Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
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Carnifex
First Post
The last vestiges of the darkness slowly unwrapped themselves from Sebastion's soul, the muttered words of the healer lost to his shock, but the soothing tone guiding him back.
He rose with a start to his feet, realisation suddenly striking him that his backside was not the place to be spending his second chance, and as his viewpoint receded from the floor, the source of his problems hove into view: Cancer.
The smug, irritating mage strutted about, apparently out of reach, above the fallen woodwork, but Sebastion had weapons beyond the reach of his sword, and slipping a hand over his shoulder, he grasped the handle of one of his throwing axes and hurled it through the air towards that obnoxious grin.
* * *
What was that? Are you okay? Are you okay?
Burl could barely hear Spike, but it was Spike and that meant he was still alive and kicking. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind and overcoming the pain he answered his companion, Yes Spike, I’m still here.
Taking stock of his body, he couldn’t find any blood, but still the pain remained. Again he heard Spike, You got to do something about that guy or get out of here. My vote is for leaving.
But Burl wasn't a coward. He couldn’t leave his friends behind, not when victory looked so close. Stretching his body to his full height, yet still with knees shaking, Burl began the manipulations to a spell while speaking clearly the words.
* * *
Melisande could hardly take the time to ponder what power she now had in her hands with the Fire-Serpent summoned to do her whim. She pocketed the wand like a hot potato and turned her outraged blue glare on the mage Cancer.
He could not be taking in pleasure in this. Yet an insane rictus twisted his face as he surveyed the scene of his defeat--or did he have something else up his villainous sleeve?
The answer to that question exceeded the scope of even Melisande's curiosity. Expertly now, though she could feel an emptiness growing in her mind where the magic had been, she raised her hands in another arcane gesture.
* * *
Once again Burl invoked his magics, this time in the form of ice crystallising in his hand in the form of a long, sharp dagger of cold. It launched out at the wizard up on his overlooking perch, striking true and biting into the flesh of the spellslinger who howled in pain as a great patch of frost crawled across his skin from the grievous wound.
Kale, desperately trying to bring the table round to take the strikes aimed at him, lashed out with the brine blade at the sight of an opening in the muscle-beast's defences; the blade slipped into the noisome, skinless flesh, the acid barely raising a blister but the sharp edges of the weapon brutally damaging the beast's innards as it sliced into its chest; with a foul death-gargle the whispering mouths finally fell quiet and the monster collapsed, quickly discorporating into foul smoke which rapidly dispersed.
Cancer, seeing his summoned creature disappear and feeling the chill bite of Burl's spell still, wove his hands in eldritch patterns to send a thin blue beam lancing out at Kale; fortunately for the rogue, the pained wizard's aim was off and it simply scored a line of frost across the floor next to him before petering out. Somewhere out in the darkness there was a giggling whimper as the flying monstrosity that he had earlier conjured simply evaoprated into thin air.
Then, once again, sapphire light pulsed from Melisande's fingers, this time hurtling towards Cancer to impact into his chest and send him staggering. He screamed in rage rather than pain, spitting and yelling curses and threats while preparing to cast more magic. As the others either milled confusedly or, in the case of Wyshira, looked for alternate routes up to the higher chamber, Sebastion finished the matter with his throwing axe, the finely balanced weapon scything through the air to bury itself in the belly of the wizard.
Blood flowing freely from his wounds, he finally toppled from the doorway to hit the ground below with a thud.
Apart from the mercenaries, nothing else remained alive in the chamber.
He rose with a start to his feet, realisation suddenly striking him that his backside was not the place to be spending his second chance, and as his viewpoint receded from the floor, the source of his problems hove into view: Cancer.
The smug, irritating mage strutted about, apparently out of reach, above the fallen woodwork, but Sebastion had weapons beyond the reach of his sword, and slipping a hand over his shoulder, he grasped the handle of one of his throwing axes and hurled it through the air towards that obnoxious grin.
* * *
What was that? Are you okay? Are you okay?
Burl could barely hear Spike, but it was Spike and that meant he was still alive and kicking. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind and overcoming the pain he answered his companion, Yes Spike, I’m still here.
Taking stock of his body, he couldn’t find any blood, but still the pain remained. Again he heard Spike, You got to do something about that guy or get out of here. My vote is for leaving.
But Burl wasn't a coward. He couldn’t leave his friends behind, not when victory looked so close. Stretching his body to his full height, yet still with knees shaking, Burl began the manipulations to a spell while speaking clearly the words.
* * *
Melisande could hardly take the time to ponder what power she now had in her hands with the Fire-Serpent summoned to do her whim. She pocketed the wand like a hot potato and turned her outraged blue glare on the mage Cancer.
He could not be taking in pleasure in this. Yet an insane rictus twisted his face as he surveyed the scene of his defeat--or did he have something else up his villainous sleeve?
The answer to that question exceeded the scope of even Melisande's curiosity. Expertly now, though she could feel an emptiness growing in her mind where the magic had been, she raised her hands in another arcane gesture.
* * *
Once again Burl invoked his magics, this time in the form of ice crystallising in his hand in the form of a long, sharp dagger of cold. It launched out at the wizard up on his overlooking perch, striking true and biting into the flesh of the spellslinger who howled in pain as a great patch of frost crawled across his skin from the grievous wound.
Kale, desperately trying to bring the table round to take the strikes aimed at him, lashed out with the brine blade at the sight of an opening in the muscle-beast's defences; the blade slipped into the noisome, skinless flesh, the acid barely raising a blister but the sharp edges of the weapon brutally damaging the beast's innards as it sliced into its chest; with a foul death-gargle the whispering mouths finally fell quiet and the monster collapsed, quickly discorporating into foul smoke which rapidly dispersed.
Cancer, seeing his summoned creature disappear and feeling the chill bite of Burl's spell still, wove his hands in eldritch patterns to send a thin blue beam lancing out at Kale; fortunately for the rogue, the pained wizard's aim was off and it simply scored a line of frost across the floor next to him before petering out. Somewhere out in the darkness there was a giggling whimper as the flying monstrosity that he had earlier conjured simply evaoprated into thin air.
Then, once again, sapphire light pulsed from Melisande's fingers, this time hurtling towards Cancer to impact into his chest and send him staggering. He screamed in rage rather than pain, spitting and yelling curses and threats while preparing to cast more magic. As the others either milled confusedly or, in the case of Wyshira, looked for alternate routes up to the higher chamber, Sebastion finished the matter with his throwing axe, the finely balanced weapon scything through the air to bury itself in the belly of the wizard.
Blood flowing freely from his wounds, he finally toppled from the doorway to hit the ground below with a thud.
Apart from the mercenaries, nothing else remained alive in the chamber.
Carnifex
First Post
I've just started a new thread in the House Rules section for the 'crunchy' bits from the SH - I'll post any new spells, beasties, magic items etc. over there instead. The link to the thread is here:
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=39102
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=39102
Carnifex
First Post
I've just posted the rules for the Baatezu Barbed Blast that Cancer fired off at Kale in the last fight up on my House Rules thread, here:
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=666213#post666213
Rather a painful, nasty spell
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=666213#post666213
Rather a painful, nasty spell
Carnifex
First Post
Suddenly, amidst the pulse of Sebastion's hearbeat - I have a heartbeat... - and the clash of blades, claws, flesh and spiralling, fizzing magics, there was silence.
It lasted for barely a moment until the wizard's corpse struck the floor with a resounding, reassuring thud, the hilt of Sebastion's axe rising from his chest like an obscene victory banner.
Relieved that the mage was dead, Burl looked for more targets. Seeing none, he started counting his companions all of whom he could see. Relieved that they were all alive, he started to sigh his relief when the thought struck him, Ebri.
Yelling, “Ebri. Has anyone seen Ebri?”
Realizing there could only be one place she could be, Burl began to look for some way to get into the room above. The dead would have to wait as long as there was a chance for Ebri to still be alive.
A wealth of thoughts assailed Sebastion about what had happened, and he found himself gathering the sheathes to his sword without thinking, going through the motions of cleaning the blade on automatic as he tried to cope with the emotions.
When Burl asked his question, and started looking towards the doorway above his head, he finally had something to focus on, and with quick look at the climb he turned to Kale.
"Can you make that if I give you a boost?" he asked, bending his knees slightly and holding his hands ready as a stirrup.
Kale turned to the sound of Sebastion's voice. He was already in position and poised underneath the smoking doorway. "Right." Kale siad simply, thankful for the tap back to reality. Quickly, he sucked in air as he took his first step, the fog of war fading enough to take hold of just how badly he'd been burned. Sebastion stood at the base of the doorway, Cancer's crumpled body mere feet away. Sparing only moments to jostle the mage's head with his boot, Kale accepted Seb's boost and pulled himself into the room, mantling quickly and silently with pistol in hand.
No immediate threats presented themselves, and Kale looked sheepishly down at Seb as he manuvered the other man's weapon. I thought he was dead... he thought simply, then cut short as his gaze settled on a dark-wrapped heap in the corner. A few seconds passed, then Kale stepped back to the doorway. "Bring Wyshira up," he said, in a completely neutral voice.
Smoke lay heavy and still in the foul mage's study, the sights and smells a cloying scene of destruction. Books and papers filled the room, but what normally would have been Kale's first interest would have to be neglected. Walking reluctantly to where Ebri lay, he unsettled her in her expanding pool of blood. Touching her gently, the blood under his hands was still warm- either the shadow of a passed life, or a meager hope for one to continue. Applying pressure gently to the mangled places, he provided, he suposed, just one respectful plattitude for a woman whose spirit was already bound for the afterlife.
Whatever that means, Kale wondered cynically, and the only thing he could feel for sure was a profound sense of loss.
Mel found she was shaking violently with the adrenaline let-down. When Kale lowered his table and gave her the most out-of-place smile possible--it was weirder in this room filled with ozone and greasy hellspawn smoke than her skin tone was--it occurred to her there had once been chairs; finding them scattered she chose instead a crate and lowered herself onto it, trying to keep her panting from turning to sobs.
The last two times she'd been gutted like a big blue fish, but somehow this was worse.
Burl mentioned Ebri, and for a moment Mel thought of going in search of her but her legs felt like rubber and anyway, as she murmured with a slightly shrill giggle, "Probably snuck off for soup."
Finally she remembered the fire serpent. It coiled on the floor over by where Sebastion was boosting Kale. She found her balance and went over closer to it, feeling the waves of heat off its white-hot flaming body. A wonder the wood of the furniture had not caught fire around it. Pierre wanted her to tell it to shoo. But Mel had a new pet, and its uses were not yet spent. She gestured toward the door where the dragon-men had come from. "Let's have an explore. You go first," she told the thing, one hand on the wand in her pocket as if she could use it to beat the serpent to sparks if it made a funny move.
Wyshira expected to be needed upstairs and so wasn't surprised when Kale called for her. The trouble was, she just couldn't make her feet walk any nearer to the Fire Serpent. She stared at it dumbly, eyes wide, and tried to summon up a calming image of a subterranean pool. But it was no good.
DM's Note: Wyshira, as a water genasi, isn't too keen on fiery things...
Melisande spoke to the thing then, some kind of command, and began to move in Wyshira's direction.
"Stop!" the priestess shouted, in spite of herself. She looked around nervously, embarassed by her outburst. "I uh..." She licked her dry lips and looked over at Mel, green eyes pleading. "Could you just ..... make it go away now?"
* * *
Ebri floated in non-existence, surrounded by the insistent chattering of dead relatives and spirit-kin. Whether it was really them or just hallucinatory images brought on by being near to death the woman did not know...
Ebri felt herself pleasantly divorced from her body. She did not mind, she found. This was, after all, what enlightenment was supposed to be like. The distractions of the body no longer mattered. The mind was freed. One became pure energy, unfettered...
Oh, it will be so good to have someone new to talk to-- the voice, which she had reluctantly identified as her mother's great aunt, chattered on, interrupting. Do you know, the new Zol, she just sits there and won't even talk? She can't even hear us when they get her stinking drunk, which is practically half the time. The other times, she's so scared to say anything she just sits there like she's in some catatonic trance-- Too bad you had your little crisis and ran off, Ebri... even when you just made stuff up, you were still giving decent advice. Usually it wasn't too far off what we were yelling at you-- Just think--
I am freed from thinking. Ebri countered. You are illusory, Great Aunt. And I no longer care for the superstitious fantasies of the clan, in any case. I am beyond that--
Just think--soon you'll be shouting at her too, on the other side. Isn't it funny how things work out? The irony-- Maybe you'll do better than us--
I serve the higher Purpose--
Oh, whatever, everyone is in denial until they get here. You'll see soon enough--
I will not-- Ebri insisted, and wondered how much longer it would take, the dying of her body.
Somehow, the prospect of eternal blissful peace with the cacophany of relatives continually interrupting was not optimistic.
Perhaps she was serving the Purpose in dying now; she could not know the Prophet's ends. The Plan was mysterious and ineffable. But she had been give an assignment, which was not complete. Perhaps the ward is also dead...?
That thought was unacceptable, suddenly, and she did pray now, when she had disdained it before. This was the more appropriate time, after all: action was impossible. Great Prophet, behold your servant. My only wish has been to serve your ends. Do with me now as you will, whether it be to cease existence, or to continue refining this spirit in flesh and fulfilling your Purpose...
* * *
Mel only paused a second at Wyshira's outburst. The priestess was clearly on edge with post-battle nerves, and Mel could relate. It did not occur to her she could possibly be serious about dispelling the fire-serpent. The fire-serpent was nifty. And it could come in very handy should more cowardly followers of Gilamesh be crouching in the corners of the passageway beyond.
"Don't worry, it's tame," she reassured Wyshira with a smile, and continued straight on toward the priestess and the passage. "We're just going to have a look around."
Wyshira edged away from the sorceress and the fiery serpent, careful not to pesent her back to them, and made her way toward the group gathered beneath the upstairs doorway. It's tame.... it's tame..... it's tame..... she repeated like a mantra in her head, latching on to the words and taking strength from them. By the time she got to Sebastian, she was clammy and shaking. She breathed a small sigh of relief when Melisande and her "pet" disappeared into the passageway.
"All right," she said to the mercenary waiting to help her up. "I'm ready."
It lasted for barely a moment until the wizard's corpse struck the floor with a resounding, reassuring thud, the hilt of Sebastion's axe rising from his chest like an obscene victory banner.
Relieved that the mage was dead, Burl looked for more targets. Seeing none, he started counting his companions all of whom he could see. Relieved that they were all alive, he started to sigh his relief when the thought struck him, Ebri.
Yelling, “Ebri. Has anyone seen Ebri?”
Realizing there could only be one place she could be, Burl began to look for some way to get into the room above. The dead would have to wait as long as there was a chance for Ebri to still be alive.
A wealth of thoughts assailed Sebastion about what had happened, and he found himself gathering the sheathes to his sword without thinking, going through the motions of cleaning the blade on automatic as he tried to cope with the emotions.
When Burl asked his question, and started looking towards the doorway above his head, he finally had something to focus on, and with quick look at the climb he turned to Kale.
"Can you make that if I give you a boost?" he asked, bending his knees slightly and holding his hands ready as a stirrup.
Kale turned to the sound of Sebastion's voice. He was already in position and poised underneath the smoking doorway. "Right." Kale siad simply, thankful for the tap back to reality. Quickly, he sucked in air as he took his first step, the fog of war fading enough to take hold of just how badly he'd been burned. Sebastion stood at the base of the doorway, Cancer's crumpled body mere feet away. Sparing only moments to jostle the mage's head with his boot, Kale accepted Seb's boost and pulled himself into the room, mantling quickly and silently with pistol in hand.
No immediate threats presented themselves, and Kale looked sheepishly down at Seb as he manuvered the other man's weapon. I thought he was dead... he thought simply, then cut short as his gaze settled on a dark-wrapped heap in the corner. A few seconds passed, then Kale stepped back to the doorway. "Bring Wyshira up," he said, in a completely neutral voice.
Smoke lay heavy and still in the foul mage's study, the sights and smells a cloying scene of destruction. Books and papers filled the room, but what normally would have been Kale's first interest would have to be neglected. Walking reluctantly to where Ebri lay, he unsettled her in her expanding pool of blood. Touching her gently, the blood under his hands was still warm- either the shadow of a passed life, or a meager hope for one to continue. Applying pressure gently to the mangled places, he provided, he suposed, just one respectful plattitude for a woman whose spirit was already bound for the afterlife.
Whatever that means, Kale wondered cynically, and the only thing he could feel for sure was a profound sense of loss.
Mel found she was shaking violently with the adrenaline let-down. When Kale lowered his table and gave her the most out-of-place smile possible--it was weirder in this room filled with ozone and greasy hellspawn smoke than her skin tone was--it occurred to her there had once been chairs; finding them scattered she chose instead a crate and lowered herself onto it, trying to keep her panting from turning to sobs.
The last two times she'd been gutted like a big blue fish, but somehow this was worse.
Burl mentioned Ebri, and for a moment Mel thought of going in search of her but her legs felt like rubber and anyway, as she murmured with a slightly shrill giggle, "Probably snuck off for soup."
Finally she remembered the fire serpent. It coiled on the floor over by where Sebastion was boosting Kale. She found her balance and went over closer to it, feeling the waves of heat off its white-hot flaming body. A wonder the wood of the furniture had not caught fire around it. Pierre wanted her to tell it to shoo. But Mel had a new pet, and its uses were not yet spent. She gestured toward the door where the dragon-men had come from. "Let's have an explore. You go first," she told the thing, one hand on the wand in her pocket as if she could use it to beat the serpent to sparks if it made a funny move.
Wyshira expected to be needed upstairs and so wasn't surprised when Kale called for her. The trouble was, she just couldn't make her feet walk any nearer to the Fire Serpent. She stared at it dumbly, eyes wide, and tried to summon up a calming image of a subterranean pool. But it was no good.
DM's Note: Wyshira, as a water genasi, isn't too keen on fiery things...
Melisande spoke to the thing then, some kind of command, and began to move in Wyshira's direction.
"Stop!" the priestess shouted, in spite of herself. She looked around nervously, embarassed by her outburst. "I uh..." She licked her dry lips and looked over at Mel, green eyes pleading. "Could you just ..... make it go away now?"
* * *
Ebri floated in non-existence, surrounded by the insistent chattering of dead relatives and spirit-kin. Whether it was really them or just hallucinatory images brought on by being near to death the woman did not know...
Ebri felt herself pleasantly divorced from her body. She did not mind, she found. This was, after all, what enlightenment was supposed to be like. The distractions of the body no longer mattered. The mind was freed. One became pure energy, unfettered...
Oh, it will be so good to have someone new to talk to-- the voice, which she had reluctantly identified as her mother's great aunt, chattered on, interrupting. Do you know, the new Zol, she just sits there and won't even talk? She can't even hear us when they get her stinking drunk, which is practically half the time. The other times, she's so scared to say anything she just sits there like she's in some catatonic trance-- Too bad you had your little crisis and ran off, Ebri... even when you just made stuff up, you were still giving decent advice. Usually it wasn't too far off what we were yelling at you-- Just think--
I am freed from thinking. Ebri countered. You are illusory, Great Aunt. And I no longer care for the superstitious fantasies of the clan, in any case. I am beyond that--
Just think--soon you'll be shouting at her too, on the other side. Isn't it funny how things work out? The irony-- Maybe you'll do better than us--
I serve the higher Purpose--
Oh, whatever, everyone is in denial until they get here. You'll see soon enough--
I will not-- Ebri insisted, and wondered how much longer it would take, the dying of her body.
Somehow, the prospect of eternal blissful peace with the cacophany of relatives continually interrupting was not optimistic.
Perhaps she was serving the Purpose in dying now; she could not know the Prophet's ends. The Plan was mysterious and ineffable. But she had been give an assignment, which was not complete. Perhaps the ward is also dead...?
That thought was unacceptable, suddenly, and she did pray now, when she had disdained it before. This was the more appropriate time, after all: action was impossible. Great Prophet, behold your servant. My only wish has been to serve your ends. Do with me now as you will, whether it be to cease existence, or to continue refining this spirit in flesh and fulfilling your Purpose...
* * *
Mel only paused a second at Wyshira's outburst. The priestess was clearly on edge with post-battle nerves, and Mel could relate. It did not occur to her she could possibly be serious about dispelling the fire-serpent. The fire-serpent was nifty. And it could come in very handy should more cowardly followers of Gilamesh be crouching in the corners of the passageway beyond.
"Don't worry, it's tame," she reassured Wyshira with a smile, and continued straight on toward the priestess and the passage. "We're just going to have a look around."
Wyshira edged away from the sorceress and the fiery serpent, careful not to pesent her back to them, and made her way toward the group gathered beneath the upstairs doorway. It's tame.... it's tame..... it's tame..... she repeated like a mantra in her head, latching on to the words and taking strength from them. By the time she got to Sebastian, she was clammy and shaking. She breathed a small sigh of relief when Melisande and her "pet" disappeared into the passageway.
"All right," she said to the mercenary waiting to help her up. "I'm ready."
Last edited:
Carnifex
First Post
I've just posted the Claws of Gilamesh spell up on the House Rules thread here:
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=674568#post674568
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=674568#post674568
Carnifex
First Post
As Sebastion helped up Kale, then Wyshira, then Cord, into the chamber above, they at last had the chance for a measured look around, to take stock of what this place had once been. Cancer's room was small, though hardly cramped, the walls covered in shelves of musty books, the fitful candle-light playing strange shadows along them. An ancient oaken desk dominated one side of the room, parchments and books laid out across it. Small, strange pieces were littered around the place, here and there; odd-looking crystals, preserved creatures in jars of embalming fluid, scrawled notes pinned onto books.
Slumped against one bookcase, the bloodied form of Ebri was crumpled. Crimson rivulets had poured down from her brutal injuries but still she lived; her breathing came regularly despite her apparent lack of conciousness.
* * *
The cacophony of relatives was suddenly driven away as if by a tornado, as pain reignited in her senses and reality flooded back in. She was cold and damp; damp in her own blood. She hurt, the great gouges really really hurt. And her head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Around her the figures of some of the others were blurry but at least they were there. It felt like... bandages? They'd started to bandage her up then, to stop the bleeding at least, and she'd come round. She hurt too much to move yet, but at least she was aware of the world around her.
Yet one thing remained in her mind. She could not shake the distinct sensation that just before this return to a world of pain and life, she had sensed something in that great mental void, something beyond the cackling relatives jabbering at her. Something monolithic calling to her, a fortress of something beyond the material. Now she couldn't sense it, but it had been there, waiting for her.
"Be still," Cord said kindly, brushing his own hand encrusted with dried blood across her own, hoping to bring her some degree of comfort. "We almost lost you."
Ebri gasped . wanting to curl up in a ball by reflex. Any control her mind might have had gave way to her animal nature. A creature's instincts are designed to preserve one's life, and increase chances of survival when the body is threatene,. she recalled, trying desperately to recall the lecture on using pain as a focusing tool to heighten awareness. It evaded her. It was painful, and useless. One breathes more rapidly, more deeply, sending the benefits of air to the muscles rapidly. One protects the most vital organs from attack. One calls out so that other members of the family unit or group may realize that one is wounded and render aid. This was some solace for the loss of mental control. This was a rare instance when instinct was helpful; more often it ran contrary to the overarching goals of the self...causing one to run in fear, for instance, or cry out at the wrong time, or seize up in the presence of snakes and high places...
It seemed the Great Prophet had need of her further. This, at least, she chose to believe. For if the Prophet had not, why then had she not gone on to that great fortress beyond? Of course, it was not an actual fortress. That would be a limited mental construct. But another destination, another level of existence... and it had called to her-- She still had important work to do. Or so she hoped--
Groggily, she wet her lips, and tried to focus her eyes on the nearest shape, waving her hand feebly. "Melisande?-"
She must get up, she must see-- hopefully, she had sufficient strength reserves to say the prayers properly. Or perhaps the Prophet will support me further, if I fail... Stilling her mind as best she could, through the pain, she began to say the words that would draw on the power of divine healing.
Cord sensed movement as the others began to retrieve weapons and belongings, returning to some sense of normality in the wake of the deadly battle. Exploration had begun, it seemed, a process that he wanted little part in, even if he was able to help the group. His place, as before, was to protect and stand over those in need. That place was now with Ebri, at Wyshira's side.
He brought a hand near to hers, grasping her hand weakly but solidly. She shook, ever so slightly, as she tended to Ebri's wounds, and Cord understood. He did as well. Neither knew this woman well, but her willing sacrifice so that the company might succeed, to bring pain and death on herself when it might have otherwise destroyed another . . . Cord was glad she remained alive.
* * *
As the experts arrived on scene, Kale was no longer needed. Ebri's lifeblood still pumped in her, though the narrow margin by which she lived was something Kale had never seen before. At the very brink, yet with Wyshira and Cord huddled over her, the woman just might live.
With the team accounted for, it was back to business for the mercenary, securing the area and making sure they were ready to move. Ebri was a matter for the healers, but at least Kale could make sure the rest of them weren't caught with their pants down if something nasty were to arrive.
If something nasty were to... come home, Kale corrected, thinking there could be no more foul place for horrors to live. Sure, the rooms and study were civil enough, candle lit and upholstered in old, quality carpets. But the very room made his skin tingle, and something told him that this wasn't the worst. Wherever those double doors lead, that was where the monsters had come from.
Making a short circuit about the room, Kale searched for any traps or surprises that might be awaiting his companions. Ebri began to moan back into consciousness. Feeling a bit responsible for the debacle he'd led the woman into, Kale stepped out of the room.
And step was the right word, walking right out into open air, his legs recovering like great springs, eight feet down. His sking exploded again in cracking burning pain: how could he have forgotten? Standing up slowly from his nearly squatting position, he saw again Cancer's crumpled body lying at his feet.
Rough and broken terrain was like home to the irregular fighter. But the contours of the place didn't say anything about the dark wrongness of where the team lingered.
Reaching down, Kale loosed the axe from Cancer's gut. Breaking free with a sickening sound, the blade was cleaned, then returned to its owner. "Nice shot," Kale said with brevity, and no small bit of understatement. "And I believe this belongs to you?" he asked rhetorically as he returned Sebastion's pistol unfired.
Nearby, Wolf had recovered familiar feral nature, and seemed almost everyday but for the ignificant injuries that Kale knew he must be hiding. Wyshira's healing had brought him back from the brink, but wounds still remained. And he wasn't the only one. Lingering for long moments, Kale regarded his mentor. "How ya doing?" he asked simply, not sure what to make of this whole mess around them. Wolf stood there, implacable as ever, while Kale wondered what he thought about all of it.
Wolf was leaning against a wall with a pained look on his face as Kale approached him to ask about his wellbeing. "Well, those scaled bastards nearly put an end to me and then Wyshira's healing potion nearly forced one of my ribs through my lung." He spat a glutinous gobbet of mucous and blood from his mouth. "But I survived, didn't I? Now..." And then he looked pointedly at the gloom-ridden area seperated off by bars.
The two mercenaries approached the cell cautiously, Kale with his torch held high, and faint whimpers caught their ears as the firelight glinted off terrified eyes within. A number of small figures were huddled at the back of the slave-pen.
Wolf gave a disgusted snarl. "Children. They've got a bunch of children in manacles in there."
* * *
Melisande's short journey down the corridor led to first a turn in the stone-carved passageway, lit by a few torch brackets, and then into another chamber. It reminded her of nothing so much as a church.
The chapel was small, a few pews and an altar at the end. Tapestries and emblems of draconic nature, flames and monstrous scaled beasts, hung from the walls, and the altar stone was stained with the black of dried blood. A chapel. A chapel to Gilamesh, and fortunately one that was unoccupied now.
The fire serpent sizzled and began to go out, eventually collapsing into a pile of cool ash.
With a frown Melisande took in the chapel of Gilamesh, hardly noticing now when the Fire-Serpent hissed into nothingness. Before her a tapestry-woven dragon's obscenely wide maw gaped, flaming, while claws pinned languishing nude bodies to jagged mountain rocks. Mel made a face. Then she sprang into action.
With great resolve she shouldered the nearest pew, shoving with all her small might until the heavy wooden bench was pushed up against the wall. Using the pew as a stepladder she climbed up and pushed the bar holding the tapestry out of its hooks. With a dusty sigh the ugly scene folded and slid to the floor.
Before moving to the next tapestry she paused in the doorway of the chapel to call out, "Can I have some help in here? Bring torches."
With a few helping hands she figured she could have all the tapestries and pews piled up and flaming in a quarter of an hour. There was no way she was leaving this chapel intact for whoever--or whatever--its next occupants might be. The heap of ash would be a message Gilamesh's followers could surely understand, being disciples of destruction themselves.
As she pushed the next pew up to the wall she thought of the crucified fleshtearer she'd found in the gnoll druid glade. Her lips pressed together in firm line of determination. The pew groaned as if in feeble protest and slid reluctantly across the stone.
* * *
The warmth of the chapel fire on her back soothed Melisande's frayed nerves wonderfully. Some fire for the dragon-lord... She'd heard in stories how dangerous it was to be snotty in the face of the gods, but the opportunity was simply too grand. Give Gilamesh a taste of his own medicine!
Wolf had released a group of emaciated children from the slavers' pens. Though righteous anger flared in her again at the sight of poor, ragged things, the chapel fire would have to be appeasement enough. Gently, she shepherded the young ones to a spot where they could feel the warmth of the fire and pushed a table in the way of the carnage so they would not have to look.
With instinctive maternal gestures she comforted the confused, sobbing children. "Don't cry. We'll have you home again in no time. The wicked people are gone now. Here, do you want to see my toad?"
She let Pierre keep the children busy, and smiling serenly stood drying her still slightly damp clothing and watching while the others scoured the place for loot. What an odd reaction to stress, she thought. She would much rather have burned the place down to the ground than grope the dead bodies. Then again, Burl was handling some pretty interesting stuff. She wouldn't mind having a peek at some of the potions or taking her share of much-needed gold, but was in no hurry.
Eventually she got to wondering whether anyone had located Ebri Zol, and what Wyshira and Cord could possibly be doing upstairs for so long. Coyly she asked Sebastion for a boost, feeling very awkward and aware of her own weight, and hoisted herself up.
There was a sheaf of papers on the defunct mage's desk. Curious, Mel rolled them up and tucked them all in her pocket. Maybe there would be something about the slavery trade that Lord Ecurius or the constabulary could investigate while the group went off on their mission to the mage-tower. A shame, really, that they couldn't stay and tackle the whole network themselves.
As she turned toward the three huddled figures by the wall she realized the dark fluid on the floor was blood. They weren't just standing around conversing in esoteric riddles. Cord and Wyshira were trying to save Ebri Zol's life!
"Ebri? Oh great gods. Is that your blood?" In concern Mel nosed in between the clerics.
* * *
"Melisande is fine, don't worry. She's downstairs," Wyshira soothed. Playing with a conjured Fire Serpent, but... don't worry! She wondered briefly if the odd blue girl could have stumbled upon any more cultists by now. But then Ebri began to speak again, this time chanting a prayer that Wyshira recognized as a spell of curing. The Ishrakite listened with curiosity to the strange mutterings.
A moment later, Melisande had climbed up and through the second-floor doorway behind them. Soon she was hovering over the three of them, anxiously asking after her protector.
With a start of panic, Wyshira looked around for the fiery snake, then let out a sigh of relief when she saw that Mel was alone. There were so many mysteries surrounding this girl; where she once felt friendly toward her, she was now unsure. But she didn't hesitate to ease her mind on the matter of Ebri's condition.
"She was asking about you just now," the priestess told the sorceress brightly. "She was badly hurt, but we got here in time, and I believe she'll be all right now."
"Here, take this." Wyshira placed the last flask of healing waters in Melisande's hand and stood up. "Let her rest for a bit, and if she seems to need it, give her that. I'll send Sebastian up to help you get her back downstairs."
Wyshira walked over to the doorway, weary and elated at the same time. The battle had taken its toll on her, but she carried a warm feeling inside: it had been a long time since she'd had the opportunity to be so useful.
* * *
Sebastion, hunkered down in the doorway, bow in hand, tried to block out the noises from behind him, tried to focus on his self-appointed task of guard, but it was a futile attempt.
The fire crackled away unheard, even the clattering of manacles didn't register, truly, as his mind cycled over and over the insidious sensations in his memory from those few dark moments.
Wyshira had told him he hadn't truly died, but he had felt the explosion into his chest, had ridden the first brief moments of the blow, had known his time was up. Already, the dark distant thoughts and feelings were becoming darker and more distant, slipping away from him as he edged further from the boundary.
Standing up in disgust, realising his attention wasn't on the task, and all the purpose he served in the doorway was as a backlit target, he turned to see the huddled group of large eyed, slack-ribbed children peering suspiciously around.
Why starve them? Slavery's a vile trade, but it's supposed to be about efficiency - work that doesn't have to be paid for. What's efficient about hungry, weak children?
He wandered slowly over, making sure his weapons were as hidden as they could get - not that he could do a great deal about the blood staining his mail - wary of the impression he might put across.
Dipping into his pack, he pulled out a little of the rations that he had, and his waterskin, and passed it across to them with a smile.
She gave them a frog to look at? And a two headed one at that...?
"Listen," he said gently, squatting down across the table from them, leaving them the security of the wood to hide behind, "we're going to head back up to the surface soon... we'll see that you are given something to eat. Who are you, are you from the city? Perhaps the guard will be able to help you find your families?"
He watched the look in their eyes for just a brief moment, that was all it took before he could turn away: for all that he had - or perhaps hadn't - died a death of the flesh, these poor children had died a death of the soul...
He lashed out with a boot at the nearest corpse, but it didn't make him feel any better, and he remained near the children, turning back to them, wishing there was something he could do. Children shouldn't be locked away in a hole in the ground to be sold for coin...
"I'm Sebastion... what are your names?" he asked, quietly.
Wyshira looked down from the upstairs doorway at the scene below. She avoided looking at the sprawling body of the dead mage, her eyes drawn instead to the small group of thin and raggedly-clothed children that had been released from the slavepen. It seemed obvious to her that many of them were in need of treatment for minor cuts and bruises. Fresh food and water wouldn't hurt them any either, she thought.
"Sebastian!" she called down, her voice sounding small in the semi-collapsed cellar. The mercenary was trying to talk to a couple of the older children who stood protectively between him and the younger ones, but he looked up at the sound of her voice. "Could you help me and Cord climb down? And Ebri is up here, hurt. Melisande might need you to climb up and help with her as well."
Wyshira was curious to see if Sebastian showed any special reaction to hearing Melisande's name. She'd noticed the way the two of them seemed to step on each other's toes at every opportunity, but she'd also seen the look in Mel's eyes when Sebastian was grievously injured. Does Sebastian feel the same? she wondered with a slight smile.
Slumped against one bookcase, the bloodied form of Ebri was crumpled. Crimson rivulets had poured down from her brutal injuries but still she lived; her breathing came regularly despite her apparent lack of conciousness.
* * *
The cacophony of relatives was suddenly driven away as if by a tornado, as pain reignited in her senses and reality flooded back in. She was cold and damp; damp in her own blood. She hurt, the great gouges really really hurt. And her head felt like it was full of cotton wool. Around her the figures of some of the others were blurry but at least they were there. It felt like... bandages? They'd started to bandage her up then, to stop the bleeding at least, and she'd come round. She hurt too much to move yet, but at least she was aware of the world around her.
Yet one thing remained in her mind. She could not shake the distinct sensation that just before this return to a world of pain and life, she had sensed something in that great mental void, something beyond the cackling relatives jabbering at her. Something monolithic calling to her, a fortress of something beyond the material. Now she couldn't sense it, but it had been there, waiting for her.
"Be still," Cord said kindly, brushing his own hand encrusted with dried blood across her own, hoping to bring her some degree of comfort. "We almost lost you."
Ebri gasped . wanting to curl up in a ball by reflex. Any control her mind might have had gave way to her animal nature. A creature's instincts are designed to preserve one's life, and increase chances of survival when the body is threatene,. she recalled, trying desperately to recall the lecture on using pain as a focusing tool to heighten awareness. It evaded her. It was painful, and useless. One breathes more rapidly, more deeply, sending the benefits of air to the muscles rapidly. One protects the most vital organs from attack. One calls out so that other members of the family unit or group may realize that one is wounded and render aid. This was some solace for the loss of mental control. This was a rare instance when instinct was helpful; more often it ran contrary to the overarching goals of the self...causing one to run in fear, for instance, or cry out at the wrong time, or seize up in the presence of snakes and high places...
It seemed the Great Prophet had need of her further. This, at least, she chose to believe. For if the Prophet had not, why then had she not gone on to that great fortress beyond? Of course, it was not an actual fortress. That would be a limited mental construct. But another destination, another level of existence... and it had called to her-- She still had important work to do. Or so she hoped--
Groggily, she wet her lips, and tried to focus her eyes on the nearest shape, waving her hand feebly. "Melisande?-"
She must get up, she must see-- hopefully, she had sufficient strength reserves to say the prayers properly. Or perhaps the Prophet will support me further, if I fail... Stilling her mind as best she could, through the pain, she began to say the words that would draw on the power of divine healing.
Cord sensed movement as the others began to retrieve weapons and belongings, returning to some sense of normality in the wake of the deadly battle. Exploration had begun, it seemed, a process that he wanted little part in, even if he was able to help the group. His place, as before, was to protect and stand over those in need. That place was now with Ebri, at Wyshira's side.
He brought a hand near to hers, grasping her hand weakly but solidly. She shook, ever so slightly, as she tended to Ebri's wounds, and Cord understood. He did as well. Neither knew this woman well, but her willing sacrifice so that the company might succeed, to bring pain and death on herself when it might have otherwise destroyed another . . . Cord was glad she remained alive.
* * *
As the experts arrived on scene, Kale was no longer needed. Ebri's lifeblood still pumped in her, though the narrow margin by which she lived was something Kale had never seen before. At the very brink, yet with Wyshira and Cord huddled over her, the woman just might live.
With the team accounted for, it was back to business for the mercenary, securing the area and making sure they were ready to move. Ebri was a matter for the healers, but at least Kale could make sure the rest of them weren't caught with their pants down if something nasty were to arrive.
If something nasty were to... come home, Kale corrected, thinking there could be no more foul place for horrors to live. Sure, the rooms and study were civil enough, candle lit and upholstered in old, quality carpets. But the very room made his skin tingle, and something told him that this wasn't the worst. Wherever those double doors lead, that was where the monsters had come from.
Making a short circuit about the room, Kale searched for any traps or surprises that might be awaiting his companions. Ebri began to moan back into consciousness. Feeling a bit responsible for the debacle he'd led the woman into, Kale stepped out of the room.
And step was the right word, walking right out into open air, his legs recovering like great springs, eight feet down. His sking exploded again in cracking burning pain: how could he have forgotten? Standing up slowly from his nearly squatting position, he saw again Cancer's crumpled body lying at his feet.
Rough and broken terrain was like home to the irregular fighter. But the contours of the place didn't say anything about the dark wrongness of where the team lingered.
Reaching down, Kale loosed the axe from Cancer's gut. Breaking free with a sickening sound, the blade was cleaned, then returned to its owner. "Nice shot," Kale said with brevity, and no small bit of understatement. "And I believe this belongs to you?" he asked rhetorically as he returned Sebastion's pistol unfired.
Nearby, Wolf had recovered familiar feral nature, and seemed almost everyday but for the ignificant injuries that Kale knew he must be hiding. Wyshira's healing had brought him back from the brink, but wounds still remained. And he wasn't the only one. Lingering for long moments, Kale regarded his mentor. "How ya doing?" he asked simply, not sure what to make of this whole mess around them. Wolf stood there, implacable as ever, while Kale wondered what he thought about all of it.
Wolf was leaning against a wall with a pained look on his face as Kale approached him to ask about his wellbeing. "Well, those scaled bastards nearly put an end to me and then Wyshira's healing potion nearly forced one of my ribs through my lung." He spat a glutinous gobbet of mucous and blood from his mouth. "But I survived, didn't I? Now..." And then he looked pointedly at the gloom-ridden area seperated off by bars.
The two mercenaries approached the cell cautiously, Kale with his torch held high, and faint whimpers caught their ears as the firelight glinted off terrified eyes within. A number of small figures were huddled at the back of the slave-pen.
Wolf gave a disgusted snarl. "Children. They've got a bunch of children in manacles in there."
* * *
Melisande's short journey down the corridor led to first a turn in the stone-carved passageway, lit by a few torch brackets, and then into another chamber. It reminded her of nothing so much as a church.
The chapel was small, a few pews and an altar at the end. Tapestries and emblems of draconic nature, flames and monstrous scaled beasts, hung from the walls, and the altar stone was stained with the black of dried blood. A chapel. A chapel to Gilamesh, and fortunately one that was unoccupied now.
The fire serpent sizzled and began to go out, eventually collapsing into a pile of cool ash.
With a frown Melisande took in the chapel of Gilamesh, hardly noticing now when the Fire-Serpent hissed into nothingness. Before her a tapestry-woven dragon's obscenely wide maw gaped, flaming, while claws pinned languishing nude bodies to jagged mountain rocks. Mel made a face. Then she sprang into action.
With great resolve she shouldered the nearest pew, shoving with all her small might until the heavy wooden bench was pushed up against the wall. Using the pew as a stepladder she climbed up and pushed the bar holding the tapestry out of its hooks. With a dusty sigh the ugly scene folded and slid to the floor.
Before moving to the next tapestry she paused in the doorway of the chapel to call out, "Can I have some help in here? Bring torches."
With a few helping hands she figured she could have all the tapestries and pews piled up and flaming in a quarter of an hour. There was no way she was leaving this chapel intact for whoever--or whatever--its next occupants might be. The heap of ash would be a message Gilamesh's followers could surely understand, being disciples of destruction themselves.
As she pushed the next pew up to the wall she thought of the crucified fleshtearer she'd found in the gnoll druid glade. Her lips pressed together in firm line of determination. The pew groaned as if in feeble protest and slid reluctantly across the stone.
* * *
The warmth of the chapel fire on her back soothed Melisande's frayed nerves wonderfully. Some fire for the dragon-lord... She'd heard in stories how dangerous it was to be snotty in the face of the gods, but the opportunity was simply too grand. Give Gilamesh a taste of his own medicine!
Wolf had released a group of emaciated children from the slavers' pens. Though righteous anger flared in her again at the sight of poor, ragged things, the chapel fire would have to be appeasement enough. Gently, she shepherded the young ones to a spot where they could feel the warmth of the fire and pushed a table in the way of the carnage so they would not have to look.
With instinctive maternal gestures she comforted the confused, sobbing children. "Don't cry. We'll have you home again in no time. The wicked people are gone now. Here, do you want to see my toad?"
She let Pierre keep the children busy, and smiling serenly stood drying her still slightly damp clothing and watching while the others scoured the place for loot. What an odd reaction to stress, she thought. She would much rather have burned the place down to the ground than grope the dead bodies. Then again, Burl was handling some pretty interesting stuff. She wouldn't mind having a peek at some of the potions or taking her share of much-needed gold, but was in no hurry.
Eventually she got to wondering whether anyone had located Ebri Zol, and what Wyshira and Cord could possibly be doing upstairs for so long. Coyly she asked Sebastion for a boost, feeling very awkward and aware of her own weight, and hoisted herself up.
There was a sheaf of papers on the defunct mage's desk. Curious, Mel rolled them up and tucked them all in her pocket. Maybe there would be something about the slavery trade that Lord Ecurius or the constabulary could investigate while the group went off on their mission to the mage-tower. A shame, really, that they couldn't stay and tackle the whole network themselves.
As she turned toward the three huddled figures by the wall she realized the dark fluid on the floor was blood. They weren't just standing around conversing in esoteric riddles. Cord and Wyshira were trying to save Ebri Zol's life!
"Ebri? Oh great gods. Is that your blood?" In concern Mel nosed in between the clerics.
* * *
"Melisande is fine, don't worry. She's downstairs," Wyshira soothed. Playing with a conjured Fire Serpent, but... don't worry! She wondered briefly if the odd blue girl could have stumbled upon any more cultists by now. But then Ebri began to speak again, this time chanting a prayer that Wyshira recognized as a spell of curing. The Ishrakite listened with curiosity to the strange mutterings.
A moment later, Melisande had climbed up and through the second-floor doorway behind them. Soon she was hovering over the three of them, anxiously asking after her protector.
With a start of panic, Wyshira looked around for the fiery snake, then let out a sigh of relief when she saw that Mel was alone. There were so many mysteries surrounding this girl; where she once felt friendly toward her, she was now unsure. But she didn't hesitate to ease her mind on the matter of Ebri's condition.
"She was asking about you just now," the priestess told the sorceress brightly. "She was badly hurt, but we got here in time, and I believe she'll be all right now."
"Here, take this." Wyshira placed the last flask of healing waters in Melisande's hand and stood up. "Let her rest for a bit, and if she seems to need it, give her that. I'll send Sebastian up to help you get her back downstairs."
Wyshira walked over to the doorway, weary and elated at the same time. The battle had taken its toll on her, but she carried a warm feeling inside: it had been a long time since she'd had the opportunity to be so useful.
* * *
Sebastion, hunkered down in the doorway, bow in hand, tried to block out the noises from behind him, tried to focus on his self-appointed task of guard, but it was a futile attempt.
The fire crackled away unheard, even the clattering of manacles didn't register, truly, as his mind cycled over and over the insidious sensations in his memory from those few dark moments.
Wyshira had told him he hadn't truly died, but he had felt the explosion into his chest, had ridden the first brief moments of the blow, had known his time was up. Already, the dark distant thoughts and feelings were becoming darker and more distant, slipping away from him as he edged further from the boundary.
Standing up in disgust, realising his attention wasn't on the task, and all the purpose he served in the doorway was as a backlit target, he turned to see the huddled group of large eyed, slack-ribbed children peering suspiciously around.
Why starve them? Slavery's a vile trade, but it's supposed to be about efficiency - work that doesn't have to be paid for. What's efficient about hungry, weak children?
He wandered slowly over, making sure his weapons were as hidden as they could get - not that he could do a great deal about the blood staining his mail - wary of the impression he might put across.
Dipping into his pack, he pulled out a little of the rations that he had, and his waterskin, and passed it across to them with a smile.
She gave them a frog to look at? And a two headed one at that...?
"Listen," he said gently, squatting down across the table from them, leaving them the security of the wood to hide behind, "we're going to head back up to the surface soon... we'll see that you are given something to eat. Who are you, are you from the city? Perhaps the guard will be able to help you find your families?"
He watched the look in their eyes for just a brief moment, that was all it took before he could turn away: for all that he had - or perhaps hadn't - died a death of the flesh, these poor children had died a death of the soul...
He lashed out with a boot at the nearest corpse, but it didn't make him feel any better, and he remained near the children, turning back to them, wishing there was something he could do. Children shouldn't be locked away in a hole in the ground to be sold for coin...
"I'm Sebastion... what are your names?" he asked, quietly.
Wyshira looked down from the upstairs doorway at the scene below. She avoided looking at the sprawling body of the dead mage, her eyes drawn instead to the small group of thin and raggedly-clothed children that had been released from the slavepen. It seemed obvious to her that many of them were in need of treatment for minor cuts and bruises. Fresh food and water wouldn't hurt them any either, she thought.
"Sebastian!" she called down, her voice sounding small in the semi-collapsed cellar. The mercenary was trying to talk to a couple of the older children who stood protectively between him and the younger ones, but he looked up at the sound of her voice. "Could you help me and Cord climb down? And Ebri is up here, hurt. Melisande might need you to climb up and help with her as well."
Wyshira was curious to see if Sebastian showed any special reaction to hearing Melisande's name. She'd noticed the way the two of them seemed to step on each other's toes at every opportunity, but she'd also seen the look in Mel's eyes when Sebastian was grievously injured. Does Sebastian feel the same? she wondered with a slight smile.
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