Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")

[Horacio]

Next update from me will be Monday; I won't have net access on Sunday, but hopefully after that I'll have the nice ADSL again

What? We will have to wait until Monday?

That's going to be hard...

 

[Carnifex]

Wolf, Sebastion and Kale trudged through the rain, the swirling storm pouring down but they managed to get as much shelter as possible as they made their way out of the Rats Quarter without incident. Pushing the door to Karbal's open, they filed in to greet the other members of their band.

Relieved to see that Kale and Wolf had returned, and still feeling the exhilaration of the storm raging unabated outside, Wyshira was uncharacteristically effusive. Stepping up next to Kale, she exaggerated scrutinizing him from head to toe. "Goodness, I'm surprised. You don't even look singed! Sebastian, I have to hand it to you - it's no small feat keeping our Kale out of trouble!"

Wolf shook some of the water off, Karbal looking mournfully at the books underneath his wet feet. "The wizard's called Cancer," he told the others, "he's a slaver and a fence in the criminal underworld here. His base of operations is down beneath the city in some old chapel to Gilamesh - he's the head of a cult of the dragon-worshippers - and we ran into some more of his lackeys. Made short work of them but one escaped so I reckon they're on to us pretty good now, though the storm's going to have hampered any efforts they're making against us. If we want to move against them I recommend we do so while nature's still benefitting us; we can find this tracker we were wold about, a fellow called Rat Trin who lives under the Rats Quarter, and attack the slavers before they can move to attack us again." He outlined what they had learned of the man called Cancer Tierholme.

"Of course you lot don't need to come, but I reckon I at least should scout the place out and take a look; if there're slaves down there, well, I've made it a point during my life to try and fight the Gilamees and their slavery wherever I've found it during my life, and let me tell you that's a lot of places."

Giving his full attention, Burl listened in silence to his companion's tale. At the conclusion, Burl knew that he had no choice other than to go with his friends to find the one called Cancer. "Wolf, Where you and Kale go, I go. I owe you too much not to help. Not only is he a threat to us, but I do not condone anyone who sells others into bondage."

Kale made a not-so-suble double take. The young mercenary was nothing short of astonished. Quickly, he schooled his features, but regarded what the man had said. Loyalty, even as deep as Burl professed, was easilly gained and lost. Besides, it was out of a sentiment of this-for-that, a proper mercenary attitude, but naturally not one to be mistaken for some sort of high-faluting virtue. Kale hated high-faluting virtue. But as Burl detailed his disdain for slavery, Kale knew he was as bound to certain dispositions as the mage was to his own. The necromancer really did have scruples... but as he looked at the mage, he wondered exactly where they lie.

There was a clattering from Ebri's bags as the mimir suddenly floated into the air, the silvery skull's jaw clacking as its eyes lit with blue fire. "I'd recommend you don't leave the cultists behind."
Everyone stared at it in surprise, some moreso than others for none of Wolf's company had seen the thing before. Somehow the mimir managed to give off an aura of sheepishness.
"Well, you see, I did tell you all I can cast auguries and I thought, well, I'd just ask and find out whether it'd be good to head off to this sorcerers tower and leave these cultists behind, and the answer was 'woe'. Which, um, means that it'd be a bad idea. So. Um. It's just that after being cooped up with kobolds for a bit who thought I was some sort of spirit and couldn't understand a word I was saying it's nice to be travelling again, so I thought I'd just cast an augury and help you lot out... Um. I'll just shut up now," it said embarrassedly.
"What," said Wolf in a low, level tone, "in the Nine Hells is that?"
"Well, actually, it's interesting you should say 'Nine Hells', I have a number of recordings on me that..." Then the mimir suddenly lapsed back into embarrassed silence under the mercenary's piercing gaze.

"It is a recording device." Ebri said firmly, smoothly, before any of the others could speak. She smiled apologetically, and stuffed it deep into the folds of her wrap. "It also has some secondary magical properties, such as this occasional automatic augury you have just witnessed. A useful thing, upon occasion, although it has, unfortunately, been imbued with a personality. It is quite handy for recording one's travelogue, however. While I would not trust my life with it, it being simply a mechanical bauble, it may be wise to consider its suggestion." She sought the eyes of Mel and Sebastion. We do not know these people well. Say no more.

Life was full of surprises, Kale thought, as Ebri tucked the 'mimir' away. A font of information, volunteering information about their current plight... And the woman tucked it away like an annoying nuisance. The traveling cleric with a penchant for bookstores, holder of some silver skull- they could all use it- group spoils? Yet why put it away?
Of course, she doesn't trust us... Kale wondered why he still was sometimes miffed at other's distrust of him, when he certainly didn't supply any information about himself. Letting her off the hook for the moment, the mercenary focused on gathering a plan to put an end to Cancer.

"Very informative," Cord said gruffly, after his heart recovered. He had heard the shuffling and movement from Ebri's direction, but the sudden words of a strange voice from a point some two feet to her side arrested Cord's senses. It had been quite a while since someone had scared him ? the many children among the villages he visited would always try to startle him, without success. But the disembodied voice took him completely off guard.
Cord did not particularly trust the mimir. It had no smell, no taste. Its movement was almost imperceptible, varying the subtle air currents only slightly when it first rose from the bags. It had no breath, no blood pumping through its limbs, no muscles flexing. After continuing to speak, after Ebri's quick and pat, the mimir remained disconcerting.
Yet, it seemed he had little choice. Whether pronounced by a floating voice or Wolf himself, the words made sense. He cared little for the dark politics and underground of this particular town, but if its inhabitants followed their tracks, and indeed bring woe to them all, Cord agreed there was no other real choice available.
He cocked his head, listening to the increasingly pounding rain outside the bookstore. The incessant downpour would effectively obscure most of his senses. He hoped an encounter would not occur this evening. Or, at the very least, within a dry, warm, sheltered building.
"I will follow where you wish to place me," he said in his quiet, rumbling voice. He turned slowly to face Wyshira's direction. "Though I may need familiar with the storm to guide me."

Burl pondered the incredible talking skull. Spike, What an amazing world away from our home with Raymond. In such a short time that we have been on the road, we have made many new friends and barely escaped with our lives several times. We have learned of the science of metallo-thaumaturgy and many wondrous items such as this talking, floating, seemingly intelligent skull. We will need to check out this more closely if Ebri allows us to. I must admit though that our new found friends must not trust us yet if they have not allowed us to see this unique item before. I guess only time working with them will bring a shared trust.
“Sebastion. From what Kale says, I want to thank you for keeping an eye on them. How do the three of you suggest we proceed?”

"Well, we ALL sat there like dopes while the hireling slipped out, so you can be sure this Dragon-worshipper will know we are coming. Cancer heard me mention something during our first meeting. Here in the books, you guys probably learned more than I know... dropping the name of some ancient power is hardly what he expected from me... but if we play our cards right, we can use 'Shushrek' as its own disguise. If we learn who this guy was, we may be able to make Cancer think we're something fancy."
Oblivious the information the 'blue crew' had learned, the mercenary thought of the name as just another front or disguise to distract his enemy. Looking into confused faces, he was completely at a loss, to describe what his companions might be thinking.
"What?" He shifted his balance on heavy boots, a careful grace that was a ridiculous irony, considering his weighty armor and demeanor. Thinking all the time he had stepped on the wrong book, or caused a social feaux-pas, he was frustrated yet again that a swift blade solved no social problems. Well, it solves all the decent social problems, he thought as he longed to be back in the Rat's Nest.

Wyshira had been as surprised as anyone when the metalic, talking skull floated out of Ebri Zol's bag with it's advice for the crew. "Does that thing perform auguries? Amazing!" But why shove it back in the bag so quickly? She arched one pale brow skeptically at the Immarian's description of the device as a tool for recording a travelogue. Ebri was obviously trying to convince them that it was unimportant, but why?
Well of course Kale and Wolf would be going after Cancer; it made perfect sense. She was surprised to hear Burl volunteer to go with them, but glad she wouldn't have to worry about him while she was gone. She gave him a warm, encouraging smile. And Cord would come too; she hadn't doubted that he would. She took his arm, ready to act as guide once again.
The weather would be their cover, Wolf hinted. A good omen; the Storm Lady smiled upon their endeavor.
Wonderful! Let's get started."

Mel was so engrossed in Karbal that Wolf startled her coming into the shop. He, Sebastion and Kale were dripping on the books. "Oh, is it raining...?" she murmured in surprise, gazing with disapproval at the puddles gathering on some embossed leather book covers. Then again, Kale was doing an interesting and totally inefficient dance step in an attempt to save them. She looked on in delight while Wolf told his story and the mimir butted in with some advice. The thing really was developing a personality. She was almost beginning to like it.
"Oh, do tell about the Nine He--" Mel broke off, realizing this was not the main subject of discussion.
She wondered why Ebri Zol gave her such a pointed look after tucking the helpful mimir away. What could it have meant? Did she not trust their new friends? How could she! And Sebastion who just saved their skins. For no reason at all she felt proud of this.
One by one, people started volunteering to go after Kale's aggressors and finish off this business before leaving town. She didn't have to debate it long. "In Carthagia they teach us quite a bit about the economic advantages of slavery, but I always did think it was unkind. But that's not the main reason I want to go with you. We've been talking to Mister Karbal here about the Elder Gods and Shushurek and I must say it's an odd coincidence you bring that up, Kale. It's a splendid idea to pose as adepts of the Great Prophet. I even happen to have a signet medallion!"
She could think of a hundred reasons why she wanted in--curiosity, loyalty, prudence ("WOE" did not sound good issuing from that silver skull's frozen grin), and not least of all moral indignation. Once again she could only stop to wonder at the fire in her heart at the thought of combatting followers of evil Gilamesh.
And then, there were a hundred reasons why it scared the blue socks off her. Please, gods, don't them gut me again. Anything but that. Unconsciously her hand went to her twice-violated thorax.

DM's Note: She's referring to the fact that Melisande's been cut up quite badly twice, once by a gnoll ranger and once by a katana-wielding Scorpion Temple assassin.

"I think we should all go," she said, giving Ebri her own pointed look. "It'll be good practice for the mountains when we'll all have to depend on each other. Besides, it'll be fun that way."

" I will certainly go," Ebri replied, not having to struggle for a reason. "Even if I did not personally find slavery a hateful practice, my faith requires that I fight against it wherever it is found. For Immar is the god of the free and open road, and our right to walk upon it as we will . Slavery is the antithesis of that principle."
She found herself mildy surprised at how naturally those words had come out, and that she almost agreed with them. Even supestitious nonsense may have a grain of truth. Certainly in the search to understand the Purpose, anyone might attempt to gain wisdom. There was no denying that, especially at the lower levels, it was available to those seekers who were sincere and worthy regardless of class or social position. She, Ebri, had been the daughter of a clan of itinerant farmers. Although you were something more than just a farmer, there-- Set apart even then for the task-- And although all were not destined for enlightenment and the higher orders of understanding, there was no one who did not have the right to aspire to such.
"Fun? Perhaps it will be fun, especially for those who see us pass on the road and see a troop of ridiculous mummers. Pose as Nephians?" The priestess of Immar giggled. The servant of the Great Prophet only barely held off despair. When I am given the care of students, I will never advocate the cheerful cleric guise. Instead I will extol in glowing terms the virtues of the pretense of utter vapidity. One's perception as a threat is virtually null; on the contrary, everyone wants to help and protect such a one... "What, should we drape ourselves in dull black and skulk about with knives? Who would believe that we are secret assassins? We'd fool no one. And if we should encounter a real live Nephian, I am sure they would be highly amused at our parody."

"Wait. Hold on a minute. What are you two plotting? Are you saying that we should pretend to be followers of this Shushurek?" Wyshira looked back and forth between the pair, confused. "Kale, I wouldn't have guessed that you even knew who Shushurek was... I just heard the name for the first time a little while ago when Karbal here explained that it is the secret name of the Great Prophet."
Where had this inexplicable knowledge of Kale's come from? the priestess wondered. Could it have something to do with that ring of his? She recalled how the shadows had seemed to cling to him mysteriously when he put the onyx ring on his finger.
Shadows. Men of Shadow. Shushurek.
Wyshira suddenly wished she'd been paying more attention to the conversations taking place right here in the bookseller's shop.

"Listen; lets talk more about this 'Shushurek' thing while we're on our way to the Rat's Nest rather than dithering around in here. Just follow me, Kale and Sebastion, we'll lead you there; and wrap up because it's bucketing down out there." Wolf had apparently accepted - for the time being - Ebri's explanation about the mimir, but still seemed unsettled, both by the party members confusingly discussing Shushurek and the unnerving similarity between Wyshira's eyes and the flash of lightning just now. He shivered and pulled his longcloak tight round his shoulders, before stepping back out into the rain.

"'The first chain forged, the first shackle placed, the first freedom curtailed injures us all irrevocably.' Marcus of Gorant." Sebastion quoted, one of his father's favourite sayings, and with that he stepped back out into the rain, to allow them to exit when ready.

 

[Carnifex]

They hurried down deserted streets as the dark clouds overhead roiled and vented their rain down, lightning lashing down irregularly; often striking the heights of the Air Tower and crackling with eldritch energy down to the ground below. It wasn't long before they were back in the dilapidated Rat's Quarter, huddling under building eaves to get what shelter they could.

As they approached the center of the Quarter it was hard not to notice the slope down into the dent in the landscape; houses jutted out from the slope on wooden supports, till finally the bottom of the Rat's Nest was covered in what looked like a flat area of housing but in fact conealed that it went further down underneath. Wandering down an alley that led under the wooden 'deck' here, they found themselves in an underworld.

All around them struts of decaying wood held up the houses and streets above; here the clearance was low, but as they continued down the 'ceiling' rose higher above them. The rain could be heard pattering above on the houses but though here and there it streamed down and streams of dirty water bore channels towards the epicentre of the Nest, in this sheltered place it was much dryer. It was like a forest of beams with constructions as the canopy above.

Filth and debris was scattered everywhere here, rats squeaking and feral animals prowling the shadows as they hunted those rats. Here and there small lights twinkled in the gloom, squatters and the homeless making their abodes in dark corners of the Nest. It smelled pretty bad from the accumulated muck.

People watched them warily; mostly ragged clothed. Looking around, the party could see, in the slopes of the dip leading down, many musty passages leading into the earth, and half of a room where once there had been a cellar and part had now collapsed to reveal the rest of it to the Nest. What the capital was built on, over the centuries of its existence, was former versions of itself; fires, war and suchlike meant rebuilding over the old ruins. These ancient cellars and tunnels could stretch for miles.

Air heavy with water and and ozone. The constant roar of pouring rain, punctuated by cracks of lightning and rumbles of thunder. Cord, nervous and holding Wyshira's arm tightly, was effectively blind. In a small village, or even in the open air, the storm would not have unnerved him to nearly the same extent. Among the jumbled mass of buildings and chaotic streets and alleyways, he had no method of determining his location or using his senses.

His confidence grew better once they reached the bowels of the city, though the stench did not. The intermittent moans from suspicious beggars reminded him clearly of his own days in years past. During the few times that Wolf asked for a pause to decide the appropriate direction, Cord foud his way next to the nearest men scraping by in the alleys.

"Hello, friend," he would say, resting his hand upon those of a beggar. He had an intuition with such men, having spent several decades in self-loathing as one. He spoke in quiet tones, giving them what strength that he could, uplifting them if he may.

"What do you know of the slave traders, down here?" he might ask of one. "What does 'Shushurek' mean to you?" he would ask another. He probed, and sought any information on the men pursuing Kale and their possible motives, as well as anything relating to the abandoned wizard's tower.

There was little the homeless community would not know. Effectively invisible, they hear and see all that pass before them, without being noticed or bothered. He did doubt any would know if the specifics that he requested, but the sheer number he contacted on their way through the Nest might make annswer somewhat more likely.

When the party finally reached Rat Trim's underground shop, he was prepared.

Dm's Note: Bet this is the first time you'ev ever seen the skill Profession (Blind Beggar) being used

Cord's inquiries brought few answers; it wasn't that those he spoke with were unwilling to talk or holding back information, he could sense, but rather it seemed that perhaps the answers he sought simply couldn't be found in the society of these people, in a way his kin, that had grown up at the lowest levels of this ancient, grand city. He could sense too the sheeer age of the foundations and stone around him, still somehpw tangible within them the feeling that must have been bestowed when Naskha himself had stood on the banks of the river and declared, over one thousand years ago, that it would be from here his followers would forge a new nation from the wreckage of the divine war.

Inquiries about slavers were the most fruitful; several could tell him that there was a slavery operation reputed to be hidden underneath the city; several also claimed to have known someone who had been taken by the slavers but the wise monk was doubtful about the veracity of such claims, most likely tales concocted by imaginative minds to explain disappearances. Others spoke of the Gilamee cult that traded in living beings, again underneath the city. Some connected the two together. One spoke of something that caught his attention - the grubby, ragged-clothed beggarman knew that the slavers took down large supplies of meat purchased up in the city, much more than would be needed to just feed the slavers and slaves themselves wouldn't be given such expensive food.

Shushurek meant nothing to these down-and-outs. Some would squint when he said the name and mutter that it sounded like the monster from some old wives tales, a thing of shadows that ate people, but that was about it; some old tale perhaps warped by time but perhaps with no relation to reality at all. As for the tower he spoke of, this too brought no useful responses from the beggars.

* * *

A few coins handed to a beggar had granted them the knowledge of where to find the one named by Myrley as 'Rat Trin'. They'd headed off down one tunnel, dimly lit by an occasional fire around which people clustered or cracks in the ceiling that let in shafts of stormy gray light as well as constant trickles of water. The inhabitants of this undercity watched them often hostilely but did not dare attack such a well-armed band. They gradually made their way deeper into the earth until any light from the sky above stopped entirely and the place became nearly pitch black. Then they came to a cave.

The passage opened into what seemed like a small settlement in a natural sandstone cave. Stalagmites and stalagtites jutted up and down throughout it, and small shacks, often with an open front and wares on show, were littered throughout it. The air was heavy with the smell of spices and cloying scents, some of which made the mind reel and the eye think it caught glimpses of strange images on the edges of its vision. People wandered the cave; some dressed in the garb of thugs or toughs clustered around their boss, some in more normal mercantile clothes. The hawkers eagerly extolled the virtues of their illegal or stolen goods to their customers
.
But the place the band wanted was over in the opposite wall of the cave, where what looked like half a house jutted out. Made of old and rotten timbers it was decorated with a dozen fetishes, little bizarre charms for warding off evil and spirits made of feathers and bones. And a small sign stuck next to the door read:

Goe Awaye

"Friendly fellow then," Wolf grimaced, and then knocked on the rickety door.

The message on the sign was echoed by a hoarse, high-pitched voice from within the building. "Go away."

The mercenary shrugged and pushed the door open.

* * *
Within was a surprisingly richly decorated little abode. Wall hangings were draped down from the walls and the rafters in the dark and gloomy roof above. What could only be silk was laid out over cushions piled in one corner, and a strongbox was nestled next to them. Much of the rest of the place was littered with rubbish and debris. The air was thick with incense, curling fronds of it obscuring vision and filling the nose with thick scents, the source a brazier in one corner that crackled with blue, green and red flames as it devoured the block of incense within it. Of Rat Trin, there was no sight.

"Can't you read the bloody sign or hear my bloody voice, trespasser? Get the hell out my house!" The voice came from above them.

For those with normal sight, peering up into the gloom, they could see nothing. Those with darkvision found that the incense on the air allowed them only see a vague, humanoid shape, sitting on one of the rafters and looking down at them. There was something not quite right about the shape.

"We've heard you're a good tracker, and we need someone to lead us to the Gilamesh*te chapel under the city."

Outraged silence.

"We'll pay."

Rat Trin dropped out of the rafters, catfalling lightly and gracefully standing up again.

Wolf gave a snort of surprise. "So you're Rat Trin... I can see why they call you that."

* * *

The only one of the party who had seen a verman before was Melisande. She remembered when she had been studying under the tutelage of Professor Akarsis, her mentor, with the other students; and she had been assigned one day to act as a personal assisstant with his business.

"Now, Melisande, the merchant is a good friend of mine so make sure you're on hand if he wants a drink, something to eat, whatever," the Professor had instructed her. He was tall, frightening, what many of the apprentices wanted to be like themselves. Dressed in the long black military coat, golden buttons gleaming down the front as the chirurgical engine on his back lent the four long, spidery mechanical arms that reared over his shoulders a life of their own, the gray-haired man looked sternly down at his charge. "Once he's gone I want you to check thaum-tank 3 for the readouts since one of the staff said it was giving him problems earlier. Then go and take a look at the fang dragon in Chamber 1, write up a short report on what you think is wrong with it and we'll see how much you've learned in visual recognition."

The bioseer and teacher had entertained a most unusual guest that day; the merchant was a verman. He, like Rat Trin, had been a wiry, black-furred humanoid, a ratman. The merchant had worn simple gray garb, tough travelling stuff, and had sold some toxins and poisons for experimental use to Professor Akarsis; vicious stuff from the look on the trolls face that they had tested it on afterwards. Rat Trin cut a different figure though, dressed in supple studded leather armour and a black silk cloak draped over his shoulders. Weapons seemed to be everywhere; he had a longsword strapped over his back, two short swords sheathed at a hip, a bandolier of throwing stars across his chest; the verman tracker was also festooned with jewellry and fetishes, his large, ragged ears multiply pierced by golden rings.

He bowed mockingly. "My name is Trin, not 'Rat', as your unfurred type mockingly call me. I am of an honourable people, not the tiny scavengers that infest your settlements. Fifty gold pieces and I'll lead you to the Gilamesh*tes, but I'm not getting involved in whatever business you might have with them," he said meaningfully, wrinkling his snout and baring his yellowed teeth. "Especially not on the part of arrogant people who ignore signs."

Sebastion relaxed a little against the jamb of the broken doorway.

"If you don't wish to share your company, Mr Trin," he asked, with a slight frown, "why choose to live in one of the more densely populated areas of a large city? Why not settle in some out of the way village or outskirt?"

Burl was completely unprepared for what he was seeing. “What in blue blazes is that?” What looked like a man rat stood before him. Just another of the new experiences Burl had learned to expect and to look forward to.

In response to Burl's question Mel turned to answer, "Verman," realizing even as she did so that it sounded a lot like she'd said "vermin," which would have been a terrible insult to Mister Trin. "Ver-man," she added by way of clarification. "Of course."
If her first meeting with one of the rat-men had been sinister, this one made no exception. But she and the others looked like drowned, well, rats after their walk in the rain from Karbal's, so it wouldn't be fair to judge. It was sad that some people could not afford to live somewhere nicer in such a beautiful city, she thought, fending off disillusionment. Mel didn't want to see the ugly underbelly of Naseria. It didn't occur to her to think that some people might choose to live hidden in places like this.
Mister Trin looked exotic. Mel recalled with a shudder the sidelong look Professor Arkansis had given her when the poison-seller came down the stairs into the lab; it meant, Look at this specimen; imagine the possibilities; see what nature does and think what we can do better! It made her feel sorry for this creature.
She elbowed Sebastion. "Maybe he doesn't like people because they're rude to him. I've dealt with your honorable folk before, Mister Trin, and I apologize for our intrusion. We would like to purchase your services and thought the offer might interest you in spite of the sign. If not, we'll be on our way."

Wyshira was the only drenched-to-the-skin member of the party that wasn't miserably uncomfortable; the only one in the group who didn't try to defend herself from the weather by wrapping up in a cloak. She lifted her face to the rain happily and followed right behind Wolf and Kale, pausing only occasionally when Cord needed extra assistance.

Her enjoyment of the storm was a distraction, but for most of the way she concentrated on leading the blind dwarf through the treacherously sloping streets of the Rat's Quarter, and describing the sights to him as they descended into the Nest. She was a little suprised by his nervousness; it didn't occur to her that the storm would have a negative effect on his ability to compensate for his blindness.

In Rat Trin's abode, she nearly choked on the cloying scent of incense. The rat-man's appearance surprised her, but he wasn't any stranger-looking than the crested, blue-skinned Lhazakk she had seen tending bar in Jormungand, or some of the other odd folk she had come across in her travels. He didn't seem to want to have anything to do with them, until Wolf bluntly mentioned money.

Well that's all right I suppose, she thought, as long as he doesn't sell information about us to anyone who comes asking just as easily.

 

[Sniktch]

Wolf gave a snort of surprise. "So you're Rat Trin... I can see why they call you that."

Yesss-yesss! Bring on the vermen, the Children of the Horned Rat will rise up and rule the world!

Er... I mean nice update, Carnifex, looking forward to more

 

[Carnifex]

Yesss-yesss! Bring on the vermen, the Children of the Horned Rat will rise up and rule the world!

Er... I mean nice update, Carnifex, looking forward to more

There's a lot more to the vermen than just being skaven/slitheren lookalikes of course

 

[Horacio]

Skaven-like creatures add spice to any story hour...

 

[Carnifex]

Trin gave Sebastion a toothy and humourless grin, his tail lashing agitatedly behind him. "This is hardly a densely populated place, unfurred; it is under your city, not part of it. It is sheltered and I am quite out of the way here, with abundant supplies of what I want on hand. And you think some hamlet or village of your unfurred type would accept me? I think not. Besides, I have little taste for wandering wildernesses without the luxuries I prefer."

He nodded slightly more mollified to Melisande. "Fifty gold and I take you where you want to go, but I don't get involved. It's not worth my skin."

Wolf nodded, and reached into a pouch, handing over a handful of coins. "Twenty-five now, twenty-five once you've got us there, alright?"

The verman's clawed hand snatched out and took the gold from the mercenary, quickly depositing it into a bag on his belt. "Alright," he muttered, then waved for the rest to follow him. "Come on, keep close. And keep your eyes out; where we're going, nasty things live."

As they filed out he swing the rickety door closed, closing a large metal lock that clicked loudly and rustily. The verman waved at them to follow him, taking a sniff of some powder he had in a small bag and shaking his head as if waking up properly.

* * *

They wandered what must have been ancient sewage channels, constructions deep in the embrace of the earth filled with debris that they had to clamber and climb over. The floors were often covered in a layer of water, moisture dripping from the ceiling as the storm above ground continued. It was almost hypnotic, wandering these winding passageways with such a sense of pressure above, just a single guiding torch held high by Trin the marker for them to follow as he wandered the maze-like underways of the capital as if out for a casual stroll. He didn't need the torch himself, his eyes keen in pitch dark, but even for those who did need light it just served to make the contrasting dark around them even more ominously pitch black.

Here through a collapsed wall; there along another passage; on and on for a long time. Oddly, they seemed to be going up a little; still well beneath the lowest cellars of the city above but higher than the natural cavern in which Trin made his home.

"We're on your ground now," Kale murmored to Cord as the crew made their way through the gloom. Trin seemed an honest enough scout-for-hire... which meant the mercenary could trust him as far as his pursestrings could reach. Careful not to touch the carvern walls but for their slimy-wet slick, Kale regarded his encroaching surroundings with a detached air, wondering how anyone could bear to live down there.

Yet, there was a certain appeal, a certain honesty to Trin. He's my kind of scum... he thought before mentioning to Cord- "You may be leading us out of here.” The smells alone can guide him, Kale hoped.

To Kale, Cord said, "The route is memorized, my friend. Much of my life has been spent in tunnels not unlike these; I will lead us out, if our guide should desert us in our time of need."

* * *

"There," Trin whispered.

They wandered a shambles of old semi-collapsed cellars, sewers and natural holes in the rock, myriad obsolete wooden and stone supports randomly rearing out of the ground. There, up ahead, the cave they were currently traversing came to the corner of an old cellar or somesuch room of which the corner had collapsed into the wider open space. The forest of wooden struts made approaching it perhaps a little more difficult but at least there was cover.

The room ahead was aglow with light from the lanterns within, and Rat Trin's eyes glinted in the fitful illumination. "There are your slavers. Quite ironic really, when you consider that we're pretty much underneath the temple of Naskha right now." He gave another humourless grin.

"For them, with their light in there, out here will be almost pitch darkness. Easy for you to approach, and easy for me to stay out of sight. I will wait here for you to lead you back out, but I'm not coming in. Now, my money."

"You'll get it when we're done, to make sure you hang around for us."

"That was not the deal! Do you question my honour? I will wait for you if you pay me; if you go back on our deal I leave now!"

Wolf reluctantly handed over the other twenty five gold pieces, and the verman hunkered down in the darkness by a rotten wooden support, producing some sort of root from a pouch and chewing rigorously on it. "Good. Now I wait here for you."

They could move fairly close to the exposed room in the darkness without fear of being spotted. The chamber was large within, even with one corner collapsed out into the void of the cave; Wolf and Kale scouting ahead brought back many details of what lay within. On the left wall from the collapsed corner was a section where the wall gave way to bars; beyond that, presumably, the slaves were kept. On the opposite wall of the long, spacious room, wooden stairs led up to a platform and a door set up in the wall; it was slightly open. On the wall between those two walls, on the far side of the room, a single wooden door was currently closed.

Within the room were numerous tables and chairs, a number of men in various states around them. Large casks sat in various places; one clearly of a beverage from the way one of the slavers poured liquid from its tap into his tankard. Other chests, boxes and suchlike were also scattered around, some with a distinctly exotic look about them from their construction and decoration; one man seemed to be taking a detailed inventory of the contents of some of the containers.

There were seven men in there, in all. Some of them were round a table playing dice and cards or otherwise attending to various duties, one wandering over to the bars and pushing a bowl of food through with a disdainful look at the occupants of the cells; Kale could recognise the two men who had been with the wizard amongst the people here, Kaelos and Garus. Kaelos, the man they had encountered in the tavern, was stalking anxiously back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, his hand reached up to fiddle nervously witha small ruby amulet that had been concealed from the trio's sight in the tavern; it looked like he was waiting for something. Garus had his feet up on the table where they threw bone knuckle dice, but he shared a worried look as well. The two seemed to have some sort of superiority to the other cultists around them. One of the men at the table had laid down a pistol near to his hand; another needed only to lean back and he'd have a short bow ready, which currently rested on a nearby low, long crate.

Sitting apart from the others was a big man, heavily built in loose, red cloth garments, tattooes running along his arms - bare apart from silver bracers - and across his neck. Apart from straps over his fists he didn't seem armed but with the confident air he had and his physical stature most people probably wouldn't mess with him anyway. He sat facing out towards the darkness, apparently just gazing off into the gloom with a stern look on his face. Occasionally one of the cultists would throw him a worried glance.

Burl used a wood support standing in the darkness for cover while Wolf and Kale scouted. As a battle seemed in the offing, Burl spent the time arranging the spell components he would be using so that they would be easily grasped. His plan was to bring up a magical force field to give him added protection as soon as they returned and gave the word that they would be attacking. Until they returned with a plan, he would wait and watch, quietly watching the others.

Kale hadn't been surprised when the ratling demanded the remainder of his payment as soon as they arrived at the strange temple. Surely, the man would bolt as soon as trouble arose. Kale, on the other hand, sought out trouble like it was some sort of ancient delicacy. And I am the expert, he determined as Wolf and he returned from their short scouting runs.

Now was the chance to see how the group performed as a team. Reports of large quantities of classy meats? Fairy tales of ancient dragons danced through the mercenary’s head as he considered the specifics of the situation. Kaelos seemed rather nervous- was he waiting for his employer to arrive, or to emerge from an audience with his superior? Kale hoped the merchant-mage was being dressed down, for events directly connected to a certain ‘young whelp’ and his refusal to die simply.

"So, what do people propose as a plan then? I reckon we'd do well to open up with whatever ranged weapons we have and then quickly charge in to finish them off while they're still confused, otherwise they'll get into cover - which there's a lot of in there - and might eb able to fight us off if they get organised since they'll know where we'll have to come from. Anyone got any other ideas?" Wolf asked.

There were two ideas Burl wanted to share. “First, there has been no mention of the leader being there. With his magic, we need to be prepared to act quickly against him. Second, I think you should try to take out the large man with the tattoos quickly. He sounds particularly nasty and besides if he would fall early, it may panic the others. I have several ranged magics that I can use, but I wonder if I should wait, not showing myself at first and wait until the leader shows then attack him immediately. I doubt that I could take him out, but maybe I can keep him from bringing his magic to bear on the entire group. From the description, there seems to be two obvious places for the leader to be hiding, the two rooms with doors. If it wasn’t for the slaves, I would say just heave in some alchemist fire bombs, but it could bring the whole place down, but remembering Kale’s singed eyebrows from his last confrontation with him, I don’t believe he would hesitate with firebombing us for even a moment.” Burl finished and waited for imput.

Burl made his analysis, and Kale was pleased. The mage may actually have an eye for tactics. Whispering, he spoke. ”Yes, the magic should be reserved for the mage, should he show up. And that big man, he needs to come down, too. I would like to sneak close with someone for support- Cord, you’re with me? Wolf, Mister Cornell and Wyshira can shoot, then close in quick to keep us from getting ganged.” Kale felt odd calling the blue priestess into the fight, but she had certainly proven her mettle several times over. ”The rest hold back at the room opening, watch our backs, and blast that mage when he comes calling.” Thinking back to the upper doorway and its unknown contents… ”Let’s not worry about my eyebrows…” he said with a smirk, wondering what sort of luck he must have.

Ready to depart with Cord, he concluded. ”We’re underground, it could go dark. Don’t go anywhere alone- if we need, we can rally just down the tunnel we came.”

”Anyone’s free to take a few plucks with my bow,” he said as he produced the ranged weapon, ”Though I’d be careful of the shiny tips,” he carefully revealed the silvery points, shielded in the shadow of his hand.

Sebastion had been surveying the territory, carefully, half-listening to the conversation, and moved back to confer... and disagree.

"The darkness gives us cover here, why waste it. Fire from the darkness, do some damage with surprise and missile weapons." he began, laying out the plan in his mind as he went along. "When the try to retaliate, logic dictates they'll take up weapons as well. That's when we advance, strike with melee, then fall back, drawing them into the lit backdrop of the opening.

Another volley of missile fire, and those that are left then can be attacked from the flank by the rest of us who can wait over there, out of sight, alongside the entrance. They'll stop to combat that danger, and turn, which is when we double back and come at them from the other side..." he looked around, wondering if they were following the idea. It all seemed so clear in his head, so obvious, yet he had had trouble explaining so many of the things that, to him, had been clear lately.

"What do you think?"

Sebastion painted a picture of the upcoming engagement, and Kale listened carefully, pondering the words and plan in parts, and whole. The swordsman had his mind in the right place... It just might take a little work to get the hay out of his head.

Really, the man's plan was sound, though there was one point of contention. "The dark is of great advanage," Kale agreed carefully. "But there's no way those yoyos are walking through that hole. In a few breaths, they'll be behind cover, and we'd have to push through that doorway to dig 'em out. We'll manage a few volleys in surprise, but we'll have to bring the fight if we want any hope of eliminating the blokes before... nastier things arrive." Nodding to the Huron man for his input, Kale then inclined his eyes toward Wolf, seeking comment, or maybe validation.

Though Melisande was by no means stupid, she really couldn't be bothered to make much sense of all this strategizing. It would all be chaos once battle broke out anyway she figured, working from experience. As long as things remained ranged--and thus out of disembowelment reach--she was fine. She had a couple new tricks up her sleeve, anyway...

"Just tell me where to stand and what to shoot," she whispered impatiently. She wanted to be done with Kale's business and back to Lord Ecurius' for supper, and Pierre's right head's nervousness was beginning to get to her. Mel wanted to tell him to go up and visit Sandslipper in the temple of Naskha above, but the toad kept squirming and would not come out as long as Rat Trin was anywhere in the vicinity. Wyshira nodded in agreement at Melisande's comment.

"Stand behind me--" Ebri murmured from the depths of her wrap-turned-cowl, placid, taking a firm grasp on Melisande's elbow and stepping in front of her in a protective stance. "I am short, I will not impede your aim."

It seemed that there was some disagreement about the right way to proceed. She waited till they had it all sorted out, and then spoke to Kale right before he set out.

"I know you've got something up your sleeve; some new way to go off on your own and risk your neck. Take this first." She reached out and touched his cheek with one cool hand, closed her eyes and chanted a prayer under her breath. "There. That should protect you from any fire attack, at least somewhat. I've been saving that for you all day."

"Waitbut," Kale protested lamely. Feeling the cool rush through his cheek, the priestess surely had a good bearing on where Kale and combat would often lead. The woman had him nailed. The young mercenary didn't know if it was portent good or bad.

She smiled, then turned to Cord and went on softly:

"Can you do this? I know you've been.... disoriented. Will you be able to help Kale?" She wanted assurance from the dwarf that he was up to the task. When she was sure they were both ready, she gave them each an ecnouraging smile and said, "Both of you, go with the Lady's blessing."

Cord nodded in response, even as he listened closely to the crackling of torch flames, mercenary banter, and the regular thumping of a man pacing within the small cavern. The rain had disorientated him, with nothing so protect his head except open air, but the familiar presence of stone above his head and winding passageways restored his confidence. He felt more prepared, now, beneath the city, than he ever might have above it. "I will remain with Kale," he voiced, believing the challenge of keeping his words truthful would be more difficult than defeating the slavers. "Back to back, we will prove successful." He gave a quick jab into Kale's side, a reminder that the blind dwarf would be in nearly constant contact for that point, forward. Kale was slippery, but few can refuse a dwarf with his mind set.

To Burl she said, "Stay by me. We'll watch out for each other. And watch out for them."

Looking around, Burl pointed to a spot a bit closer, one which he hoped would give him a chance to keep watch on both doors. “I will go with Wyshira over to that debris. I will stay hidden, either until the mage raises his head or until the second attack. I will try to disrupt him from attacking if possible. This isn’t written in stone. If things change, I will help, but I think it will be better for me to surprise him. If you have a better idea tell me.”

"Far be it from me to strategize," Mel interjected, "But maybe we should try drawing them out with some sort of bait, if you think our best chance is out here." She glanced at Wyshira, getting an idea, and gestured to the priestess.

"Wyshira, Ebri and I could hide outside and talk as if we were some female slaves who escaped but can't find our way out. They'll come out to investigate and they'll be on their guard, but at least they won't be behind barrels in there."

Mel shrugged, expecting the more seasoned veterans to shoot this down, but wanting to make herself useful.

Wolf peered out through the gloom towards the suffusing light of the chamber absent-mindedly. "I doubt they'll come out here after us unless it's on their own terms. They've got plenty of cover in there once they hunker down, and we don't know what other resources. Giving them time to bring in any reinforcements they might have isn't good, and by all accounts this wizard of theirs is a canny conjurer if he can summon daedroth hounds and the kinds of monstrosities Myrley told us about. And those can probably see in the dark better than we can. We could end up being the hunted, which is not a concept I like. No, we can use the darkness to our advantage but we can't rely on it, I don't think. Melisande's idea is interesting but a bit too risky since we don't know how many slaves they have or how well they keep a check on them. That ruse might well alert them immediately, if they know for sure they haven't lost any slaves, and we'd lose the element of surprise then."

"I think for most of us our best chance is to attack from out here but to actually take the battle to them in there. Most of us can't see well in this gloom, fighting melee in the dark isn't my idea of fun."

Mel had given a rather intriguing suggestion, and Kale had waited for Wolf's input interestedly. Alas, the man was right, and the escaped-blue-girly-slaves plan would have to be sidelined. The young mercenary was visibly disappointed. Oh well, we haven't got any leather collars or bustles, anyway...

Sebastion hunkered down a little, keeping his voice soft, worried that the longer they debated the more chance they'd be discovered - however, the plan was sound, and he needed to get them to realise that.

"We go in and meet them face to face... if we're doing well we stay there. All I'm saying is that if we have to pull back, we can. In the entryway there we'll have the benefit of darkness, but they'll be outlined in the entrance - easy targets." he clarified. It was one of the classic maneouvres, really, drawing the enemy into a position where your secondary force could flank him, then wheeling about to surround them and finish them off. Why couldn't they see that?

Sebastion made sense, and Cord noticed his tension with the company's whispers just outside the hearing range of the slavers. He could hear the grumblings of the fighters within the cave all too easily.

"I am ready," Cord said. "Let us meet them now. May we live to see another day, without regret of this one."

Cord readied his stance, and prepared to accompany Kale into the flickering cave.

Wolf gave the young warrior a bemused look. "Of course we can pull back if we need to, that goes without saying, but you're completely ignoring several points; firstly is that if the battle's going badly enough then they'll be able to move with us, not giving us any time to take advantage of people being outlined against the light before we're all in pitch-dark melee. You're making an incredible assumption that your enemy is going to do what you want them to do, lad."

"We're facing a wizard who likes to summon things and a lot of the kinds of horrors that arcanists conjure up really couldn't care less about whether it's light or dark. If we back out into the darkness and something like that follows us, it'll be able to see okay, but most of us'll be blind as bats. But why the hell would the rest of them charge out after us anywayif we do manage to pull back? They can comfortably sit in there for as long as they need to once they get into good cover."

Sebastion sighed and shrugged, wondering why everyone as always ready to listen to a wizard about magic, but not to a soldier about swordplay...

We're planning for a battle without the wizard here, at least that's what you said. he thought, matching stares with the older man. We don't take advantage of them coming through the gap, our companions who waited behind in here do.

I'm assuming they'll do exactly what any normal fighter would do. Press and press until the enemy goes down - exactly what you're planning to do, in fact.

He thought it all, his gaze never flinching, but he knew they were short of time, and the stubborn old man thought he knew best.

"Fine, we'll do it your way. We don't have time for me to explain it all..." Rising up, turning away, he slipped the covers from his sword, tucking them into his belt, and rested it against the wall as he took out his shortbow and nocked the first arrow, facing the hole in the wall and settling his breath ready for his first shot.

Wolf gave a helpless snort at the words of Sebastion, shrugging. "You're trying to lure them into an ambush for which they have no reason to take the bait, and leaving the primary attack possibly lethally undersupported by a number of attackers being placed completely out of position for anything than your ambush. In my seven wars I've seen plenty of casualties due to plans like that. Now lets get moving."

While the others bickered, Ebri stood observing the enemy, silently counting steps between points with her eyes, and hooked the edges of a row of shuriken into a fold of draped cloth for quick access. On her back, the kama felt light, expectant, covered as it was by her cowl. It would be wrong to welcome conflict, however, she was curious to test how she would maneuver with the new weapon. She remembered her training with it well, but she had been used to fist and foot for some time now. She turned, checking again on the location and status of her ward, and nodded at Sebastion. 'If we live we will debate the matter. But even the best tactics may be undone by poor coordination' she whispered, trying another technique long out of practice, throwing her voice to the place just over Seb's shoulder. The comment was of little consequence, if she failed, but it was good to stretch one's abilities, she was reminded. Stagnation was a constant danger when one played a role for life.

 

[Carnifex]

OOC: IIRC, the battle began with either Mage Armour or Shield up on Burl, and Wyshira's Endure Elements (Fire) on Kale.

* * *

The attack was begun.

Sandar had, in the mere moment before the first projectile soared out of the gloom, a glimpse of movement and was ready, though he had not even the time to shout out to the cultists; they would find out soon enough the danger they were in. As a javelin sped towards his throat he reacted with honed, trained reflexes, both hands flashing forwards to slap together with the missile itself caught between them, its motion stopped dead mere inches from the mans throat. The tattooed monk tossed Wyshira's javelin aside casually as more deadly objects rained down, Sebastion's arrow striking one of the cultists who frantically reached for weapons under the sudden barrage, a brief flash of blood marking the flesh wound inflicted. Ebri's shuriken sliced out as well, one biting into the flesh of a cultist and eliciting a yowl of pain.

One of the cultists was first off the mark, rolling out of his chair, and smoothly grabbing his shortbow from the crate by him as he disappeared from sight behind cover. Within moments he reappeared by a wall, casually tossing a small vial away from him as he leapt at the wall.. and stuck to it, clambering up limberly like some sort of grotesquely humanoid spider. Burl kept his magics ready for whenever their spellcasting foe might appear, and he could hear the man at the bottom of those stairs yelling up to the door, "Boss, we're under attack from outside!" Sounds from the other side of that door indicated someone was approaching it even now.

The other cultists were moving too, scattering for cover to check their wounds and fire back. One crouched behind the table, bringing his pistol to bear and blasting out a shot at the scurrying figures he could see moving towards the chamber through the shadows outside. The cracking report of the firearm resounded through the place as with a belch of smoke and fire it struck Cord, the old monk sent reeling by the sheer impact of the shot as it tore a chunk out of his flank. A lesser man would have been staggered by the injury but Cord, with his lengthy training in the unyielding stance of the monastic followers of Grumand, found his balance again quickly although the pain was intense. Behind the table, the man struggled with powder and shot to reload.

Kale, light on his feet, was already making good his way through the room, closing with cultists and in particular that platform, his quick feet already making distance between himself and the tough old dwarf behind him. Then the door that the stairs and platform gave access to opened.

It had been pushed open by whoever was behind that door but they certainly seemed to have no intention of running out into the conflict themselves. Instead words of spellcasting floated out; Burl and Wyshira could both identify it as a summoning spell similar to those that they themselves knew but more powerful than either could cast. And then, out of the room, came a horror.

Great leathery wings bore the tumescent body aloft, a multitude of bubbling green orbs that must have been eyes dripping ichor down onto the wood below. Vile serrated teeth pushed out of the jaw-slit that rippled open and closed, while the thing was covered in matt-black worm-like tendrils that twitched spasmodically in irregular movement. Tiny eyes lined the wing-limbs that seemed like they were broken from the bizarre, non-Euclidean angles they made yet bore the monstrosity aloft without any apparent problems. It gibbered and twittered in high-pitched squeaks as it fluttered, its wingspan half again as wide as the height of a normal man, and it wheeled off into the gloom outside the chamber, giggling to itself somewhere above the heads of those out in the darkness.

Melisande's hands pulsed with energy as two glowing sapphire bolts lashed out, zipping unerringly to strike the nearest of the cultists. He staggered, virtually knocked senseless by the impact of the magic, reeling dangerously out of cover and into the open. Under cover of the magic strikes Wolf loped forwards, not far behind Kale.

Ebri sent more shuriken scything out towards the cultists; even with the cover of boxes and chairs the little toothed disks found their targets easily scoring hit after hit, not doing enough damage to inflict serious injury on their victims but wearing them down further.

Kaelos and Garus were already diving for cover, shouts and yells directing the cultists and informing their boss of the situation in the chamber. Both found their way to cover and moved to close on the face-paced Kale, the hiss of longswords being drawn from sheathes filling the rogues ears as they menaced him. Cord was still trying to keep pace with Kale but it was difficult to keep up with the nimble human, especially with the gun shot injury he had suffered.

Wyshira hurled another javelin at the tattooed monk, and this time he didn't managed to deflect it, instead grunting in pain as the missile bit into his flesh. Pausing only to yank the weapon out, he moved.

It was stunningly graceful, almost art in action, as he leapt towards Cord and vaulted off crates, landing smoothly next to the dwarven monk. The human grinned viciously, seemingly recognising Cord's own movements as those of a fellow martial artist, and fell into his own battle-stance.

"Your ki is not as strong as mine, old one. You cannot win this battle."

"Strength is not the true--" Cord began to say in response. And a fist struck out, palm contacting with the old dwarf with a crunch of cracking bone. Cord reeled, stunned, as the impact hit nerve centres and shocked his very system into immobility. His attacker just grinned more widely.

With a hiss an arrow caught the cultist still reeling from Melisande's magic; Sebastion hit him in the throat, and he collapsed with the fletching redecorated in red gore as he gurgled a death rattle.

Frustrated for losing his surprise opportunity, the young mercenary extended distance and made all speed toward the balcony. Here, he would have angles to cover Cord and the others, but more importantly, he'd be closer to Cancer, who was behind the upper door, no doubt.

Everything was happening so fast, Kale wished he could slow it all down, if only to watch the monk's hypnotic movements in closer detail. But it was an artform wasted in such a scene, what with the cracked cackles and twisted flesh of a creation much more horrid in origin. Kale hadn't gotten to the door fast enough, and Cancer was already pumping out his terror creations. The upper door open, Kaelos and Garus closing, Cord wounded, and a winged beast waiting in the darks, the initiative had already turned against the young mercenary before he'd even taken a shot.

Ducking to put a crate between himself and the approaching lackeys, Kale had to hold the line, to support his companions with arrows and angles. In a rush when time was of precious essence, Cancer would just have to wait.

She started her prayer on the run, dashing toward the dwarf as fast as she could go. She reached for him and pulled him toward her, turning to place her body between his and his attacker as she completed the healing chant. That's when she noticed the blood pouring from his side; she had no idea where that wound had come from, but she could see that Cord was in much worse shape than she had initially thought.

Impatient as she might have been a moment before, now that battle had been joined Mel felt her heart beating down her breastbone in an effort to escape. (Insanely, she hoped no one would oblige it this time.)

Although the thing that came out the door did surprise her--and it must be admitted that even in the Manipulation labs she'd never seen anything quite this wrong--it did sort of look like something Pierre would eat.

It flew too fast for her to do anything about it at first, instead having aimed her first volley at one of the advancing swordsmen. She did not take the time to survey the damage, but instead turned her gaze upwards into the darkness where the insanely chattering thing blobbed above. The very sound it made set her teeth on edge.

Knowing many of her friends could not even see it in the pitch black underbelly of the city, she made it her personal vendetta.

The next energy bolt was for it.

Half way up the wall, skittering around spider-like in the shadows, the cult agent drew a thin, ivory-coloured arrow from the quiver on his back as he pulled himself up onto a rafter. He nocked his bow, taking careful aim into the melee below; then deciding against firing into the fray and instead readied for a shot at the new wave of attackers coming in out of the darkness. Pulling the string taught, he lined up Sebastion in his sights and let loose, the arrow flaring into brilliant, blue light with a crack akin to that of the pistol.

Sebastion felt the crackling arrow punch right through his shoulder, missing anything load-bearing but burning a chunk of flesh as it discharged a tremendous electrical shock into his frame. The rogue high above snickered as he drew another of the arrows and prepared to fire again.

Meanwhile, back in the darkness and scanning the gloom above, Burl conjured up a spectral hand; the phantasmal disembodied hand glowed faintly in the dark, the necromancer feeling a little of his life force to power itself.

The other remaining cultists moved to counter their attackers. The pistolier frantically poured more powder into his weapon and primed it, all the time Ebri getting closer to him; the other slaver charged Wolf, a cruel axe in hand, and caught the mercenary off-balance with a strike that cut across his chest. Kale hurled his darts at the tattooed monk; one was on course to hit Sandar in the throat but he plucked it out of mid-air at the last moment, while the other scored a true hit but merely inflicted a minor flesh wound on the tough brawler.

From the gloom above Melisande the unsettling sound of deformed wings warping reality with their very sweeps sounded and a foul shape dove down at the sorceress; the gibbering flying thing squeaked and slathered at her, its very presence sickening and infused with wrongness as the beast bit at her but she managed to shield the insane monstrosity off just in time to unleash destructive magiks into it, sapphire energy blasting out again to smash into it and elicit more angry chittering and burbling; it kept at her though. Beyond that door from which it had come the sounds of more spellcasting came; the magi amongst the adventurers band could tell that this was another summoning spell, a suspicion confirmed when another monstrosity came through the door.

This time it shambled rather than flew, a bear-like, bulky shape. It had bands of writhing tentacles spaced down its torso, and the two clawed hands each had on them a mouth as well that gnashed and dribbled profusely. The beast had no head at all but rather a wide slit full of needle-like teeth, and little eyes poked out from random places in its decomposing flesh as it staggered down the stairs from the platform, leaving a trail of noisome slime in its wake.

Wolf struck back against the cultist attacking him; bastard sword gripped in one hand and sahuagin trident in the other, he hacked and stabbed the man and quickly reduced him to a bloodied corpse. Ebri raced quickly through the furniture of the room to attack the pistolier who tried to bring his weapon to bear on this new attacker; the kama struck out, the silvery weapon cutting through the air with wonderful balance and lightness, but apparently with enough weight behind it to still cause serious injury because the blade hit the man in the face and killed him instantly as it plunged through his eye socket.

From beyond the other door, the one that nothing had yet issued forth from beyond of, sounds were becoming audible; the sounds of a loud approach, though as yet still the door remained closed.

Kaelos and Garus, worried by the deaths of the other cultist warriors but on the other hand encouraged by the steady stream of abominations plunging into the battle, chased after Kale, easily catching the dart-hurling rogue. Steel flashed and flickered as they engaged him with their blades, Kale evading Kaelos but feeling the painful bite of Garus's sword.

Cord could feel the pain of the monk's stunning blow receding, feeling returning to his limbs as his muscles freed up from the terrifying lock they had been in. And then, instead of pain he felt as if cool water was rushing through his veins; Wyshira had ran quickly to his side and her healing magic set much of his injuries to rights.

The big monk snarled irritably at this nuisance getting in his way. He struck out like a snake, a single punch hitting the priestess who had interposed herself between him and the dwarf, and as if she had been hit by a bolt of thunder through her very skeleton Wyshira felt herself lock up, nerves firing in agony as she found herself as defenceless as Cord had been before this terrible man.

Cord could sense something was wrong. This man was a skilled brawler, yes, and probably better than Cord when it came down to simple, brutal melee, but something about him suggested that his mastery and understanding of his ki, his inner strength and wisdom, could not be that great. Yet something about his stunning punches seemed to be not right, as completely infused with ki as they were to reduce first Cord and then Wyshira to helpessness before him. Even the techniques Cord had been trained in to incapacitate with a single strike were not as powerful as was being demonstrated here. How was the monk doing it?

Then with a blur of steel Sebastion came at Sandar from the flank. The blades of his double-sword flickered in the dim lantern-light of the scene as the monk turned to face him, blocking one strike with the palm of his hand as he caught the flat of the blade but not quick enough to avoid a second strike from the other end of the weapon hit him fully across the chest. With immense discipline the man bit down on a yell of agony, the ragged wound across his torso spilling crimson blood down his clothes, and prepared to unleash his fury upon the swordsman.

 

[Broccli_Head]

I loved this battle!

 

[Carnifex]

The pain in hSebastion's shoulder flared as he swung his blade in vengeance, doubling his vision at the jolt as the blade was halted in mid-flight. Wyshira and Cord had both been laid low with single shots, and Sebastion channeled the anger at that vision, and the pain in his shoulder, into the flashing strike that drove through his other blade, rising as he stepped his weight in behind it, biting deep into the chest of his target in a crimson spray.

"You want some more?!" he bellowed, and followed his attack up with another... the sooner he could put this behemoth on his grave-slab, the sooner he could make his appointment with the archer.

In spite of the terrible compulsion to flail and scream, Mel fought hard to maintain her concentration in face of the blubbery, toothy, multi-eyed thing that fluttered around her head gnashing and biting. Through the panic and crashing she heard the ominous sounds of more conjuring, which made her mad.

Raising her hands again she attempted to shield her face. "Someone-aah!-drop--a--bomb on that--eek!--mage!" she managed to gasp before letting the magic flame through her hands again. The force of it seemed to crackle in her mind as she let the energy through.

The melee was whirling around her, but Ebri felt only more calm, more remote as her senses drew information from all sides, in an adrenalin-fed hyper-alertness that had taken years to become reflex.

And it was reflex, though not as smooth as that she usually experienced. Worry muddied it. She was slower, she noted, in evaluating the relative risks and gains of possible actions, than she might be. Melisande. The beast hovered over her, an immediate threat-- huge. But her ward, for all her mooncalf ways, had significant reserves of magical defense. And others come to her aid. The greater threat lies beyond the door; the enemy will be beyond us shortly if the mage is not eliminated.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a shuriken spiralling ahead of herself--it would announce her, but it would also perhaps be a distraction-- and charged towards the door.

High up in the rafters, the limber cultist drew back his bowstring again and after a moments hesitation as he decided on a target, he fired at the stunned Wyshira. The arrow once again flared into actinic light and struck the priestess solidly, discharging a jolt of electrical energy into her through the wound it tore.

Burl wove his next spell, dark and eldritch words imbuing his spectral hand with necromantic energies that played around it in a green nimbus. The hand darted out to touch the abomination assaulting Melisande and brushed the tentacular skin of the noisome beast, discharging the death magik into it with a crackle. It shuddered and giggled spasmodically before collapsing to the ground in a twitching heap, a wave of disgusting carrion stench exuding from it as the ghoulish magic took full effect. Melisande managed to bite back the nausea from the miasmic air.

Kale attempted to tumble away from his assailants but they moved quickly to take advantage of the openings he presented as he tried to depart; fortunately his armour and natural dexterity kept him from harm at the blades of the two men. He loped away across the chamber, rushing past the shambler but far enough away to avoid its mouth-claws, and quickly scaling the steps to see what lay beyond that door.

It looked like a small room beyond, many books and suchlike on shelves and a desk at one end; probably Cancer's study. The man himself stood there, a nimbus of magic playing around his as he stood in spellslinging stance, a loaded crossbow on the table next to him and a wand held high in one hand. He smiled as he saw Kale rushing towards the door.

"Ah, the whelp has returned? Want to suffer more pain?"

A handful of darkly muttered words followed his threat, a spell that none of the party's spellcasters could understand, one that none of them had ever come across before, and then suddenly bristling, serrated barbs jolted out of Cancer's hands, glistening red as the wizard laughed loudly.

"This may hurt."

The barbs spasmed, launching themselves from Cancer's hand in a storm of hooks and blades that scythed through the air, spraying a wide area. Most of them slammed into the wall either side of the door but some went straight through and out towards Kale as he approached. He could see them, infernal, magical organic barbs of bone and poison, cutting through the air as if in slow motion towards him, surely a lethal storm that would cut him down...

...and he threw himself out of the way at the last moment, barbs whistling through the air just over his head before he tumbled easily back to his feet again. Cancer, his hands apparently fine once again, looked enraged.

The twitching winged monstrosity was in no position to attack Melisande now, but the shambling bear-thing waded forwards ignoring the man who had just rushed past it and instead bulldozing towards Cord. As it closed on the monk it lashed out with one mouthed claw that hissed and spat as it closed in, hooking a hold on the dwarf's flesh and chewing brutally for a moment before Cord pulled himself free, blood streaming from the fresh injury, his mentality nauseated by the closeness of the thing in a way not unlike that of the werewolves. Melisande loosed more destructive magic into the fallen, paralysed beast before her, the bolts further battering the badly injured thing; still, the tenacious horror refused to die and her senses recoiled at the proximity to the beast.

Wolf paced quickly over to the other door of this room that was rapidly becoming a chamber of horrors, readying his blade to strike whatever came through if it proved to be hostile.

Ebri, her protective shield of faith holding firm around her, raced up towards the platform, easily pulling herself acrobatically up and onto the wooden structure just as a storm of barbs shot out of the door; she spied Kale rolling back to his feet, apparently unharmed, and then saw Cancer himself through the doorway. Her hand shot out to hurl a shuriken at him but her impetus had put her aim off and it buried itself in the doorframe instead.

Wolf braced himself by the door as the noises from beyond grew louder, but when the door was simply smashed asunder he was taken somewhat by surprise.

From the passageway beyond came two massive figures.

Each was over eight feet tall, massively muscled reptilian figures, draconian in appearance. Their ochre scales changed to green in hue on their leathery wings, which they extended outwards as they entered the larger chamber; each wore motley armour of metal and hardened leather, bags and straps and jewellry abundant on each. Their draconic visages took in the situation in mere moments and then they set to work.

The ready Wolf, still shocked but possessed of enough instintive reflex, lashed out with his bastard sword, but the blade just bounced off the scaled hide of one of the mighty beings. They rounded on him, each hefting a huge heavy mace as easily as if it was a toothpick, and hammered blows down on the unfortunate veteran; he took blow after brutal blow, and staggered back, bloodied and battered.

Kaelos and Garus grinned humourlessly at the arrival of their reinforcements, chasing rapidly after Kale and Ebri to protect their master. Not quite able to catch up with the two just yet, although mere feet behind, they would soon close in close enough to use their swordcraft once again.

Cord settled in by Wyshira in his unyielding stance, determined to protect her from further attacks, ready to intercept anyone else who might strike out at her. Even as he did so, the priestess could feel control of her limbs flooding back as the nerve-strangling pain of the monk's strike receded.

The monk, faced with this new and well-armed foe, let loose a flurry of blows and kicks against his adversary. Amazingly, in the face of this storm of attacks, Sebastion somehow managed to avoid or block them all, the monk's aim thrown of by the sheer number of strikes he was unleashing. Sebastion replied with his own yell and strikes; his monastic foe deflected more blade-swipes with his bare hands again but one sweep made it through his defences and cut a deep gash into the man, blood gouting out and leaving him breathing heavily and severely injured.

The thing was down and by the sound of it, it was either being tickled unmercifully or else it was choking on phlegm. Some corpse-magic from Burl seemed to have stunned it somehow, and between the sudden cloud of rot and burning blubber, Mel had to struggle with spasms of gagging while she reached for her spear.

Not realizing what an enraged look of digust and indigation twisted her blue face, she aimed at somewhere around the middle of the flopping, tumescent body and plunged the spear down.

Ebri continued to move fluidly toward the door, keeping the fleeting glimpse of the mage beyond fixed in her view. The air whistled along the kama beside her. Still to one side, she registered the presence of a new enemy-- the mercenary Wolf traded heavy blows at the other door. "Your mentor needs you--" she called to Kale, passing him. "I am sufficient for this--"

The mercenary nearly made a double-take, but considering the situation, he was inclined to believe her. Still, if by some stroke of fortune the woman could destroy the mage, she couldn't stand against mage and armsmen: Kale was stuck on the balcony, for now.

Cord could feel his eyelids blink in surprise as he wrested his arm away from the malevolent beast before him. This thing had never been human, unlike the coven werewolves. This alien, shambling mound was had been pulled from another land entirely, and in all senses did not belong deep within the cavern that he stood trying to protect Wyshira.

High up in the rafters, the bowman took aim at what he now percieved as a greater threat; the figures menacing his own master. The bowstring pulled back taught, he sighted the weapon on the deft form of Ebri and let loose another crackling arrow, but this time the missile went wide and instead blasted a hole in the floor of the wooden platform with the crack of discharging electricity blackening the wood around it. Burl now acted to counter this sniping threat, the glowing ghost hand soaring through the air, now imbued with chilling necromantic energies. For now the agile archer managed to dodge the attacking ethereal manifestation, the spidery magiks of the potion keeping him balanced up on the rafters.

Kale's two darts at the shambling horror went wide by far, the mind-chilling effect of the beast combined with the confusion of combat combining to throw off his aim. The monster itself once again assaulted Cord, but all of its frenzied strikes were easily dodged by the ready dwarf who blocked and avoided with practiced ease even in the face of this otherworldly thing. From within his chamber, Cancer watched the melee and mayhen outside, seeing Kale move to block the stairs up and Ebri continue on her path towards him, and he snarled out more magical words; suddenly there stood not one of him but five, five shifting Cancers created a blurred confusion of images that the monk would find hard to discern the real wizard.

Melisande took the moment to try and impale the flying monstrosity that twitched on the ground before her, stabbing down hard; but to her amazement and horror the weapon barely even scratched the beast which, even in its paralysed state, seemed to have some sort of strange immunity to such a puny physical attack as she had made.

Meanwhile the melee continued to rage within the main chamber, Wolf desperately striking at the dragonkin assailing him. This time he scored a solid strike, a mighty blow that staggered one of the reptilian warriors and drew forth greatgouts of blood; yet the behemoth seemed relatively unfazed by this and continued to batter the veteran warrior. The flurry of strikes with those mighty maces soon reduced Wolf to a crumpled, bloodied heap by the door, and with this threat dealt with the two dragonkin surveyed the rest of the battle, unsure as to where to pitch in next.

Ebri charged the wizard amidst his myriad shield of mirror images, striking out with her kama; it hit one of the images which shattered into ephemeral fragments which soon evaporated. Cancer smiled at her unpleasantly; all four of him, the three remaining images mimicking the real face of the wizard.

Kaelos and Garus were on the stairs as they approached Kale; forcing them to come one at a time, Garus first. He lunged with his longsword at the mercenary, but the man was easily able to evade the clumsy strike.

Cord struck out at the abomination attacking him; his fist hit true, crushing vile flesh and shattering bones beneath as the monstrosity reeled from the force behind the strike. By him, Wyshira stepped forwards to pour cool healing energies into Sebastion, the warrior's wounds healing somewhat and the flow of blood trickling to a halt.

Sandar went for Sebastion again, lashing out with what would have been a punishing blow had it connected; fortunately, the swordsman was able to turn the fist away and followed up with his own storm of attacks. Both blades bit in, slashing across the monk's midriff, and he fell in a pool of his own blood to lie crumpled on the floor.

Ebri smiled thinly as the profusion of images appeared before her, appreciating the inherent philosophical irony of the defensive maneuver. The mage thought to use illusion to mask reality. But the truth is that illusion is reality. By its very nature the world was composed of shifting images and the fantasies of the mind. It was not that one could escape such, at least not until one should become enlightened, freed, but that one had to understand and recognize the world for what it was. The world is a snare set for the mind.
Sheathing her kama, she leaped at the two nearest adjoining mages, kicking out in both directions.

Melisande shouted in frustration as her spear bounced off the blubbery hide harmlessly and almost threw her off balance. Obviously, she would have to take other measures to obliterate this thing and join the rest of the alarmingly noisy chaos beyond. No time to worry about the others...

Dropping the spear she patted her pockets frantically--("Oof", thought a stressed and grumpy Pierre)--until she found one of the vials she'd bought earlier with Burl's money.

She yanked out the stopper and dumped acid over the fibrillating abomination, with a fleeting thought of salt on a slug, and a prayer--addressed to Naskha via His temple above--this would work.

Pirhouetting to a halt as the last drops of blood from his strike hit the floor, Sebastion paused. Hand on the floor, double bladed sword out behind him, he surveyed the scene quickly from his half crouch.

Wolf looked in bad shape, but he didn't want to take on either of the two mace-wielders without help, and certainly not both together. Cord appeared as though he might be winning his battle, so the obvious target was the scampering figure in the rafters.

Reaching over his shoulder as he rose, he quickly sought the archer, dodging the attentions of a ghostly apparition - it looked like a hand - hopefully the work of one of the spellcasters. Timing the scamperings, he let fly, then gripped his sword and turned to move towards Cord.

Opening her eyes as the last bit of healing power flowed out through her hands and into Sebastian, Wyshira took a deep breath and began scanning the area for the rest of the crew. She scarcely noticed the closing of the mercenary's wounds, or the fall of his opponent, the tatooed monk.

Where are they.....?

Cord was nearby and seemed to be holding his own against the summoned horror.

Kale was on the stairs and appeared to be uninjured so far....... Thank the Lady!


Burl was out of sight behind her, but Wyshira assumed he had managed to keep out of harm's way and was working his magic from the shadows.

Wolf was over by the downstairs door and .............. DOWN!

Two huge draconian figures turned away from his battered, crumpled form, their upraised maces dripping blood. Wyshira gasped. She would have to pass right by them to get to Wolf.

The priestess' hand went almost automatically to a scroll she kept tucked inside her robes. It had been a parting gift, scribed for her by her sister, and Wyshira had carried it with her since leaving home months ago.

She unrolled the stiff parchment and read the words penned there. The scroll disolved into shimmering mist, swirled toward and around her briefly, then vanished even as she dashed away. She ran straight for Wolf, ignoring the two dragonkin, and skidded to halt beside him on her knees.

"Yearrrraaaaaaah!" Kale's eyes went wide, and his lips peeled back to a fierce predator's growl. Wolf lie crumpled on the floor below, and these two would pay the price for what their lizard pets had done. It was a rage so fierce that it could only be born, at least in part, by a sicking sense of personal error.

By his lead, Wolf had been isolated without backup. Kale may have brought this all about.

Kaelos and Garus encountered the mercenary's deadly eyes, then saw something they'd never seen before. With both hands, the wild man atop the stairs drew steel. A rattle of chain in the left, the keening song of fine-wrought steel to the right.

To the two lackeys, Kale was a rabbit, dodging and avoiding frantically to preserve his own life. But in a blink, something had changed- what had they missed? Kale, as a light fighter, was supposed to sortie and disengage, to stick and move, fighting, but remain somehow scared or less mettled than the swordsmen before him.

As Kale advanced, his two opponents would learn their beliefs were horribly in error. Kale was a hyena, angry and out for blood. Kaelos and Garus, as swordsmen, dreamed perhaps as children that they would be as lions or dragons. But even if they could reach in and take hold of their childhood dreams, it would be to their horror to encounter Kale.

Lions or dragons, to overpower and dominate? Yet at their heels was the hyena, nipping lunging, finally stripping the hamstring, plucking the eyes, crushing the throat. It was honorless, patternless, tractless attack, and Kale had no respect for the swordsmen's human weaknesses.

A warrior's only hope is to die a fitting death, yet one look to Kale's eyes told the truth- they would die; a wasting, heedless, useless death. A lowly scavenger would mean their end, and all their study and art and struggles and dreams would come to a pathetic and empty end.

Fire in his bones, Kale took a steady step, and struck.

The cult agent up in the rafters was hit by a sudden shock as he nwearly pitched off into air; apparently the magic of his potion had now worn off and he was having to cling on in order to keep his balance up there. Now the spectral hand pursuing him around the place seemed a much gerater threat and he turned his bow against it, bracing his back against a wooden beam to fire a spark-trailing arrow at the necromantic conjuring. In his panic his aim was far from accurate and the missile soared off to explode against the wall in a pyrotechnic spray. In response, Burl's spectral hand darted in once again to try and deliver its chilling touch; and this time the frantic rogue could not evade the necromancer's magics. The man felt first the icy cold of the spell and then the unrelenting force of gravity, pushed off balance by the attack and plunging from the rafters to hit the floor below with a grisly thud.

The now-enraged Kale went at Garus with his flail swinging wildly and brutally, a crunch as the weapon bit into the cultist's side and tearing at his flesh. He staggered, the impact of the vicious thing knocking the breath out of him, but he managed to keep his feet against the attempts by Kale to trip him. Then, for the three men; the two cultists on the stairs and Kale on the platform, everything descended into blazing hellfire.

Within Cancer's room, Ebri had seen the wizard's hands once again swirl into patterns of spellcasting, and then from his palm shot a tiny, flaming bead of bright and incandescent red, that shot past her out onto the platform outside.

The fireball engulfed all three men, and the raging flames quickly burnt through the wooden struts and supports of the platform, sending the entire thing tumbling down in a bonfire of destruction.

Kale found his skin livid with burns - for the second time in two days - and his footing gone, losing his balance as the platform collpased onto itself and sparks roared up around him. Yet the inferno seemed less fierce than it should have, the rogue's body sustained by his comrade's earlier spell.Finding himself prone in the quickly-diminishing magical fires, leaving only the sputtering real fires lit by the pyromanic spell, Kale could see what had become of the two cultists; Garus lay still, a smouldering and unmoving body. Kaelos on the other hand seemed to me made of sterner stuff, standing up and beating out the few patchs of emebrs on his clothes with one grime-smeared hand. It looked like his little ruby amulet was glowing.

The shambler once again went at Cord, foul mouths gibbering and snarling as it swiped and lunged, but the martial adept was able to easily dodge, duck and weave around the lumbering monstrosity's strikes. The paralysed abomination flopping around on the ground in front of Melisande continued to wibble and gibber even as she upended a vial of acid; unfortunately it seemed resistant to caustic substances too because all the liquid did was stream off it harmlessly, until when the acid hit the floor it finally began to hiss and eat into the ground.

Ebri, faced with the evilly grinning myriad of mages, opened up with a flurry of blows, her leaping kick impacting against another image and shattering it into ephermeral shards; now only three wizards faced her, one the real Cancer.

The two dragonkin tried to charge towards the central melee of the room; however the scattered furniture and crates hampered their approach and prevented them from reaching a full impetus as the hulking warriors closed on Sebastion, Cord and Wyshira.

The burned, dazed, and anrgy Kaelos closed in on the prone Kale, stabbing down furiously and violently; Kale frantically twisted around to evade the descending stabs but one caught him on the flank to injure him slightly, drawing blood and a hiss of pain.

Meanwhile Cord punched out again at the shambler, another punishing blow that staggered the monster while Wyshira darted past both it and the two approaching dragonkin to reach the crumpled form of Wolf, her magical sanctuary protecting her from the beasts even as the shambler finally toppled to the ground, Cord's assault too much for it - it disappeared into a cloud of smoke. As she reached the veteran mercenary, she was appalled at the injuries inflicted by the brutal maces and sheer strength of the dragonkin, leaving the man lying in a pool of his own blood. Just by a quick look at him she could tell he was already on his way out, the faint and ragged rhythm of his rising chest indicating that he was breathing his last few weak breaths before death would take him.

Sebastion, deprived of his target up above, instead let fly at the most immediate target; one of the dragonkin about to pile in on him. Unfortunately the missile just deflected off the armoured scales of the foe without injuring it at all.

Sebastion grimaced as the axe glanced off the target, wondering what the scales might be made of, and resolving himself to hedge his bets and try to stab a little more than to carve gently. It was a different style, not a completely foreign system, and shouldn't slow him down... you had to be able to adapt to the enemy his father had always taught him.

Falling back once more on the lessons he had been taught, he noted the cluttered path before the dragon-kin, and heard more than saw Cord finally end the threat he faced.

"This way, Cord," he said, moving to try and isolate one of the creatures for a moment, "try to concentrate on this one." Nodding, Cord followed close behind Sebastion.

With that, he brought his sword up into both hands, spun it gently to the left, and then set into the attack.

Mel squealed in frustration as her acid poured harmlessly off the rubbery skin of the flopping thing at her feet and started eating through the ground instead. She had a strong feeling she was wasting her time. The thing might be able to regenerate and pose a future threat, but from the explosive sound of things she was needed elsewhere for now.

Raising her eyes she surveyed the damage. Wyshira knelt over a bleeding, motionless Wolf; Kale was smouldering but still standing; and Sebastion and the blind dwarf were taking on some very dangerous-looking creatures which, to her knowledge, were not your ordinary lizard-men. She raised her hands and once again invoked the now-familiar surge of energy, aiming it at the nearest of the pair of dragonkin.

The pain of engulfing flames was so intense and familiar- Kale even forgot his anger as he and his two opponents plunged to the ground. With an explosion of pain, however, the mercenary was jarred back to reality. Garus had fought his last, while Kaelos had just begun.

Spinning legs and body in a tight twisting arc, Kale leapt painfully to his feet. In the same motion, his charred arm brought down chain and ball against his swordsman opponent.

The char of Kale's own flesh seared his nose; while Kaelos and his blade called out for blood. Kale looked to the man's eyes, hoping to see the change when their positions reversed.

This must go more quickly, Ebri judged, listening to the room behind her. Several of the distinct points of sound she had labelled as her companions in her mental map of the conflict were either missing, or altered from the sounds of melee to wounded. Normally, she did not feel the press of time. Time flowed past, with little need for hurry or delay. One must move with the current, rather than swim against it, and attempting to beat a river at its own task is folly indeed. So it is with time. And yet, she did recognize that the risk of defeat -- not to mention, the death of potentially useful companions-- increased with each moment that flowed by.

It had been no untruth she had told to Kale. She was sufficient for this. But there were more foes than this enslaving mage, and the others did not seem to be performing at quite her level of competence.

That is likely to be detrimental to your ward. And that would be unfortunate.

She moved to shatter more illusions.

At first, Wyshira thought that Wolf's spirit had already gone, so severe were his injuries. She leaned in close to him, her cheek near his mouth, and was just able to feel the faint stirring of his breath in and out.

How could he have lost so much blood so quickly? she wondered, taking a quick inventory of his wounds. The dragonkin's spiked maces had done their work all too well, crushing the mercenary's ribs and opening numerous gashes all over his body. The priestess could feel a sticky warmth seeping into the knees of her trousers as she knelt beside him.

She didn't waste any more time. Reaching beneath Wolf's armor to lay hands on the battered flesh inside, she began chanting the words of her spell.

Burl's spectral hand darted down from up above to strike at the mighty dragonkin, reaching in to discharge another burst of numbing, chill energy to the creature; in return it seemed barely slowed by the assault and more or less ignored the tiny ephemeral limb, pushing on forwards instead.

Kale, now painfully on his feet, lashed out with his chained weapon; the flail wrapped round Kaelos'sleg and with a quick yank pulled him off his feet to lie prone in front of Kale; but the determined cultist seemed surprisingly unfazed, burning rage taking over his judgement and driving him on in survival-driven fury, and he was already pulling himself to his feet.

Cancer's face was twisted once more into a vile sneer, angry and elated at the same time as he unleashed more dark magics onto Ebri as she tried to take him down. Casting defensively so that she couldn't disrupt his spell, he sent forth spiralling shards of red and black energy from his hands; a simple magical missile spell but one that punished Ebri badly as three missiles impacted despite her ducking and weaving, homing in unrelentingly to tear gashes out of her.

As Melisande strode away from the still paralysed, twitching winged abomination, she sent her own brand of magic into the fray, the sapphire missiles arcing out with a pulse of bright blue energy to slam into the leading dragonkin, already injured by Wolf's blade and Burl's necromancy. The two bolts smashed into shards of azure light as they hit the warrior, causing it to snarl in pain and anger as bright red blood streamed down from the impact craters.

Ebri whipped out a handful of her toothed discs, sending them slashing through the air with a quick flick. One missed entirely but the other two both struck; still the mage himself proved elusive but the two images shattered and disappeared, leaving only the true wizard standing there; despite this he still had an insane grin on his face as though unworried by this turn of events.

The dragonkin continued their rampage across the room. One, finding it's path blocked by a table, simply picked the piece of furniture up in one hand, before promptly swatting down with it at Sebastion, seeing the blade-wielder as a greater threat than the dwarf; the impact of the heavy thing sent the warrior reeling and battered, though the table itself was reduced to pieces by the sheer force behind the blow. The other dragonkin hefted its mace and went for Cord with a flurry of brutal swipes, smashing hard into the monk with one hit while he managed to dodge the other hefty lunge.

Kaelos scrabbled to pick himself up from the ground before Kale, managing to get himself back up on his feet and avoiding an opportunistic strike from the mercenary. His own blade was turned by Kale's armour though, and the two faced off once again.

Cord and Sebastion moved to double-team the injured dragonkin, Cord doing the best he could to help the swordsman get in a strike on the tall reptilian before them. It was brutally effective as they moved to flank the foe, both of Sebastion's swords striking true to carve rents out of the dragonkin and making it growl and roar in some guttural language. Still - still! - the eight foot wariior was standing and in fighting spirit, but beginning to flag now from its many wounds and injuries.

Over by Wolf's body, Wyshria hoped that she was soon enough with her aid to save the dying man. The healing magic poured into him, injuries and rents sealing up somewhat and the worst of the blood flow halting, but this was still a badly injured man. He was regaining conciousness though, coughing weakly now but looking around with bleary and unseeing eyes.

DM's Note: Thigns were not looking good at this point, with both Cord and Sebastion reduced down to single didgt hit poinst in one round of attacks from the dragonkin!