Crimson Menagerie

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 2

"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 slightl 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 those 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 from the 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."

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 2

"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'th-zerai."

"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 eyebrows. "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. The both locked eyes and grinned, blushing at their sudden discomfort. It felt good to be able to feel discomfort about something so inconsequential.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 2

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.

"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."

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 2

"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 strangely 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 wyvern 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.

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-pleased 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! The Man-Goat would get him killed yet!
"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 two arrows nocked and ready.

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. With a steady hand he fired the bolt loaded in the crossbow Elim had tossed him, the quarrel glancing off the demon's thick hide.

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 attack, whatever it was. He didn't have the defenses Elim 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 creature. 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 exerted 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 wove 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.

They stood all stood panting, the last notes of S'lann's song dying away, slumping with exhaustion as it's strengthening effects faded.

"I need a drink," Elim muttered, sitting down heavily.

**We both do** came the voice.

He looked up alarmed and saw nobody else seemed to have heard. With dread his eyes fell to the bow laying across his lap, ~Oh gods and Powers, please...~

**Well who else d'you THINK it was, you simpleton?**

~Did I just trade one form of-?~ he started to ask, directing his thoughts at the weapon.

**'slavery for another? If you like... though I tend to consider it a partnership. You need a fine bow and I need a wielder and we seem to see things similarly** the edgy male voice replied.

~Can we discuss this later?~ Elim replied, levering himself upright but not letting go of the weapon, intelligent or not.

**Surely** came the whispered reply.

"Where now?" Adama asked, standing over the rent body of the Aasimar Paladin, holding her sword thoughtfully. It held power, even Elim sensed it from this distance but he couldn't tell what kind. It bore a strange mark of trinity on it but he couldn't make out the eidolons.

"We must away," S'lann told them. "Gather what we can and continue," he paused and touched the stone around his neck, "that way." He pointed down the way they had been heading. He glanced over at Elim curiously, an eyebrow quirked. "We're you talking to yourself?"

Elim gave him a dangerous look, forcing the other to scurry away.
"I am Yolen of Cormanthor," the Satyr introduced himself, shaking hands with Adama and nodding to Kilmor, Elim and S'lann. "I would aid you as you have aided me. I sense that we will have greater success together than apart."

Adama looked at the others and seeing no apparent objection he nodded wearily. "I am somehow diminished. I am not sure how much further I can go."

"The Healer is in the Pits?" he turned to look at S'lann, who understood instantly what he was asking. He touched the stone and got that faraway look for a moment before nodding confidently. "Then she can tend to our wounds."

"I can help with some of that," Yolen offered, singing an oddly yodelling song with a syncopantic melody, moving from one to the other and healing them of their lightest wounds.

"And we have these," S'lann offered one potion to each of the most-wounded from the pack he had collected. "These are the Healer's potions, carried by the minions who have perished. Kilmor and I have confirmed them of healing."

A few moments and the mint-dusk tasting fluids had been drunk, vitality returning and fatigue banished, though for Adama he was still weakened. "We must go."

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 3

Act 3



The Great Stair opened before them, a shaft at least a hundred feet in diameter and stretching below them into darkness and above them into darkness. The immediate area was lit, marginally, from dim sphere of magic floating near the walls and the wide winding staircase that wound around the circumference. Every fifty feet or so a landing appeared with four passages opening from it radially. Normally, the magical lights were quite bright and, if not cheerful, at least provided excellent illumination for humans.



However, to each side of their passage, the landing had sheared away leaving a huge gaping space with at least a fifty-foot drop to the next level below. Even as Elim and Adama stepped to the edge to look over, a silver dragon wyrmling shot past, forcing them to stumble back. The serpent flew straight up as if pursued by the demons of hell.



And then they saw it was. A Balor and a Beholder followed, the Eye-tyrant fired at the dragonling and the Balor, giving the impression that they were fleeing it. Whatever the case, none of them wanted to be spotted by any of those creatures.



“Wha-a-at now?” Adama asked, turning to Elim, Kilmor and S’lann.



“Rope?” Elim asked and the other two indicated none. He sighed heavily and shook his head and then grinned, “Time for trust. Hold hands with me,” he offered his hands to S’lann and Adama.



“Why?” Adama asked hesitantly.



“There is a life between us Cormyrian,” Elim replied amused, cracking a ghastly smile full of sharp teeth. “I won’t let you fall. Either you trust me or you don’t. Surprise me; don’t be a Human hypocrite.”



Adama looked like he wanted to smack the Gith for what he said but after a moment he sighed, letting it go. Elim grinned in response and made a point of holding his hand out for Adama to take it. S’lann already grasped his other long-fingered claw-tipped hand loosely. Kilmore took S’lann’s other hand as he secured his sacks, to make sure that they didn’t lose what little they had claimed.



“Shut your eyes, hold on hard and step with me. On one- three!” he took a step forward bringing them to the edge, “two-!” he leapt and jerked S’lann and Adama with him, their weight catching Kilmor off-balance and dragging him with them.


“Bastaaa-aaaa-aaaaaarrrrrrd!” Adama screamed as they fell, plunging into the darkness. He seemed to be laughing, even as they plunged, like Elim his eyes wide open and laughing madly.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 3

The floor rushed up, becoming visible a mere moment before they would hit- splat and smear of blood and bone on the cold grimy stone. Elim brought his waiting will to bear, activating the minimal manifestation all of his people had. With a flash of blue light that expanded in a ring around them, pushing dust and wind away with a brief puff of displaced air, their plummet slowed and all four came to rest lightly, if unsteadily, to their feet.

The clop of Yolen's hooves followed softly as he touched down a moment later, safe and unharmed.

"Safe and sound," Elim smirked at Adama and S'lann who appeared to have turned a slightly green color. He was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his shapechanging powers, which made him grin. "See, no harm?"

"'Safe', with you?" Adama asked, steadying himself while S'lann bent and kissed the ground they stood on. "Hardly."

"You wound me goat-boy," Elim replied with heavy sarcasm but he grinned anyway, ears twitching.

"Next time," S'lann murmured to Kilmor, "I fly myself."

"But that would mean looking like something other than the 'innocent little elf-boy'," he grinned at S'lann's discomfort.

"Elim."

"I was just teasing him Adama," Elim protested childishly, grinning like a fiend.

"Shall we continue?" Adama asked, inspecting the lowest level of the Menagerie proper. Before them, vast corridors led to the underground coliseum of the Pits, just visible beyond. "Is she home?" he asked, looking at S'lann who was already invoking the rune stone.

"No," he replied, looking slightly confused. "I think she's in the stands."

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 3

It took a few moment to negotiate the corridors and gain the stands and still longer to actually find the Healer where she crouched in the shadow of a balustrade as if waiting in the sun. "Well," she told them as they popped up, "it took you long enough."

"Did I miss something? Kilmor asked, looking at the others.

"Always dear," she replied not-quite acidly. "You," she pointed at Adama, "have had your vitality attacked and damaged. You are also slightly mad, aren't you?" without waiting for an answer she turned and looked at the others, "The rest of you are not in the best shape. I will Heal you but I want something in return."

"What?" Adama asked flatly. She did, after all, work for Bloodtwist. In some fashion she almost assuredly had to be as bad as he was. He figured he wasn't going to like this at all.

"'Take me with you," she demanded quietly. "I am a Daughter of Kossuth and the Eternal Flame gutters here, the embers of my soul are being smothered in this deep place." She gestured helplessly, her rigid control almost slipping, ineffable grief almost bursting out. "I long to see the sun."

"So." Elim wasn't terribly sympathetic but he understood the Children of Kossuth, the Fire of Struggle. He understood they respected strength and that winning meant everything but that didn't mean he had to like it; especially when it was applied to him without his consent. "Agreed," he offered, looking at S'lann, Kilmor, Adama and Yolen, each in turn.

One by one he elicited nods and he turned back to her, "You can come." He held up an arrow, point up to emphasize his words, "But at the merest hint of betrayal, I will put this through your eye."

"Understood," she smirked her reply, contemptuous of his threat. "Come. We need to get to the infirmary." And with no more ado she rose and led them, regally one might have said, to her domain.

Fortunately the Pits were deserted as even the attendants had fled. Flesh blood decorated the stones out in the arena and chunks of what appeared to be raw meat. Elim looked at it hungrily for a moment and wiped at his mouth where he had started to drool. His people were omnivorous but he craved meat like very little else. Especially after nearly thirty years of being here and eating the Sludge, he barely remembered what it tasted like. Nevertheless, his body hungered for it.

In short order they had entered the Healer domain, the Infirmary, with it's sparkling clean treatment area and warm little stove which never cast any smoke. Upon some shelves near at hand were salves and pots, small ceramic bottles like the ones they carried and poultices for festering wounds. S'lann started to reach for them and she stopped him, shaking her head.

"What you need is far more serious than what those are capable of," she said softly and gestured to a small but heavy stone door off of her herbal work-area. The smell of herbs and distillations and pure water was both distracting and pleasant and managed to banish the stench of the charnel pits and the rotting mess in the corridors and arena outside. She strode to the small door and laid her hand on it, whispering something and then waited a moment, her hand still pressed.

A moment later the entire slab of stone turned molten, the effect spreading from her hand outward, receding back into the wall as if it had evaporated.

"Nice trick!" S'lann breathed.

"Kossuth is generous," she replied absently and walked into a far larger room that the door led one to believe existed. Floor to ceiling racks held potions, pots, unguents and jars some transparent but most opaque. On a peg by the door she took down a shoulder bag decorated with designs of burning flames, similar to the tiny pendant of what appeared to be a live flame she wore around her neck. Into this sack she placed nearly half the contents of the room, murmuring what sounded like the names of each as she placed them inside.

A few moments and she was done, turning with small potion vials and handing one to each of the others and held two in reserve as she turned to Adama. "You are broken," she said, almost as if she were invoking something. With care she handed him a tiny vial filled with a glowing white liquid, "Be mended."

Looking at it curiously, he quirked an eyebrow at her. She failed to respond and remained standing, looking at him expectantly. A pause, a shrug and he popped the tiny cork and swigged the contents. For a moment he looked pole-axed, cross-eyed as whatever was in the potion went to work on him before he shivered all over and staggered slightly, his pupils becoming pinpricks. "Whoa," he murmured and looked at the tiny vial and then at the Healer, "that wasn't your run-of-the-mill healing potion was it?"

"Well," she replied demurely and cryptically, "it certainly was a Healing potion." The emphasis on the word was odd and she seemed unwilling to explain. Adama shrugged and let it slide, the wildness having faded from the backs of his eyes. "This next, to replace your missing vitality," she offered him a larger vial, this one a slushy gold like the purest honey from celestial bees. For all they knew, it could have been.

Toasting her gallantly, he tipped up the potion and swallowed the sluggish liquid, swishing it around his mouth with obvious gusto as he drank it, savoring the taste. Once he'd drained it and leaned back against a counter and shook his head, the whiteness fading from his eyes and his nose. "'Like the mead of the gods," he murmured and smiled.

"Well," she replied with her own smile, pleased with his response, "maybe not of the GODS…"

The others ceased being quite so tense and took their potions, feeling aches and pains fade and wounds and scabs close over. Vitality flooded them and Elim chuckled, his body humming like he had slept for weeks and been fed well the entire time. His body swelled and he stretched, his joints cracking as his lean muscles regained some of their wasted vitality.

He glanced at S'lann, Kilmor and Adama in turn, each of them looking similarly flushed and restored.

"Now that we're all ready," she offered, "can we go?"

"Well see," S'lann said as the others kind of looked at one another, "we were pretty sure 'down' was the best way to go since it was probably the path of least resistance," he shrugged, "but we're not sure exactly how to get out from here."

She heaved a huge sigh and cocked her head, considering. "The easiest way is also the worst," she said slowly. "The oubliettes empty into a vast waste cistern and from there it all flows into the southern river."

"'Nice for the fish and the people downstream," Elim muttered, "humans!"

Adama just gave him a look and looked away, shaking his head.

**They ARE filthy creatures** came the same voice, a little primly.

"Can we NOT have this discussion now?" he whispered to the bow on his back. S'lann looked at him oddly. "'As much as I agree with you."

**Sooner or later Elim** the voice replied **we're going to have to have a chat. It would best be sooner but I don't think my purposes will be served while you're still here. So in the meantime** it paused **I will serve for now**

"Thanks," he muttered and glared at S'lann who looked away quickly, embarrassed or fearfully, Elim couldn't tell.

"I know the way to the closest oubliette which is in the Chamber of Blood below us," Ayanna told them with a frown. "There is a passage we can use to get there unseen and unmolested."

"I'm all for that," S'lann spoke up to nobody in particular.

"That means we're going to have to land in..?" he started to ask.

"Yes," she replied shortly.

Yolen, who had remained silent and watchful the entire time, clapped Adama on the shoulder and said with a laugh, "So what's a little muck between friends!?"

Adama just growled and gave him a scathing look, hefted his gear and motioned for them to do the same.

"This way," she said as she touched a part of the racks in her store room, swinging a secret door that revealed a corridor large enough to admit Kilmor if he crouched and sucked it in.

Without a backward glance she led them into the darkness.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 4

It took nearly a half an hour for them to make the Chamber of Blood, the torture chambers where the blood of the beast was siphoned away to…*somewhere*. It was rumored Bloodtwist used the blood for foul experiments where he created artificial life and other rumors had it that he sold the blood to Vampire connoisseurs who in turn funded much of his hateful experiments in other areas. Whatever the case, nobody knew for sure and if anybody really did know, they weren’t telling.

The secret door opened up onto the observation platform that sat astride four theatres, a comfortable couch and opulent cushions with a chilling cabinet for wine and delicacies and a strange contraption with lenses and cones that brought sounds and images to him of what was being down in any direction and allowed him to send his voice to issue commands.

So neat and beautiful up here, so terrible and horrific down there.

The two eunuch attendants saw them emerging and scurried away, jumping the rails to the theatre floor below to escape. Ayanna merely gestured for them to follow and she led them across one of the four causeways and through a series of doors and down a flight of stairs. At the end of a short corridor was a iron grate with a winch beside it, allowing it to be withdrawn. A sharply-sloping shaft fell away from the edge into darkness that extended beyond the range of their sight.

“Here it is,” Ayanna indicated, pulling the winch herself and pulling the gate all the way open. The opening was large enough to throw a hill giant down, blood and other less-identifiable stains on the lip and wall. “Who’s first?” she asked, looking at the others.

“Ugh,” Adama rolled his eyes and flattened his ears and hopped up on the edge. If their cells were nasty, this was a hundred times worse. “’Nothing for it,” he muttered and jumped. With a screeching grind Adama slid down the shaft and they could all hear a distant bleating scream for an entire two seconds before a meaty-wet impact.

The sounds of retching and coughed could be heard along with shouted curses. Obviously he wasn’t happy.

Elim hopped lightly up to the edge and hopped into the shaft, sliding down the grimy shaft and into the open fetid air a few moments later, feeling something odd catching at him. Spider webs? His dark-sight revealed the shifting mass below him and at the last instant he called upon his Will once again, halting his plummet so that he fell gently into the shifting roiling filth.

He breathed through his mouth and tried not to pant, knowing that in this filth even his supernatural body would be subject to virulent sickness. He looked in all directions, showing that the cavern was enormous, the edge of another cavern opening onto the left just within the range of his sight. Looking up he thought he saw movement, something large perhaps, a spider?

He shivered violently. He HATED spiders!

Quickly he moved, knowing that whomever would be coming would come down on him and followed Adama who was already making for ‘high ground’. A stone ledge and a lip with a metal slab that blocked a huge opening had a stone projection above it that glowed softly. Adama was alright on the ledge and seemed to be trying to climb onto the stone projection but the slithery grime on him made the climb difficult.

Kilmor fell into the mush with a huge splash, showering Elim and Adama with filth even as far away as they were. The big bovoid rose to stand, his long hair and fur matted to his body. “EUGH! He retched, trying not to vomit and barely succeeding. He was spitting out things Elim resolutely turned his mind away from.

Next came Ayanna who’s slippered feet barely touched the muck before she was skipping along it, not soiling herself or even her dainty shoes. She skipped to the ledge and stood balanced there effortlessly, making even Elim look like a clod.

Yolen came next and hit with a satisfying splat, making Elim grin as he rose and quipped, “’A little muck between friend my arse.”

S’lan, of course, popped his wings and dropped down last, taking flight in the vast open space.

And saw it.

“SPIDER!” he screamed even as he dove towards Adama, “BIG SPIDER! BIG BIG BIIIIIIIG SPIDER!!”

“GREEEaaat!” Elim growled and immediately pulled his bow and nocked two arrows, ready to fire. He could vaguely see movement, something was moving across the ceiling, but he could see it clearly enough to fire. Especially since arrows were precious for the moment.

S’lan latched onto the wall next to Adama as the latter swung his legs up on the stony projection, slathering the entire thing with filth and muck, riding it like he would a horse.

And the soft rosy glow of the projection changed color, shifting to a vibrant green even as a distant bell began to clamor. A dull rumbling began and the entire mass of floating garbage shivered, a small wave rippling from the direction of the rumble, to the left.

Looking up, Elim saw the spider heading back to the corner it had been in before, quickly. Stealth had been set aside. That meant trouble. “Uhh, guys? I’ve got baaaad feeling about this!”

As if to punctuate his words, the metal door began to rise, rumbling up and exposing another large cavern with a slight gushing of water spilling into a huge rock basin with a huge hole in the middle.

Adama leaned over the projection to look through the opening. “Oh cra-a-a- !” and the world exploded around them! Roiling filth, slithering muck and a tidal wave of rotted meat washed over them and forced them all out onto the basin, where the hole created an immediate whirlpool that roared as it sucked the swirling liquid mess down it’s throat.

“Take a deep breath!” Ayanna called to them all as she, sitting cross-legged and floating on top of the muck, slid straight into and down the hole. Without any ado she disappeared through the vortex. Elim and the rest did their best to get that breath, grabbing into the Yak as he floated into the vortex, far more buoyant than the rest of them. Shutting eyes and ears as tightly as they could the four remaining disappeared into the roaring throat and the unknown beyond.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 4

An interminable time later Elim awoke to an insistent prodding in his mind. *poke, poke*

“Oh Powers,” he moaned, rolling over to heave whatever it was he thought might be in his throat and nose out. “I had hoped you were just a bad dream.”

*Be thankful Elim* came the snickering reply *that ONE of us knows how to swim. Once you were unconscious, it was all I could do to save your stinking life!*

“I am rather fragrant aren’t I?” he asked, changing the subject.

*Thankfully I can’t smell us* he replied *though from the reaction of the small animals that investigated you, even scavengers find you unpalatable*

“’Small favors and all that,” he muttered, rolling to his stomach from where he lay on his side, half in and half out a swirling lazy river. A dim firelight flicker showed just beyond the reeds and as he rose to an unsteady crouch, he saw Adama and S’lan slowly rise from other places in the reeds. Kilmor rumbled and snorted, standing up a moment later. Elim waited and when they weren’t attacked immediately, he stood as well, checking for weapons.

*Imagine, a Druid AND a Ranger than can’t swim* came the voice again

~I can swim!~ Elim shouted in his mind ~just not carry half a ton of stuff~

Mocking silence answered him and he grumpily turned to the figure at the fire.

“Come come!” Yolen called cheerfully from where he sat, divested of his clothes and armor, weapons laid aside neatly. A small pot lay next to the fire and another lay on it, delicious smells coming from both. “I have mulled wine, watered of course, for none of us could stomach it I am sad to say!” He gestured to the other, larger, pot. “I have a grain porridge here as well, hot and nourishing and far more flavorful than the Sludge.” All the while he was busily whittling and carving with a tiny knife, a set of reeds laid out before him with some twine. It was apparent he crafted another set of pipes.

The others didn’t question their good fortune and decided to take advantage of the food and wine, eating and drinking to satisfy the deep hunger for flavors and textures, regardless of what they were eating. The porridge had fish in it, little bits here and there, and herbs that seasoned the wild rice and onions.

It was like the best food any of them had ever eaten, ambrosia of the gods. As they settled back, their eating bowls now filled with steaming watered wine, Adama turned to Yolen and asked, “Where did you get all of this?”

“Well for that,” Yolen replied with a wide grin and an experimental tootle on his now assembled pipes, “I am glad you asked.”

And with that, the others fell over in a deep sleep.

“Silly mortals,” Yolen replied and grinned, “Come forth,” he told those that were hiding as pixies and nixies, faeries and sylphs emerged from the woods and reeds, the rock and trees. They all grinned and smiled, giggling and creeping, they advanced on the sleeping forms around the fire, sinister shadows cast by flickering fire.