any point.

"We should leave," he added, hoping to prompt more from the others. He knew they were all, including himself, in some level of shock. But fromt he sounds of weapon's combat in the corridors and the roaring and calls of the inmates, a pitched battle would be in progress. Escaping was going to be 'diffcult' at the least. And as if to puntuate his words, a dull rumbling from above, a vibration and more sifting dust from the ceiling pulled all their gazes upward. "Whatever that is doesn't sound healthy for us. It sounds as if Bloodtwist is having a party and the guests were insulted."

"You cou-ou-ould be right," Adama stuttered out. He blinked in what appeared to be frustration and shook it off, his nostrils flaring. "I am Adama, of Cormyr. Where are you from?"

"Pandemonium," Elim replied simply. It wasn't where he was most-recently from but it was where he had been born. "'A different Realm from Toril."

"You are of the Githyanki?" S'lanneneth asked curiously, timidly from where he crouched.

Elim turned and his eyes became cold white slits, making the other crouch away with a whimper. "You do not know enough not to offer insult knowingly, changeling; I will not slay you for that. I am not a G'thyanki," he pronounced it in the ancient form, "I am G'thzerai."

"Hey!" Adama called, stepping between them and protecting the shrinking S'lanneneth. A huge mistake should the other choose to press an issue, though of them Elim thought Kilmor far more likely to attack, considering his people's philosophies. "I don't care wha-a-at you are," he told Elim sharply, holding his weapon firmly but keepiing in a non-threatening position, "but it's true we must esca-a-ape. We must rely on one another to get out of here. From there on, we may part company. Agreed?" he asked, turning to all three of them were in his field of vision and were addressed equally.

Elim saw it for what it was and technically agreed with it, the ploy was good to escape and there would be great strength in such an alliance. He would even allow Adama to lead them for he himself had no such charisma.

He readied himself to attack the Yak, should he prove a dissenter.

"Agreed," came the surprising rumble from the massive bovinoid. "It is a good idea. I will follow for now. I am called Kilmor."

"A-agreed," S'lanneneth spoke up and emerged from his hole a little more, standing upright slowly, as if unused to it. "I am S'lanneneth but you can call me S'lann. I am unsure what I am."

"You are Fey'ri," Elim replied, having recognized the rare breed years ago. "The offspring of a demon and an elf, though I believe the breeding of a Drow and a lower demon, if I have it arights."

"I was wondering," S'lann murmured, thoughfully. "I was often brought into the presence of Drow visitors and commanded to take Drow shape and wear huge chains and a collar. That shape always felt more comfortable for some reason.." he paused, looking down at himself.

"Elim," Adama asked, gesturing to the crossbow, "you appear skilled in tha-a-at weapon?"

"It is not my weapon of choice but I understand it's use," Elim replied and a wrinkle of his eyebrowns. "A bow in my hands is a far more worthy tool and there are wonders I may create."

"Good enough," Adama replied and turned to Kilmor, "you seem very well-equipped with your hands. Are you trained in that method of fighting?"

"You ask if I am a warrior or an ascetic?" Kilmor asked rhetorically before smiling and showing his even herbivorous teeth, "I have studies ascetic philosophies and am most comfortable with these," he held up his hands, "or a staff of the appropriate size."

"Good," Adama nodded, "there is no a-a-armor that will fit you anyway and you seem very quick to be so large."

"It is part of the training," Kilmor replied with a slight bow of thanks for the compliment.

"Do you require armor Elim?" he turned back to the Githzerai.

"Nay Adama," he replied, careful to use their names as well. There was a reinforcement to recognizing and using names. It helped commit you to freedom when for so long you have been "beast" or "slave". "I am well-enough protected by my own speed and natural defenses. It seems that there is only two sets of armor anyway and considering the two of you, S'lann and you would be the best-suited to it."

"A-a-agreed," Adama replied quietly. "We shall divide their belongings equally. Clothing?" He asked the others, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Something," Elim replied, gesturing down which was somewhere they all had avoided looking at on each other.

"Anything," S'lann said at nearly the same time.

In the end Thuzzar's cloth-clout, carefully turned inside out because of what he found in it, girded Elim's loins. Until he could bathe properly, he wished to have a covering that was at least slightly cleaner than he was. Kilmor remained simply furred, though with a bit of wine he found in a flask he cleaned most of the gore from his fur and rid himself of embarrassing definition.

S'lann wore the studded leather Thuzzar had worn and had taken the buckler and hand-axe, flipping the weapon with a skill that made Elim slightly wary. He was sure he could put a shaft in his head before the axe found him but he prayed silently to the Balance that all things would remain equal for now.

Adama wore the chain mail, carried the shortsword and longsword and the chainmail Donnil had worn. Much of the gore had been removed but there was still a great deal, though Adama did not allow it to impede him a whit. He had managed, in the confusion of plundering the bodies and guarding the passage, to draw upon the Wyld and tap into the life-giving energy it held for him. some of his remaining wounds had scabbed, bruises had faded. He was not ready to share this secret with the others yet; it was too important.

Immediately from their passage the corridor crossed, leading them choices both right and left. The external passage had changed as well, being only two paces wide before the rumbling began, they found that it was now more than four and was very high as well.

Once again the Shiftspire had changed and yet, this seemed different.

 

[Aristoi]

"Which way is out?" Adama asked, whispering but loud enough o be heard over the screams.

"I will search a way," S'lann volunteered and in his dark armor, his skin darkened to blend into the shadows better. He crept off, his feet making nary a sounds, except perhaps to Elim's wide and sensitive ears. He crept to the end of the corridor on the left and returned, reporting a long corridor with three separate fighting groups of minions and monsters. Then he searched ot the right and found a group of minions fighting a fiendish wyvern, a great foe in any case.

"Clearly we must choose a lesser foe and yet there is no clear option," S'lann said shrugging his shoulders as he became the elf-boy again.

"The wyvern seems the best option to me," he replied with a shrug of his own, "I cannot think that the minions battling it will last very long. We must be very careful though," he added cautiously.

"Agreed," Kilmor responded and Elim nodded.

"Where are we going though?" Elim asked, looking from Adama to S'lann to Kilmor. "If we go 'up' we're going into 'that'," with a nod indicating another unable which produced more shivering and sifting. "I am unsure that that is wehre we want to go. Aside from that, is that also not logically where all the rest will be heading? Therefore," he flicked out a long claw-tipped finger, "will there not be far more difficulty for us to escape and far greater chance of recapture?"

"What a-a-are you suggesting?" Adama asked.

"We know that below us are the Pits and the Chambers of Blood," Elim replied drily, knowing they all remembered their own stints in such places. "We also know the oubliettes are there as well. I believe that there is a way out."

"Any place that does not require me to swim through bodily wastes will be all right," Adama said firmly.

"We may have no choice Adama," Elim replied, staring at the other levelly. "I have no wish to have to fight through hundred of creatures and men-at-arms and wizards to reach freedom either. Expediency may be required."

Adama sighed heavily and asked the one question Elim didn't have a logical answer to, "How do we find it? The Spire has changed again and the Maze has reset." He looked from Elim's shrug to the Yak-folk. "Its rumored that Minotaurs can always find their way through any maze. Can you?"

"I am not a Minotaur," Kilmor replied with dignity.

"So what are you?" Adama asked, curiosity catching him for the moment. "Do you have any skills that could help us?"

"Not unless we had a Minion Handler present," Elim interjected with a snort.

"Wha-a-at does he mean Kilmor?" Adama asked, his tone warning Elim he wanted the answer from the bovian.

"My people have an ability to take over the bodies of some creatures and ride in them, directing their actions and calling upon their memories and skills while retaining our own." He shrugged and gave Elim's smirk a quelling glare, "It is not quick and if the host body is killed, so I would be too. That is why a giant or some other very durable body would be my choice."

"Do not e-e-ever do something like tha-a-at in my presence," Adama told him, the note of command in his voice. It was a serious warning and one that Elim understood, if he personally thought it was a bit short-sighted. It would be perpetrating the same sort of subjugation on a victim that they had endured and anathema to the ex-Cormyrian. "E-e-ever. I mean it."

Kilmor simply nodded and made a gesture of acquiesence.

Elim shrugged and said, "So we still don't know which way to go or not to go."

"I- I think," S'lann offered oddly, his eyes distant as if he were seeing something they could not, "down is that way." He pointed in the direction of the wyvern's battle, which had raged unabated during their hushed coversation.

"How can you know that?" Elim asked suspiciously.

"This rune-stone," he touched the one he had taken from around Thuuzar's neck. 'It seems to tell me which direction, which path, to take to reach a specific place or person."

"Hmp," Elim muttered, "Human-magic. We'll be walking into a trap, I'm sure of it."

"You have something a-a-against Humans Elim?" Adama asked, a little dangerously.

"Humans did this to us after all Adama," he gestured to the goat-man next to him. "I'll bet it was a Human that cursed you wasn't it?"

"But it wasn't all Humans who did this," Adama replied, ignoring the taunt about his own current status. It was the last thing he needed to dwell on at the moment.

"It was all the humans I've ever known," Elim replied sternly. not allowing himself to be swayed. "Show me other Humans who can overcome my distrust of them and I will change my mind. So far I have," he made a gesture back to the corpses behind them, "these shining examples."

"They don't represent us a-a-all," Adama responded passionately, but underscoring the irony of his own statement. His spirit might have been human but his body no longer was. It had betrayed him as a reminder.

"I will agree when I see different Adama," Elim repried cooly and then nodded in respect to the other, "you, at least, have acted with honor as long as I have known you. But in truth, I cannot tell if it is truly the Human spirit or the Ibixian nature causing this. I will bide and see and that is all the compromise I am willing to make for now."

"It will have to be enough," S'lann interjected firmly, bringing surprised looks from the other three. "We have a job to do and a course to steer. Distractions such as these beggar us to death with enemies on all sides. We have only us right now and it is upon us we must depend."

"The child ha-a-as a point," Adama sighed with a slight grin.

Elim found himself also smiling at the spunk the young changeling had summoned up. It was clear from his trembling he was frightened of their reactions but he had spoken from this heart and it had been sound. He clapped the younger being on the shoulder and stepped away, creeping silently to the corner to look at the battle with the wyvern. Things had strangley become less-loud quite suddenly.

And he saw why. The wyvern was swallowing one of his adversaries, the other three having been rent or skewered, their bloated corpses looking drowned from the poison pumped into them. Once down the weyvern turned and snuffed the air, turning towards Elim who sucked back around the corner clutching at his chest in fright and then, unseen, back the other direction towards the sounds of more battle.

Elim turned back just in time to see the gross 'reptilian chicken' head off in the other direction towards the sounds of more battle and meat. ~Apparently~ he reasoned ~the smell of carrion was less-attractive than the smell of fresh meat still kicking~ Silently he motioned to those behind to follow and holding the crossbow before him, slipped silently down the corridor towards the bodies.

 

[Aristoi]

First on the scene, he gave a quick inspection and headed further down, giving the next junction a quick look and hoping where they were going was left, for the wyvern was disappearing down to the right. What infernal creature would have been convinced to mate with a she-wyvern and produce that, he could not imagine, but surely it had been the most-depraved that had.

"The armor is useless," Adama called quietly from where he knelt amongst the bodies. "The weapons appear whole and perhaps useful."

"Take their pouches and small easily transported valuables," Elim called back carefully, "we must travel light. Is there a bow and quiver I missed?"

"Na-a-ay," Adama called back as S'lann and Kilmor gathered up whatever looked light and useful, dropping them in sacks they carried. "I am ill-please looting the dead," Adama muttered to no one in particular.

"It is better we do this now Adama," S'lann advised him, busily stuffing a semi-clean tunic and a small package of ration into the sack he carried, "than starve later. Can we count on aid outside from the other Thayvians?"

"Nay," Adama replied grimly, a cloud of anger passing his eyes, "we can not."

"Then let us be away quickly," Kilmor responded, hoisting S'lann's sack as well as his own, freeing the small-one to use his weapons if needed.

"Which way?" Elim asked as they approached behind him, glancing at S'lann. At his direction and the same far-off look and stroke on the amulet, they headed left, which caused Elim no little flush of relief.

And the path before them, through which they made with all due speed, seemed a straight shot. At least, until they found the Demon.

 

[Aristoi]

"Help us! Help!" They heard a cry and failed to recognize the voice, which could be either good or bad. "Someone, anyone- help us!"

There was the sound of a great strike and the cry of a woman, and off went Adama, charging around the corner. "Damned goat!" Elim cursed and with a head motion, gestured for the other two to follow.

And even as he charged the corner he held up, skidding to halt as he recognized what was blocking the corridor.

A Zovvuk.

Dear Powers, a Zovvuk!

And Adama had charged right in. Ugh!

"You! Gith! I think you can use this better'n I," one of those that had already been fighting it called, even as it turned and slashed open the chest of a Lizardman Warrior that was battling it with them. The cast was poor, the weapon thrown was not the least aerodynamic and it fell short. But the recurved longbow with the gleaming elf-hair string and the worked black-hide of the quiver with two-score arrows in it drew his attention like nothing else.

Elim tossed the crossbow to S'lann and dove for the bow and arrows, rolling and coming to his feet kneeling with an arrow knocked.

S'lann, seeing what the others were fighting and knowing his poor magics would do nothing, instead began to sing his wordless song of encouragment. He knew it wouldn't help much but it would gladden their hearts and lend strength and at the moment, it was all he had to give.

Adama charged in, head lowered, bleating a warcry as he swung his longsword. The strike bounced off of the raised talons of the horrid beast as it casually swatted the sword aside.

With terrible ease it stabbed with it's other clawed hand and punctured the mail-chested woman standing to the side, shield and sword raised. She had silvery-feathered wings and long blonde hair, the symbol of Ilmater on her brow in glowing crimson. She gasped, blood gurgling from her mouth as the other hand joined the first, tearing through her breastplate like paper and with a heave he rent her in two!

Her sword, gleaming with holy power, clove to the horrid beast even as he ended her life, the stinking flesh separating where the blade bit deep leaving black smoke where the flesh and blood boiled away. Lifeless fingers dropped the hissing blade even as it was drawn from the wound, only to fall near the feet of Adama.

The remaining warrior, the only one surviving, was dressed in banded mail, carried a scimitar and like Adama had cloven hooves. But though he also had horns, the Satyr looked more Man that the former Cormyrian. Near his feet, his pipes lay shattered.

And with his own roar he swung at the demon, slashing at him once, twice, leaving thin lines of black ichor dripping down it's chest.

And then the Zovvuk did a curious thing. It turned and stepped to one side so that blocked the other passage, bending down. A third eye opened in the middle of it's forehead and a withering ray of crimson lashed out, lighting up the passage nearest it.

From the Satyr came a surprised cry and he felt back, staggering, resisting the effect. Elim saw the manoeuver and remembered what was about to happen, his cry of warning coming too late for others even as he averted his gaze. The crimson light washed over him and he resisted it, his natural resistance to magic keeping him safe this time.

Meanwhile the goat-man had jumped into the ray in an attempt to shield his allies from the ray, whatever it was. He didn't have the defenses EWlim did and could not know.

With a surprised bleat a wisp of something like smoke was torn from his eyes and nose, fluttering across the space into the eye of the Zovvuk and causing the worst of his wounds to heal over justa bit. Adama staggered as the necromantic flare subsided, the third crimson eye closing for the nonce, a trace of his vitality ripped from him.

His nose pale and his eyes whitened slightly, Adama raised his head partially stunned by what had just occurred.

"Damn you!" Elim cried and fired from his kneeling position, two arrows shrieking past Adama to slam into the upper chest of the Zovvuk even as the third, a seemingly wild shot, bounced off of the ceiling and slammed into it's forehead and putting out the now-closed evil eye.

The Zovvuk screamed in rage and pain, more black ichor squirting from the shaft puncturing it's skull.

And Adama, not to be outdone, charged into the horrid demon even as Kilmor, forgotten by the others tackled the crature. Both of them, the Yak-folk and the Zovvuk, were of the same size and struggled mightily against one another's strength. With a mighty heave and a roar Kilmor picked up the great demon and threw it down, pinning it under his immense strength.

"KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!!" Kilmor shouted over the roaring of the demon even as the vile creature heaved and clawed trying to gain it's freedom. Muscles bunched and sinews strained, one supernatural creature again one demonic.

"We'll hit you!" Elim cried even as he took a bead, knowing he wouldn't but Adama and the Satyr likely didn't have his skill.

"IT MATTERS NOT! KILL IT NOW 'ERE IT GAINS ITS FREEDOM!!" Kilmor roared as he exterted his ultimate strength, doing nothing but binding the evil creature and holding it to the ground.

Adama hesitated in his attack, afraid he might strike his large ally even as Elim struck, placing three more shafts into clear spots in the thrashing demon and forcing more cries of pain and rage from it. "Strike now then, don't make this sacrifice be in vain!"

The Satyr woven in, taking several stabs at the creature, attacking with precision even as Adama waded in, managing to strike the enemy and avoid his compatriot.

The demon retaliated by making a supreme effort and standing, however he was unable to remove the Yak-folk that hung on it like a child. It swung one way and another, bashing the bovoid against one wall and then another trying to dislodge him, succeeding in only hitting itself.

Elim fired another volley, hunting for good spots and striking with inhuman accuracy, firing around his friends and Kilmor and drawing fresh blood.

"For Cormy-y-yr!"Adama shouted as he struck the telling blow, cleaving the great demon's skull twain and causing it to explode into a steaming stinking cloud of black mist. Kilmor collapsed to the floor, his arms suddenly empty, arrows clattering with him when the creature disappeared.