Fantasy Ballad of Renegades

[BlueXBlood]

Group 4 | Eibor and Quart
The Forests Southwest of Iyesgarth ​

The tattooed man turned toward Eibor, his face setting aglow with an enigmatic grin. "Good evening to you as well." His void eyes cascaded down the Cojega's form in an appraisal, feeding his eerie fascination amidst what was evidently a splendid encounter in his mind. "An arrangement would be well for us, yes... I see the forces smile upon us in bringing your beautiful self to us in this event of misfortune. I did not expect such an intriguing creature to find us here, and it does tickle my curiosity so."

His face slowly became downcast, however, as he turned to the caravan once again. "Alas, the pleasantries of questioning and the like will have to wait for another time. As of now, I fear we may be in danger if we linger..." With a faint flourish, he pulled the duo's attention to the damage on their caravan. To anyone's surprise, it did not resemble decay or anything of natural causes, no. Rather, it was like the marks of beastly hostility, having ravaged the sides of the caravan entirely. "I will be surprised if this caravan survives a journey back from Iyesgarth. My companion... The grumpy one. Stanford. The very most that I imagine he could do is keep her intact till the city comes into view. From there, onward, I fear I will have to say goodbye to my darling."

"Who're you talking to??" interrupted the gruff voice of the first stranger, as he came around from the other side to meet the duo. A different expression of suspicion and concern flashed on his face for each question that ran through his mind, though it all amounted to a single glare at his companion. The tattooed elf merely chuckled in amusement. "This, my friends, is Stanford. My name is Alfius. We're merchants of varying kinds, you could say. Him from Mistshire and myself from Darkmire. We were on our way to Iyesgarth to inquire about something.. rather unnatural that had found its way to us. That same thing, it seems, has been cursing us since the day of our departure, though, and so we've found ourselves in this predicament."

Alfius' gaze once again evaluated Eibor, shortly giving Quart the same sort of inspection. "The forces tell me that you two are not the common sort," he said with a grin on his face once more. "Is there a chance you both are familiar with the supernatural, that you might help ward off this curse that has accompanied us?" Stanford sighed as he listened to the elf rant on and on in cryptic verses. "Excuse the airhead," he said, putting a pause to the conversation before surveying the area around them momentarily. "If you swear you aren't hostile folk, I'd suggest we talk more inside." He walked over to the door of the caravan, holding it open for the rest to enter as he awaited their response.

[ LumeNym , Nebulous Stars ]​

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis Daylight Fantasy



Annik looked at Raven Hair and then at Arnou and the Sick Man in Yellow Metal as the four of them began to walk towards wherever this Poxbane could be picked wild or traded for in whatever way these City folk managed. "There are as many prophecies about the Karwi Shwadar as leaves in a forest. I do not know them all..... but a....."

The girl looked a little frustrated as she searched for a word that didn't seem to rightly exist in this tongue. "A Listener-of-the-Wild will know which prophecies shake the strongest trees and which move across the sky like smoke. Omak the Wise is one such."

The girl looked a little embarrassed, then, and her tone was one of admitting something taboo or vaguely shameful. "I can..... I can see the omens, sometimes, but it is difficult."

Crystal eyes rested anew on Arnou as they journeyed, the path seemingly taking them closer to the city proper and away from the cold, bracing sea. "You are neither to me. I take no guard and my Father dwells with my Ancestors..... but the city is confusing. Having a guide is wise."

That last was more for the benefit of the one who'd traded stale food for the young man's services. Apparently, she approved of the decision.

"We all have prophecies, Arnou, all have destinies. Sometimes we do not see them because we have been taught we are not important. My home is in danger. My people are in danger." A casual shrug rolled her shoulders upwards, and a shake of her head made silvery-blond-white hair spill from beneath her headdress.

"Prophecy has brought me here, but it is not expectation that keeps me in this city. It is love." She wrinkled her nose at their loathsome surroundings, full of desperate people and a spiritual death so thick it hung about the place like a fog.

"It would have to be. Even for a city, this place is terrible." The lazy glow of the sun spilled across the cancerous edifice of the corrupt and crumbling city. This was a place where hope came to die, squeezed from innumerable wallets across a hundred streets and echoing from the lips of a thousand hungry throats. The way in which the city was built trapped moisture and allowed mold and algae to bloom, the only genuine green in the place as far as Annik could see.

This was a place where promises would remain forever unkept.

The raw disgust on Annik's face turned nearly venomous as she gazed upon Atychía and realized something: the city itself could be imagined as a warped, distended mockery of a living creature. It was feeding on its inhabitants, sucking them dry of strength and drinking their suffering as surely as a greedy tick swelled with blood in these warmer places. With some effort, Annik let the contempt fall from her face and she refocused on the Sick Man in Yellow Metal.

"I do not blame you for your birth in Civilization, Sick Man in Yellow Metal, I care only what you will do and why." In a (failed) attempt at being comforting at being so obviously disadvantaged by the unfortunate circumstances of his origins, Annik gave the yellow metal that served as his skin a pat.

"Besides, being born into bondage says nothing about who you could become. If you are brave and clever, someday you will feel your chains and break them. You are very big and if you are Sick, you know the taste of suffering. These things can make you a special kind of strong. When you finally see the chains Civilization has on you and in you...... they will shatter by your hand, and you will be free."

In Annik's life, she'd become acquainted with many men who had never known weakness, and though they were strong in one way, it made them brittle in all others. This Sick Man in Yellow Metal had the strength of his size and a strength born of sickness-pain, and he had not cracked yet.

"A Karwi Shwadar is..... Girl Beast? A girl-who-is-a-beast. One is born to the Kellid every few generations. Sometimes it is a boy, a Karwa Shwadar, and not a girl. The Karwi is blessed by the Wild, and she helps the Kellid with..... whatever their greatest problems might be. Generations ago, a Karwi killed a great and terrible beast who lived on the spine of the world. It had slaughtered many clans."

The girl lifted her hand to touch at her forehead in a semi-religious gesture. "I remember it."

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Agonos Isles
Group 1 ( Goonfire , Aegis , Tool , Daylight Fantasy SilverFlight )​

Arnou led the others through winding and narrow city streets, tall and crumbling buildings pressing in from either side shading them from the midday sun. The city was constructed on no known paradigm, no uniform style. Ruins on top of ruins, for what must have been generations. A mongrel architecture of the disordered, aberrant, and insane. The cobblestones underfoot were packed tight with debris and rotting unnamable things, stringy and fibrous weeds sprouting through the cracks. Fetid dark pools collected in low spots, their contents and depths both mysteries best left unplumbed. A miasma of sulfur and ammonia engulfed the city, with the sickly sweet scent of death at the edges in these claustrophobic quarters.

The city was never bustling, an encampment of the dead, dying, and damned, but utter silence followed the group wherever they went. Like a camp before battle. Crumbling doors slammed shut at their arrival. Vagrants disappeared into alleyways. From windows and cracks in walls they could make out dull shapes with sidling eyes watching their every move like furtive mice.

Word travelled quickly in Atychía. The newly arrived were pariahs among pariahs.


Atychía's marketplace was found at the public square in the ruined city's western reaches. The streets gradually opened to a wide and flat expanse of disintegrating brick and dirt. The buildings here were no better maintained than elsewhere, but sturdily constructed. Here stood what once might have been the homes of nobles or government offices, spires of stone and mortar, not the collapsing wattle and daub or rotting wood of the residential district. A well stood in the center of it all, long since boarded over for fear the water had turned foul. Beside it slumped a beggar who was passed over without a second glance. The smell of putrefaction and disease now mingled with that of roasted meat and unwashed bodies. In this courtyard were signs of life the party had not seen since their arrival. Vagabonds adorned the walk, beggars with heads bowed low and hands extended for alms while wild street preachers harangued a lost world with a vigor and tenacity totally alien to the sane. Their eyes were hot and red-rimmed. The god's barkers gone forth into the world to spread their word to whoever was within earshot.

Mute and roosting peddlers watched these shapeless figures roam to and fro, searching for those not yet succumbed to total despair to which they could sell their goods. Their stalls were adorned with meats of dubious origins and freshness, oily potions and cure-alls floating in filthy glass vials, crude tools and primitive weapons. A fishmonger slouched in the corner, their apron stained black with old blood, the husks of dried fish hanging in a cloud of flies. Roasted and shriveled things that might have once been crows stood on sharpened sticks in the rickety cart of another trader. Hawkers of esoteric wares. Every other face was twisted, goitered, or pocked with some excrescence. Perhaps one hundred people, all told, most maimed and broken. A keen eye might spot one of the bandits who greeted them at the beach, but they disappeared into a nearby street.

There was a fragile peace within the courtyard, civility overriding baser instincts, but it could be broken in a moment's notice.

A high and sonorous voice cut through the low dirge of bartering voices.

"Arnou! Arnou, over here!"

The cry came from a merchant in the midst of the throng, standing atop their cart. A young, dark-skinned dwarf adorned with green foliage bound in leather straps, like some long-forgotten castaway. She waved to him frantically, smiling broadly with her white forager teeth, beckoning him and his compatriots over through the throng. A rare and healthy denizen of Atychía, the herbalist named Harrowgate claimed to have been born on the island. A descendent of the Agonos Isles' first dwarven settlers. Whether this was true or not, no one knew and few chose to doubt her, so knowledgeable was the small woman of the island's greatly diminished flora and fauna.

Upon calling out his name, the mumbling of the crowd grew low. One by one, residents shirked away from the newly-arrived like struck dogs, their hollow eyes wary and fixed. Any unfamiliar face now a potential threat. They lingered at the square's periphery, not yet committed to flee, nor committed to action either. Harrowgate seemed affected by this sudden change, either ignorant or unbothered. Perhaps both. She continued to flag down the group, inviting them to peruse her cart filled with vibrant greenery unseen elsewhere within the city's walls.

"Come, come! Bring your strange new friends!"

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Secrets were tricky things. They could be bought, sold or stolen, and you were never quite sure who you could trust with them.
Dunan Skye did not have the luxury of keeping his secret close; not on a ship, not for that long. So, it was a stroke of luck that the captain, whom had been the first to discover Dunan’s rather peculiar aliment, simply shrugged and said: “That’s one of the weirder ones sure.”

And that was that.

He had been friendly and helpful to the other passengers, but never got too close, and always disappeared after sunset. Now and then, someone would comment on a scruffy looking mutt, prowling about after midnight, and complain about the captain taking on animals. To which the captain only shrugged again, and went on his way.

Dunan departed on the ship with only modest rations, a small pouch of coin, and a story that the miracle mages of The Agonos Isles could work...well, miracles.
Dunan held the hope they would know a little about the legendary Cradle, and be able to point him in the right direction.
The stories Dunan heard about the mages and the island were truly sensational, but now that he had stepped off the ship, he was quite sure there was a much fouler underbelly to the glittering tales he had heard.

No one had mentioned the sick refused entry, the hopeless and the dying, sitting at the gates that would never be open to them.
From the shore the buildings loomed like broken teeth, welcoming its new batch of victims with its ruined grin, ready to swallow them up into the fetid maw of the city beyond.
This place ate people, it was plain to see. Dunan steeled himself. It would not eat him, and maybe, just maybe, he could make a little of this right?

~~~

Dunan had seen the altercation at the docks, he recognized the group from the Hesper. He quite liked them, from the few words exchanged and the distant admiration. There were new faces to add too: a woman who looked to be from the far north, and a man in Braethian-styled armour. The Braethian (Dunan could only guess) struck them a deal and took them away. Dunan followed carefully.

A voice in his head told him to stay away from them, that it was better, safer traveling alone, that as soon as the sun set, whoever discovered the curse would turn on him, but the hungry eyes from the alleys and old houses caught on him like a twisting bramble, digging into his consciousness, their intent almost tangible. Having others close by would offer better protection.
A sour taste rose at the back of his throat, which he imagined the hollow denizens of this place would cut as soon as they got the chance.

“But they wouldn’t eat a dog…surely.”
He caught sight of a woman, face gaunt and skeletal, boney hands like knives fitted against a hole that may once have been a window. Her pale eyes fixed on him in a way that settled it; they would most certainly eat a dog.
Dunan quickened his pace so as not to lose the group.

Having a sensitive nose had served him well on many occasions, but here, Dunan thought, it was worse than his real curse. Thanks to it he could identify the origin of nearly every putrid aroma wafting up from alleys, basements and stagnant pools. It was good he had food, he could barter it…because he certainly didn’t want to eat it anymore.
As luck would have it his new not-quite-friends had been led to what seemed to be an apothecary. Dunan had been told on the ship about something called “poxbane”, and though most regular ailments could not take hold in him, one could never be too well-prepared.
Time to go all in. “Hello there!”

Dunan came up to the Braethian’s group at a light jog. When he reached them, he dipped his head in greeting and offered a friendly smile.
“I’ve just come from the Hesper too, I saw how you dealt with the locals there, and, well, I would like to accompany you all, if you’ll have me.”
He studied the Braethian a little longer. “I can pay in rations, or…I could do something to patch that bedroll of yours.” He gestured to the mat jutting out from the pack on the man’s back.

“I’m not bad with a needle and thread.”
While he let the Braethian respond, he turned to the others and offered his hand.
“Dunan Skye. If it please you.”

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire Daylight Fantasy

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 2 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

As the gladiator's battle frenzy faded, Khadija could tell her wounds pained her deeply. She feared another fever, more delirium, and in the warrior's weakened state, it was uncertain if Bal'kafaz would survive. The mere thought begrieved Khadija, and she pushed it from her mind.

"The horses. They're not safe. And- my armor.... My blade."

Khadija shushed Bal' sharply. "Don't think of such things, just be glad you're alive after pulling that stunt. The animals will bolt if they see anything come their way. Smarter than us, it seems," the bard reasoned. She couldn't even remember if they'd unhitched the animals from their cart, but wasn't overly concerned for the horses. Temperamental, violent beasts. Let them be spider food. Her camel, Khadija knew, would find a way. They were sharp like that, resilient things.

Khadija finished her crude wrapping, white fabric already blooming crimson with blood, and pulled a sheathed dagger from her sash. She pressed the weapon into Bal's hand. "So you don't feel so naked. Despite being, well, half-naked." Khadija gently laid a hand on Bal's bloody bandages, and a cooling sensation like melting ice washed over the torn and ragged burns. She typically used the trick to chill her wine glass, but figured it would work for this too.

The bard looked to Aris, now leaning against a wall in an effort to conceal her exhaustion. Khadija frowned. The half-elf had seemed nigh-unstoppable trekking through the desert, ascending the mountain, and fighting the spider, but it seemed even Seekers had mortal limits. She sported several wounds of her own, with a particularly deep cut across her chest. She'd treat those in her rudimentary fashion later, once certain they were safe. Khadija checked herself for a third time, amazed she'd escaped unscathed. Then again, she hadn't been the center of attention.

A look from Aris indicated Khadija's joke about burning the whole sanctuary down wasn't taken well. "Alright, alright, no fire. We're fortunate R'hllor didn't burn this place to the ground already, and with us in it. But we weren't in fighting shape three hours ago, and certainly aren't now. Then again, I don't think your house guest is either, so it stands to reason we're safe," Khadija said. "Unless you have some other uninvited lodgers you'd care to tell us about."

Khadija looked about the ruined room, then to R'hllor. They were too exposed, too vulnerable here. "Is there any more secure room here that you know of?"

"I just want a bath."

Khadija groaned in annoyance. "Maybe some place with water to get her to shut up? Honestly, I'm surprised, Bal. I thought Prigallans never bathed."

 

[Nebulous Stars]

Group 4 | Rael, Eibor, and Quart
The Forests Southwest of Iyesgarth ​

As Quart regarded the side of the caravan she wished, not for the first time, that she had known better before Jack died. Were he here alongside her, he would have spent an hour with a hatchet, a good knife, and a few nails, leaving the caravan entirely shored up, if not improved. There was a bittersweet joy to those memories, drowned in grief. She allowed herself a moment to sag against her staff now that her concerns about these new companions were mostly assuaged.

If they were up to something, it wasn’t about either of them most likely, and they seemed to be relatively normal. They could still have dubious intent within the caravan she supposed, but ultimately it begged the same question asked when Eibor flew off. Sure it could be a trap, but why go to all the extra effort, and take risks with unknown magic users. Still, she knew it was best to be at least a little cautious, so she let her preparation for an attack spell fade, and channeled that magic into a shield close to her skin.

It would be weaker than a more developed shield, or a more visible one, but as long as she maintained concentration it should prevent most nasty surprises. Even as she used every bit of the “gifts” she had received, she couldn’t help but feel disgusted. Once upon a time she could only have maintained this for minutes at best, and any competent shield-mage would have scoffed at her craft. Yet pragmatism had gotten her this far, and there was little to do but let it take her further.

Still as she walked up to the caravan it lingered, even as her thoughts turned to practical matters. If they could provide the axe, the chopping, and the nails, she at least knew enough to patch up the sides and shore it up against another attack. If she did that, all they had to do was establish a decent sentry rotation and she could likely chase the beast off or kill it when it returned. Theoretically she could also simply put up a bubble shield and maintain it until they got to town. Annoyingly, it wouldn’t even be difficult, magically at least. The way it would stretch her mind thin was an entirely separate matter.

The trouble was of course that if the beast was strong enough to break the shield, it could cause entirely new problems. Additionally, trusting strangers with her abilities was itself a risk. Especially merchants of thus far mildly ill repute. They could, in fairness, just be entirely legitimate merchants down on their luck, but equally they could be the kind of merchants willing to turn to black market slaving if given a chance.

She couldn’t hide the shield like she was currently managing either, if a beast of a similar caliber were to attack her right now, she was under no illusions as to how fast she would die. It would need to be a fully visible bubble, with all of her capacity and focus dedicated solely to simple protection, without bells or whistles. She turned her gaze to the men she approached, a strange elf and an old man. Could she trust them? What risks was she willing to take? She hadn’t expected a simple night to become so complex.

She stepped up to the caravan, taking a moment to knock the hood of her cloak down, letting her alien appearance speak for itself. Her eyes had remained visible, but now her mildly fluorescing hair was equally visible, accompanied by the scars drawn across her face. A sickly, strange looking thing, with a rough but stable rasp to her voice as she spoke, “You could say I am familiar with the supernatural yes. There is some assistance I can offer, but we will have to discuss practicalities, such as what to do, and what exactly we are planning for.”

Her piece said, she stepped past them into the proffered caravan, taking a look around and extending her senses a touch. She still had other focuses, and had never been much good at sensory magic unfortunately. A real practitioner could catch the slightest traces of magic here and past, but if there was a blaze of an active working, she would find it.

[ LumeNym , BlueXBlood ]​

 

[Zazz]

Group 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis
__________________________

Khadija shushed Bal' sharply. "Don't think of such things, just be glad you're alive after pulling that stunt. The animals will bolt if they see anything come their way. Smarter than us, it seems," the bard reasoned. She couldn't even remember if they'd unhitched the animals from their cart, but wasn't overly concerned for the horses.

Bal'kafaz couldn't think of any time she'd been truly happy to be alive. This occasion was no different. "I won't be alive after another encounter without my armor," she said gruffly. She doubted the unharmed half-orc would be so delighted in the event of her death. Then again, Khadija sported enough spirit for the four of them AND the animals.

The wounded gladiator found a pittance of comfort in the proffered blade, and despite Khadija's jesting jabs, from the gesture itself. Grey eyes raised to the face of the knife's owner in mild surprise. But, soon enough, Khadija's commentary continued, and Bal' scoffed.

"Of course we bathe. Are Axasterke orcs all so... fruity?"

Bal'kafaz turned her gaze towards R'hllor, unconscious, and Aris. The other half-elf had fared worse than the bard, but at least better than herself. At least, then, Bal'kafaz hadn't suffered for nothing.

 

[Rohan]

[✦] Hunadi Dralis- Group 3​

The tale of Jac’aal’s journeys was long and...well, long. Hunadi found himself spacing out a bit, a yawn escaping him that he tried to casually conceal with his hand. The shriek of rusted hinges echoed down the hallway, piercing Hunadi’s ears. He grimaced slightly, noticing the scribe had scurried back to her desk. ” Where there’s a whip, there’s a way” she had told the group, flashing a white bracelet before returning swiftly to her seat. What had she meant? Was this the beginning of their torture in the form of riddles? Hunadi had never been good at riddles, but he supposed he would learn to conquer them if it meant winning his freedom.

The scent struck him before the owners of the heavy footsteps appeared. A pungent, almost sickly sweet stench of sweat and metal. The sudden assault on his nostrils caused him to exhale quickly through his nose and cough, his eyes watering as he tried to turn away from the heavy odor. It was like a smog that emanated from the group, traveling before them down the hall and wafting into the small cell. Their voices were gruff, appearing before Nadi and the others as if they had been taking a stroll through a park. The stench was nearly unbearable, causing Hunadi’s lip to curl involuntarily into a sneer of disgust as the guards gestured and pointed to the group. It came as no surprise to find the main source of the wretched miasma came in the form of a heavily armored and bejeweled dwarf. Hunadi’s sneer remained. All three of them were appraised by the dwarf- Hammerfist- who ravenously tore into some type of fowl meat. The scent of the dwarf’s meal hardly managed to reach Hunadi through the curtain of putrid stink, but it was a little more forgiving on his nose.” They’ve overcooked it...” Hunadi mused briefly, growing agitated as he tried to draw in a breath slowly through his mouth in hopes of saving his nose. It did not work.

”Ohoh! A knife-ear!” Hammerfist exclaimed, bits of chewed meat and spit being ejected from his half full mouth. A sound escaped Hunadi from deep within his chest, angry and threatening. A hiss, low and sharp that seemed to reverberate off the cell walls and emanate outwards towards the dwarf and his guards. ”Break their will and their bodies” he ordered, before departing soon after. The cloud of noxious stink followed him out. Do not waste your strength now. Your torture has yet to begin.. Hunadi reminded himself, following Maude’s lead and forcing the tension and anger within him to ebb.

The flogging was intense and time seemed to flow like molasses in winter. One strike, searing pain rippled through his thigh. A coppery, metallic scent seeped through the bag and filled his nose. Two strikes, Hunadi gasped, trying to fight the urge to struggle against the airless bag over his head. His heart thudding heavily against his chest. Three strikes, the whip cracked loudly against his lower back, his body flinching involuntarily. He refused to scream or beg for them. He would not allow himself to be another one of their play things. They would have to try much harder if they wanted him to beg for his life. When the guards were relieved, Hunadi felt himself being lowered from his hanging position, chains rattling in his ears. Upon reaching the floor, Hunadi’s legs trembled as they resumed carrying the full weight of his frame. His thighs shook, straining before giving out and dropping him knees first onto the blood covered floor with a grunt.

With the bag still over his head, it was difficult to decipher who was leaving and who was entering the chamber. He did not move from his new position on the floor, drawing in long slow breaths as best he could while beads of hot sweat ran down his face and neck. The air in the chamber shifted as bodies moved in and out of the door, taking some of the stale air with them and allowing fresh air to enter. Pulling in a breath of fresh air through his nose, something caught his attention while the new guards spoke in hushed tones among themselves. Their scent was different. Was it the lack of blood on their uniforms? Perhaps they weren’t as sweaty as the previous guards? He couldn’t place it, but still found himself feeling a bit relieved for some reason.

Upon the removal of the bag from his head, Hunadi had a chance to look at his cellmates for the first time in what felt like ages. They looked just as horrid as he felt. These new guards worked swiftly, dressing their legs to look wounded and advising Nadi and the others to put on a good acting show. What were they getting at? Surely this was all a charade- mind games to try and get the group to crack. He was going to ignore their suggestions until noticing the color of their whips. Hunadi lifted his eyes briefly to meet one of the new guards, flashing a tired smirk. ” Where there’s a whip...” he muttered, a few pieces of the puzzle finally falling into place.

It was all a waiting game now. Waiting through another beating, waiting to be led to Hammerfist’s lab, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came much quicker than Nadi anticipated, but he welcomed it as they were dragged into the boiling depths of the citadel. Time that had once flowed so sluggish, was now rapid and overwhelming Nadi as everything seemed to happen at once. Jac’aal was the first to strike Hammerfist, the dwarf's pathetic screeching ringing in Nadi’s ears. Maude was quick to follow, her power strong as she released tendrils of blood that ensnared the howling dwarf. Despite his weakened legs, Hunadi lunged for a dagger that was nearby, watching as Maude threw Hammerfist to the floor after denying him the ability to walk. Stepping up to the squirming pile of blood and flesh, Hunadi planted his foot squarely in the center of Hammerfist’s back and leaned over him . ” Looks like your playtime is over.” the words came growling out as Nadi ran the edge of the dagger gently across the dwarf’s ears at an angle. ”You should have been more creative with the torturing. Here, let us show you how it’s done...” every word dripped out like venom and with one swift motion, Nadi sliced the top portion of Hammerfist’s ear off. He leaned his weight harder onto the dwarf’s back to keep the screams muted before going for the other ear. ” There, now you have ears like mine...”

Goonfire AriAriAbabwa escapist
​

 

[Aegis]

Arnou Sylvain, The Wolf in the West
Agonos Isles, Atychía
GROUP 1 ( Corn Orc Vandal Daylight Fantasy Tool Goonfire SilverFlight )​

Everyone seemed to agree that the plan had merit after a bit more talk on prophecies and our roles in this world and to our people. This woman, this Karwi Shwadar, spoke something that he could relate with beyond her strange insistence on destiny, a duty to your people. Arnou's life had been ruled by that for a long time--it still was, and he knew how strongly that could make someone feel about something; how that could make someone want to sacrifice, journey, endure. In a way, his banishment was all about that: what was good for the people of Westvale. The Weary Knight's eyes lingered into the wild woman's for a moment searching for something, but he pulled them away with no more acknowledgment to what she had said than a simple grunt.

"Mmh."

Off they went down the road.

Arnou kept quiet and listened to the thoughts of the others as they walked along--his head on a swivel as the alleys teemed with the hungry and desperate, sights he had come to expect on the island. In much the same way that this land had molded them into the skulking scavengers that they were, his time here had molded him into an ever-vigilant symbiote; the word predator seemed to harsh on his tongue. He melded with this people and felt their pain, helped them, but he needed to eat. He needed oils for his weapons and armor. Medicine. This wasn't the first group he had led, and it certainly wouldn't be his last. Yet, that same vigilance began to reveal to him a reality that he hadn't experienced since he had first arrived at the island and the few months after. People looked at him with fear and hurt. Betrayal. It bled from their eyes as their jaws clenched in a rage. Arnou's heart began to beat faster at speeds that were uncommon to him these days. Something about the arrive of these new people had shaken up things on the island, and he was right here at the center of it all.

----

Upon arrival at the market, things seemed more peaceful than he had expected, yet the newcomers wouldn't know to come here until after their first disappointment at the gates of The Conclave. They would then--and only then, come to realize that this place was where they would be until they were admitted, dead, or had the smarts enough to leave. Arnou's eyes trailed along the central courtyard and to the outer edges where the predators usually lurked--spotting one of the group's former greeters slinking into a side street. This was one of the safest and most dangerous places on the island. Everyone needed what was in here, so nobody acted too rashly out of respect for the vendors. Yet, everyone needed what was here, so eyes would be upon them no matter what direction they left from here.

'Arnou!'

A familiar voice called from the crowd of stalls.

'Arnou!'

The Exiled Lord let a slight smirk run across his face as he threw up his right hand in greeting, "Harrowgate! My friend!"

He looked over his shoulder to the rest of the group and tilted his head in a gesture for them to come along. However, as he began to close the distance, the people around began to back away as though he had come through with his weapon drawn, and their wariness drew his attention. It dawned on him, then, that when he had seen that brigand slip away it was after they had done their work of spreading what had transpired on the beach. In this town, it was hard to gain trust, harder to uphold it; perhaps it was even easier to lose it once you had it. Whether he knew it or not, Arnou had aided a cannibal and that was dirt that Mikaela couldn't afford to let go without her spreading it. The poison had already begun to rot the atmosphere surrounding him.

Arnou's smile faded and his face returned to neutrality he had worn at every other moment thus far--a silent hurt present in his eyes.

The Man went to open his mouth to speak, but just then a voice called out from the crowd as a stranger barreled down on him. A hand dropped quick to the hilt of his blade as he spun to face their assailant--his wrist ready to fling the blade in an arc from his scabbard, but one look at the gentleness of the man's face was enough to convince Arnou not to resort to such aggression so soon. Then again, a happy face in this place was almost more concerning than a brigand, "Hello... what can I do for you?"

The request seemed addressed to the group as a whole before centering on him, "I don't mind. We'll find a place to shelter down soon after this unless the rest of these travelers have anything else they'd like to do. You can show me your skill then, and from there we can decide."

Normally, Arnou would never throw multiple jobs onto one another, but he sensed that there would be many hard nights to come before he ever turned around what Mikaela was doing if he could manage to at all, "You can call me Arnou."

The Exiled Lord turned back to the task at hand as he addressed the dwarven woman with a lightness to his words that was absent from his conversations with the others, "Been since that incident in the alley a couple weeks back! Holding up well? Got any Poxbane?"

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

Aris' time spent in thought proved to be fruitless... Khadija inquired about any place that might be safer for the injured, but with the state of the sanctuary as a whole, nothing could really provide comfort and security for them at the moment. With the spider roaming about, too, she wasn't sure if trying to carry both Bal' and R'hllor through the halls was much of a good idea. Still, Bal reminded everyone of her desperation for a bath, and Khadija's statement regarding their vulnerability still stood.

She rose from where she sat and went to fetch the journal and pen from her satchel again, writing down her makeshift response to their current circumstances.

"I don't think it matters where we go. There's a bathhouse that you and Bal' can explore if she's really desperate, in the right wing of the sanctuary, downstairs. I'm going to watch the creature and keep an eye on R'hllor."

She slid the jounral to the bard, taking up her coat and fedora while her words were being read. The tough fabric rubbed against her wounds as she equipped herself, but the half-elf managed to stifle the wince and steel herself for the moment. Her deep concentration on the task at hand kept her attention from the her condition. It was nothing fundementally hindering after all, she felt that it wasn't justified to linger on it regardless since the others had suffered far worse. Unsheathing her sword and unholstering her gun, she made her way to the door of the room, peering out into the hallway, surveying for a sign as to where the creature might have retreated to.

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[escapist]

Jac'aal the Vagabond
The disappointment what Jac'aal felt after Chief Hammerfist interrupted his techniques of annoying the scribe whose nonsense he had not bought, that disappointment only would grow in the next hours. After being fakely accused and inprisoned, the hours of flogging felt like a cherry on the top of the fact that he was indeed in big trouble. As his massive body was hanging from chains and was being tormented, he tried to keep his mind busy in order to ignore to otherwise unbearable pain. His hollow eyes darted from left to right, taking a glimpse of his cellmates, enduring equal amount of cruelty. Annoyingly enough both Maude and Nadi seemed to fell in a trance before he could have; his body as the manifestation of the cross Jac'aal had to bear appeared to be tougher than it would have been better for his mind.
The whip marred in his sick flesh, cutting in the distant and uncertain chain of thoughts that Jac'aal tried to weave. "Where there's a whip there's a way? The hell that means?" He grumbled to himself until he gave up the thinking and let his instincts to take the control. His muscles tensed just like the chains, his distorted body was bent by the pain as his elongated mouth opened to free a series of desperate, animalistic screams and howls. His defiance however meant nothing to the professional tormenters, and thus Jac'aal became silently broken with time.

Anger burned inside him as he tried to act as lifeless as he could while his mind was racing on the possibilities: was that an attempt to regrow their faith just to destroy it again or a chance of freedom? Jac'aal didn't really think too much about the first option. If there's a chance, he would live with it. "If I fail, I'll rot in here anyways...at least I'll hammer my fist into the Chief...heh, that's a good pun." He smirked and slowly started moving after Chief Hammerfist turned his back to Jac'aal.
However he couldn't say the joke out loud because Maude - a bit rudely in his opinion - acted up and with her strange magic, she started smashing the sadistic dwarf into the ground. Jac'aal watched the tendrils coming from Maude's wounds with wide eyes as they were holding Hammerfist firmly, then his anger turned into resignation as the dwarf's head met with the stone floor again and again. He caught himself nodding to the rythm of the wet thuds.
"I don't think he hears you anymore..." He said soothingly, placing a big hand on Nadi's shoulder, deciding to move forward. "Now, how about you help me, I mean we help each other to get out of this, eh?" He posed the question on a tone that didn't make it sound like an actual question, let alone the pressure of the unpleasant situation they were in. Then without further explanation, he grabbed the leg of Hammerfist and lifted him in the air. "Maybe he has worth as a hostage...he looks lively to me. I mean he looks just like me, heh..." He explained with a shrug, trying to make the unconscious body's appearance a bit less obvious with his clumsy claws messing up Hammerfist's distorted face. Jac'aal looked around for a useful weapon, strolling around the room, stirring up boxes, creating a chaos in the chambers of the Chief but he didn't find anything that would have fit in his mighty hands. He sighed, acknowledging his failure and holding the dwarf by his leg, he walked towards the exit. "Well, are you coming?" He asked, turning his head back. His leg was already in the air, ready to kick the door out of its frame.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 2 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

"I won't be alive after another encounter without my armor," Bal groaned.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I don't believe any of us will be alive if we meet that thing again, so you'll be in good company," Khadija said, looking at their sorry troupe. She'd high hopes for this motley group, but now they were battered and bloody, with one half-roasted, another, sprawled on the floor like a discarded marionette, and the third bleeding from a dozen different cuts.

"Of course we bathe. Are Axasterke orcs all so... fruity?"

"Fruity?" Khadija scoffed. "Perhaps every Prigallan is the same, interchangeable brutes one after the next. Not so in our ancestral homeland, Bal. Each Axasterkan is singular and unrepeatable. No two are alike, like sapphires in the Kimir River. I may shine a little brighter than the rest, though," she mused, coming dangerously close to waxing poetically about her beloved homeland before snapping back to the real world. "If we aren't spider food by nightfall, perhaps we'll go there one day, that you might see what a real city looks like." Khadija conveniently left out she was now a wanted criminal in her own motherland as well. With the gladiator's grievous wounds, Khadija figured it was an offer that would go unfulfilled.

She scraped blood and gore off her saber using a nearby table, the accumulated viscera plopping to the floor with a wet thwop, before returning the blade to her sheathe for the time being. Her hand didn't leave the weapon's hilt. Khadija watched as Aris scribbled in the margins of her journal before accepting the leatherbound book and reading the Seeker's words aloud for their companion's benefit.

"I don't think it matters where we go. There's a bathhouse that you and Bal' can explore if she's really desperate, in the right wing of the sanctuary, downstairs. I'm going to watch the creature and keep an eye on R'hllor."

"Well, that might be a good idea, if one longed for the cold embrace of death," Khadija said as she tossed the journal back to Aris. "Who's to say that web-walker didn't scramble off to the bath house? No, we stick together or die alone. I'll drag R'hllor around if need be. I carried this one half across Prigalla, after all," she tilted her chin to Bal, always eager to remind the gladiator of the fact. "Baths can wait, my pungent friend. That fanged horror cannot." She tested a tottering stool with her foot before sitting down, running a grimy hand through her thick and tangled hair.

"Is there an armory here, or anything close to one, Aris? Some place we can outfit ourselves? Hells, at the very least we need to arm ourselves with a plan, lest we suffer the same fate as our last encounter."

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

As the other half-orc prattled on, Bal'kafaz rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the tiniest of smirks from tugging at her dry lips; the bard's view of herself wasn't dissimilar to the elves of Prigalla. "If we are so interchangeable, as you say, why did you choose to drag me across the sand to this pit?" She didn't expect an answer. Well, not one worth hearing, anyway. Likely something about being a hero for a poor Prigallan brute. If the motherland, as Khadija called it, truly cared, there would be no more orcish slaves. If they were so refined and superior.

Bal' silently appreciated the reading aloud of Aris' thoughts. More than anything, she wanted to quell the incessant heat crawling under her flesh in a pool of cold, cold water. But her armor lay outside in the cart, with the animals. They would freeze, come nightfall.

"There was a training room in the right wing," offered Bal', "by the other beds. A few of the doors are sill mostly intact."

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis Daylight Fantasy



Annik simply LOATHED walking on ground level. The smell, briefly relieved by a jaunt on the beach now resumed full-force, and it took everything the girl had not to take to the walls and the roofs in turn. Ugh, the Sick Man in Yellow Metal was so big. This was not a consequence the girl had foreseen; even had he been the very picture of health, a large man weighed down with heavy metal could not easily scale building walls, nor jump from one rooftop to the next. Annik sure as sparrows realized it now, too little and too late. This was her fourth day, living in this forsaken and forsworn place, and she'd only spent time on the streets in the very beginning and when she'd spotted prey, and for good reason.

This place stunk.

The Karwi did not mind the look of fear on the faces of those they passed. Even in her short time here, she'd realized a certain fragility about most of the people here, the shackles of civilization holding them fast...... but the seven or eight men she had felled had all filled the bellies of the starving, and three of her victims had been upon her first few minutes of wading ashore. The hold of social norms and societal taboos were nothing when people were reduced to sucking on their shoes for a taste of leather, and Annik had seen the realization dawn in the eyes of those she freed from their cages, literal and figurative. She'd heard their screams of anger as they stabbed at the corpses of their captors over and over, taking back the power they'd been denied and feasting on those who'd ensnared them.

There was a word for freedom newly tasted and the courage it demanded to keep it: hope.

Let them fear.

Fear would lead to understanding, and the prey in this land would find their teeth.

The town square was uninteresting. As the trio seemed engaged in speaking to a merchant-dwarf with the darkened skin of hotter places, Annik noticed a few things. First, the seller was garbed in leaves and leather, a fashion that met with Annik's approval..... and respect. Using waxy, dark green leaves as material to cover one's body meant renewing one's clothes as often as it took the leaves to grow brittle and dry. That meant the dwarf knew of at least one spot upon these islands where such greenery grew in abundance enough to use for clothing. Despite the wretched conditions of this island, there was at least one person who knew where to find a wild part and take what was given. Arnou's search for this plant would doubtless grow short. Second, it meant the Wild had not forsaken these lands entirely. That was a very comforting thought.

While the trio discussed things with the merchant-girl, Annik took note of the man that everyone ignored or stepped around, sitting unnoticed and unremarked against a stonework hole that had been halfheartedly repaired with wood. She approached the man and found his milky, unseeing eyes encouraging. After crouching and offering him a bit of dried meat from one of her pouches, Annik spoke to him in low tones while gesturing at the square and then the well, a contrivance she'd had no reason or place to learn.

Those without sight could see in other ways, just as those whose minds were touched with madness held a special power. She appeared to listen to the man's ramblings without judgement. He was civilized and a victim, but he was also apart while staying within. A unique position.

An apparent late arrival to their growing group ran up to the trio with great sheraga, but appeared to pose no threat to the Sick Man in Yellow Metal, and so Annik did not move to interfere. Instead, she perched atop the cover to the stone hole and pressed her face to the gaps in the rotting wood, breathing in deep lungfulls of air...... before hopping off and making her way to the (apparently) four of them, rubbing at her nose as she walked.

Then, Annik frowned, and smelled the air. She frowned further and appeared both surprised and pleased.......before saying several incomprehensible phrases to the scruffy newcomer in shades of brown and tan. After waiting for a reply for a few beats, the pale girl stepped forward, took a few experimental sniffs that were obviously directed at this new person, and cocked her head.

To any with the nose for such nuance, Annik smelled...... very odd, for a human-shaped girl. She smelled of beast-fur and stormclouds, the sharp sting of hoarfrost and the low ache of thick loam, a turn of furred musk and thick rivers of sap. She smelled of lightning-scorched, ancient boughs. The throb of blood. The splinter of bone. Annik was a jumble of scent, and all of it Wild.

"You are not Karwa Shwadar." Annik pointed out, in case the Not Man had not figured this out for himself.

"Who are you?"

 

[Aegis]

SOUTHWEST SANCTUARY
Group 2 ( Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Zazz )​

There was along moment of pause as the party gathered and steeled themselves in every viable capacity; wounds bleeding from their bodies and minds as the reality of their conflict settled among the dust and darkness of this long-forgotten hole in the mountain. Once they arrived, they seemed so invincible only to be lowered back down to the reality of their situation: exhausted atop a mountain situated only in isolation and misery. Chitinous clicks stabbed at their minds as they echoed down the stone halls of the ruin--the full weight of the tasked they embarked upon now settling with invisible force on their chests as it choked at their lungs. Truly, this was a place not unlike the Steppe or even the city of Prigalla, a place of struggle and survival. It was a far cry from what they wanted, but even a brief look around could show the potential of what it could be with the right time and skills: a refuge.

After back and forth discussion on what should happen next, the prevailing opinion seemed to be that they needed to head to the library cited as one potential place for the Spider's home and kill it there if possible.

A brief walk later, and the smell of molded pages and dust-rotted covers stamped out even that of Bal's cindered flesh and spilling veins. Looking down from the near-shattered balcony that groaned under their weight, the library was an inky pit with hilltops crested in literature and splintered shelves laced across by carpets of thick and tangling web. Something clicked deep within the abyss but whether it was a rock falling somewhere else or their foe nestled deep in the shadows. Regardless, the library offered no answers for those who did not venture into its decayed embrace; the answers they sought were within, but how would they achieve them?

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 2 - Aris, R'hllor, Khadija, and Bal'Kafaz
The Southwestern Sanctuary of the Order ​

From the floor above, Aris prowled the upper library in search of the creature, firearm drawn and sword unsheathed. As much as she would have liked to say that she advanced in steps of fearlessness, her mind weighed on her too much to be at ease. It had been a while since an encounter had startled her so... the last time being the destruction of her former sanctuary. That was a fate she desperately wanted to avoid with this second chance she had been given. But even more than that, her mind continuously resolved not to allow further harm to come to Bal', Khadija, and R'hllor...

With the mage unconscious and the gladiator, a walking mess, it was surely a temptation to leave them behind to recover while facing the monster on her own. However, it was more than evident to her that those thoughts were merely of some kind of reckless chivalry... Perhaps from pride. Who could know? Nonetheless, Khadija had emphasized the liabilities of separating, which resulted in the entire party joining the search despite everyone's sore condition. This put the half-elf on edge, but little could be done. The bard was correct in all that she said, after all.

Misfortune was growing fond of them in recent moments, as Aris was forced to disappoint the two half-orcs when they inquired of the armory. Nothing seemed to survive the burdens of time, and thus, nothing was suitable for them to arm themselves with. Being the most brutally strong of the group, she had encouraged Bal' to use debris to her advantage, some way, somehow. Though, in her mind, Khadija was the only one she trusted to take with her in combat at the moment. By the grace of fate, she remained unscathed, and even her drunken waltz did not go astray, going so far as to have saved Aris from even further injury. No doubt, her magical abilities were quite the advantage, though another shout might burst Aris' head from the immense aching she'd been enduring since the last encounter.

The height of all the Seeker's intense ponderings, though, was the fact that she couldn't speak a word of it to any of them. If she needed the bard or the gladiator, she could not shout to them. Instead, the quality of their teamwork was at the mercy of each individual's improvisation. The thought left a cold expression on her face. It was in moments like that when she questioned whether or not she really trusted this group to that extent, reminding herself of the little time they'd actually spent together, with this being their first fight. She halted her thoughts, however, before bitterness and stress could run its course. If circumstances couldn't be different, then to hell with it, she supposed... In being thrown into deep waters, she resolved to swim. Her pride dictated so. Thus, she steeled herself and pressed on.

Looming over the waste of the library from the balcony, the Seeker's eyes surveyed the maze of debris for as little as a silhouette of the creature. It seemed, though, that circumstances beckoned them to investigate further... She shot a side glance at Khadija, sheathing her sword to spare time for gestures. Between the two of them, she drew a distance, before beckoning the bard to follow her. She then met eyes with the gladiator, tracing a line between their gaze with two fingers, hoping that she might watch them from above. Memory from the previous encounter reminded the Seeker that though the creature's legs were like steel, the torso and the head seemed tender. She hoped that from above, if she and Khadija could hold the attention of the creature and protect each other, the gladiator could leap down from above and tear at its soft flesh. If anyone could do so, it would be Bal'. In Aris' mind, at least, it had to be.

The half-elf then took a deep breath... It was time to quiet her thoughts and step into the chaos below. From the mountains of debris, Aris cautiously slid down from one elevated place to another until she could make her way into the ominous den that was the library's lower floor. Drawing her sword once more, she crept lightly in search of the creature.

[ Aegis , Xen6n , Corn Orc Vandal , Zazz ]​

 

[Goonfire]

GROUP 3
HAMMERFIST CITADEL

AriAriAbabwa escapist Rohan ​

---

Hammerfist's eyes bulged in shock at the duplicity. He had little time to react as the three prisoners lunged to get back at him. Before he knew it, he was battered, hamstrung, and mutilated—poetic justice at its finest. He let out an undulating yell as blood and teeth fell from his mouth. The guards had returned, seven of them bursting through the doors in response—three of whom were the bastards who dragged the captives down here in the first place. They wasted little time fanning out and leaping into battle; they weren't asking politely for Maude to release their boss, or for Nadi and Jac'aal to drop their weapons.

Through the doorway, one could also hear the hammering and tinkering in the workshop had ceased. Multiple slaves stopped to lean around the corner and observe the battle. Even the scribe and fake torturers were there, though it was hard to tell how or when they got here. At this distance, with their hoods and masks still on, it was difficult to tell what went through their heads.

It was also notable that, in this private workshop, there were many tools at one's disposal—not just hammers, wrenches, chains, and metal plates, but also wands, tomes, and talismans. Surely, it was enough to counter these guards' magical prods and pokers and escape with the rebel crew.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Agonos Isles
Group 1 ( Goonfire , Aegis , Tool , Daylight Fantasy SilverFlight )​

"Been since that incident in the alley a couple weeks back! Holding up well? Got any Poxbane?"

Harrowgate hopped down from atop her cart to greet Arnou in full, complete with a vigorous handshake and slap to the breastplate. "Ach, was just a little scuffle is all, you didn't need to step in! People these days, absolutely no manners. None!" The dwarven woman said cheerfully, oblivious to the shifting mood in the market. "You, on the other hand, you're going to need all the help you can get. One of Mikaela's goons was just in here, spreading all kinds of nasty rumors about you. Shacked up with cannibals, leaving all the half-eaten bodies around that keep washing up. 'Consorting with cannibals and murderers?' I said. That doesn't sound like the Arnou I know!" The woman continued as turned to rummage through her cart.

"But, looks to me like you've got a decent amount of help with you already; not the usual dregs you haul up to the Conclave. Weapons and armor and all!" Harrowgate seemed to have found what she was rooting around for, procuring a small cloth bag which she tossed to Arnou. "Last of the Poxbane, free of charge for you and your strange friends." The bag was slightly damp, and smelled strongly of crushed pine needles and something more astringent. "Like I said, you'll need all the help you can get."

The crowd, previously silent and sidling to the outskirts of the courtyard, was now swelling in numbers and growing restless. The whispers spread like a pestilence, and soon were more than whispers. Shouts, insults from the ragged throngs directed at the party gathered in the marketplace's center. The words twisted in the mouths of townsfolk, becoming something dark and alive. Interlopers. Murderers. Cannibals. Whether it was true or not, facts mattered little now, for Mikaela's brigands had breathed life into the rumors and now there was no turning back. ((The air was thick with the smell of meat, both fresh and fetid, sickness, and death, but a previous undercurrent was brought to the forefront. Fear. The smell of one hundred frightened people, acrid and metallic mingling in the courtyard. They were always afraid. Of death, of disease. But now they were afraid of something more.))

Even the blissfully ignorant Harrowgate could sense the shifting mood. "Well," she said nervously, "I believe that is my signal to go; I'd suggest you lay low until tonight. Whatever you've done, I think it's burned whatever goodwill you've earned. Good luck!" Harrowgate quickly took up their cart and padded away down a nearby street.

The crowd was growing increasingly restless when a voice cut through the din.

"Unclean!"

Though it was trembling and reedy, the mad chattering ceased when they heard this authoritative figure. Through the throng emerged a thin figure draped in rags, a parody of a human being. The old woman's head was scabby and sunburned, with clumps of dirty white hair clinging to whatever healthy skin remained. Elspelth, one of the town's many mad preachers. She claimed to be a defrocked disciple of Nurite, stripped of her rank for speaking "the truth," whatever truth that was. The woman pointed a knotted finger at Sheraga.

"Unclean!" she repeated with even more malice. "A disgrace to your Order, sullying yourself with the company of these blasphemers. But you're no stranger to filth either, are you?" She cackled. "I know that armor. Those symbols. Unclean. Unclean! You bring with you death and disease to our blighted island, and would have us all share in your misery!"

With each sentence, Elspelth took a creaky step forward, slamming her crooked cane on the cobblestone. Her harsh gaze then fixed on Arnou.

"And you. Traitor," she hissed. "We trusted you, Arnou. Let you into the fold. We thought you were a guardian. But you weren't, were you? No, you're a wolf. Preying on us. Killing us. Devouring us."

"Was it worth it Arnou? Was betraying us worth the comforts of the flesh with that northern bitch?" Her gnarled finger and milky eyes swiveled to Annik. "All of you interlopers, killers and butchers!"

As her intensity grew, so too did the crowd's resolve. No longer content with shouting, they began hurling whatever they had at the so-called "interlopers". Clods of mud, rotting goods, small rocks. They slowly began closing in, the bravest and strongest first. Well out of melee range, but close enough to ensure their projectiles might find their targets. The pitch of voices was now at an all-time high, and whatever Elspelth was saying was drowned out in a sea of taunts and slander. All around them were eyes filled with fear and hate and scorn, hands filled with crude weapons or curled into fists. Rude forms that, alone, would pose little threat. But together, whipped into a frenzy, they had the potential for terrible violence.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

Group 2 ( BlueXBlood , Zazz , Xen6n , Aegis )​

"If we are so interchangeable, as you say, why did you choose to drag me across the sand to this pit?" Bal retorted.

"Only to torture you, my crispy friend," Khadija replied. "But you're no Prigallan; not to them, anyways." She took a deep breath, preparing to launch into a lengthy tirade on Orcish history and Prigallan exploitation, but stopped herself short. Best save your energy for what is to come.


Whatever plans they tried to craft, all fell short, and soon they were creeping through the hollow ruins on a spider hunt. At least, Khadija hoped they were hunting the spider, and not the other way round. Her soft leather boots made little sound against both rotting wood and crumbling stone as they padded towards the library like a band of ragged thieves. Khadija peered over the balcony railing, studying the terrain as best she could. Piles of moldy papers and rat-gnawed leatherbound books stacked carelessly to the ceiling, pillars of forgotten knowledge now lost to the ravages of time. Evening light spilled from shattered windows, painting the ruins in an amber glow. She wondered what those faded pages contained, and pictured herself cracking open the first tome within arm's reach to discover the secret of the Cradle of Life. You're an idiot.

Khadija was brought back to her unfortunate reality by Aris' gesturing. It was clear enough, though the bard didn't like the implications. She would be on the front lines this time, and as the only one still unscathed, likely to bear the brunt of the creature's scythe-like legs. She sighed and stretched her aching limbs as if to restore some semblance of life to them before unsheathing her saber and giving it a quick flourish for effect. Khadija turned to Bal and spoke in a low whisper. "Try to hang on to that one, will you?" she said, nodding to the wide dagger loaned to the gladiator, before vaulting the balcony railing and silently slipping down slopes of manuscripts.

Aside from a few webs in her hair, Khadija arrived on the ground floor with little incident. It was littered with discarded books, disintegrating webbing, and the desiccated corpses of small animals. Khadija knelt to examine these shriveled things more closely. It was difficult to determine what they might once have been before being devoured, but judging from the horns atop their bleached skulls, Khadija deduced that their foe had a preference for some kind of mountain goat. Young ones, as the horns were still small. The bard stood up slowly and continued to search the library. Her head was abuzz now as adrenaline trickled into her blood. I should not be here. I should not be here at all. I should be in the Sapphire Palace, drinking fine wine and wooing maidens. I should not be here. She turned the phrase over and over in her head like some form of meditation. It didn't bring her any peace.

Khadija stalked through the spires of moldering books and warped shelves, clinging to the shadows. Her keen sight pierced through the darkness, but there was little to see. She gripped the hilt of her saber tightly. The bard did not care for the claustrophobic room, nor did she delight in the thought of fighting in such confined spaces. Perhaps it fled. Scared of the brave Axasterkan bard. She entertained the thought for a moment, but upon reaching the center of the library, her eyes fell upon a half-opened door leading to a dark chamber even she couldn't see into. The entrance was covered in thick strands of webbing. Khadija caught Aris' attention with a frantic wave and nodded to the room.

Its lair, she tried to say with a look. Khadija motioned for Aris to take a position on one side of the door while she pressed herself against the cold stone on the other. Khadija raised her free hand and closed it into a fist. Get ready. She took a deep, sharp breath and the same hand weaved in the air gracefully, tracing some invisible pattern. A curious nose cut through the silence. The bleating of a young goat. The sound carried, its authenticity undeniable, as if a lost goat had somehow wandered into this forsaken place. Khadija figured the trick would be enough to draw the beast into the light, and steeled herself to face the creature for what she hoped would be the last time.

 

[Zazz]

GROUP 2: Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n Aegis

---

Bal'kafaz found herself strangely disappointed when the other half-orc's ramblings fell short, dissipating into the dust. The bard was annoying, at best, but the melody of her endless babble was something Bal' had grown accustomed to over the course of their acquaintanceship. Khadija's nonsense, and Aris' silence.

Though it was by far the stupidest idea put forward, the Prigallan halfling followed along with the plan to seek out the giant death arachnid. Cursing the unconscious mage under her breath, she hefted R'hllor over one shoulder, careful not to let her live potato sack flap against her fresh wounds. Her fiery flesh was held only by Khadija's magic bandages to its searing, itchy origins. Between her ears, her eyes, and her ruined skin, Bal'kafaz had had enough magic for one day. Maybe R'hllor would make a decent diversion, if an escape required a delicious sacrifice.

The balcony loomed precariously over the mess of moldy paper and worn ink. Judging by the carpet of webbing, the beast had been here for quite some time. Layers of web and book and furniture and dried corpses littered what was once a grand collection. Now, it was little more than rubble. If only they had waited, Bal' thought to herself, for R'hllor to wake up, he could have burned the whole place and every living thing hidden within it. Instead, here she stood, the useless mage over her shoulder, Aris telling her to keep watch while the Seeker and the bard went to seek their deaths.

Idiots.

With a nod and a heavy sigh, Bal'kafaz set R'hllor to sit against a wall, off of the questionable balcony. Perhaps this was a worthy death, at last. She would find the bathing room if they survived, and become a bloody stew.

Stew. Her stomach cried and grasped itself at the thought of a hot goat stew. She wondered, briefly, if the spider was edible. Perhaps it tasted similar to a scorpion?

Bal' collected pieces of debris; rocks for throwing, splintered wood for whacking. All the while, she kept an eye on the two women down below. She gripped Khadija's dagger, wishing she at least had her shield. The two of them found a dark passageway, and with a flourish of her hand, the bard made the unmistakable bleating of a goat. Bal' couldn't help but snort, a grin cracking her dry lips apart.

 

[Goonfire]

SHERAGA THE LEPER
GROUP 1:
Corn Orc Vandal Daylight Fantasy Tool Aegis SilverFlight

---

The marketplace was no different from the rest of this land—loaded with despair, loathing, and fear. The atmosphere was heavy and uninviting, exacerbated by the destitute taking notice of this conspicuous party that grew as a man from the other skif attached himself to them. Sheraga remained quiet with the exception of clearing his throat sporadically.

That was, until the crow-like call echoed across the market district:

"UNCLEAN!"

"Please, no," the pilgrim groaned under his breath, a shiver creeping up his spine. He slowly turned to view the decrepit, grotesque creature lurching towards him from down the squalid street. "No, Gods, please, no..." There was immense dread in his voice, as if he knew something more.

"Unclean! A disgrace to your Order, sullying yourself with the company of these blasphemers. But you're no stranger to filth either, are you?"

"Who are you, and what have you told these people?" Sheraga rebutted, his tone heating up. The roar of the angry mob quickly built to drown out his questions. He only snapped after she derided Arnou and called Annik a bitch: "Silence! Cease that verbal diarrhea you call accusations, witch!"

The stones started flying. He snatched the lid of the barrel and held it in front of him, shielding the others from the barrage to the best of his ability. His reflexes were still solid, despite his apparent sickened state... and yet his fingers struggled to keep the makeshift shield stable. With each impact to the lid, he grunted.

A stone then struck him upon his fingers, eliciting a distressed cry. This was bad... With no sign of the ugly preacher or her frenzied followers relenting, the five outcasts among outcasts needed to flee soon! "I hope you're also savvy at running and hiding," he told Dunan, circling back to the newcomer's claim of being able to patch bedrolls.

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

“Charmed, Arnou.” A warm smile appeared on his bearded face, with no small amount of relief too. Braving the hidden dangers of this particular place, Dunan was not keen to do alone. He stood back respectfully as the guide spoke with the dwarven woman, and clear friend.

It took only half a moment to turn when he heard footsteps approach, because he felt the eyes on him before he saw her. The northerner, whom, from a distance, had seemed merely an oddity among the others now stood close, and very much more intimidating than he had realized:

She held herself with pride, and surety, her frame lean, and scarred, a testament to the hardship of her life. That alone would have garnered his respect, but it was how she moved, breathed, existed with a knowing of herself that reminded him of the absence of that very thing in him.

That she seemed just as confident and at home in her body as he was awkward and ungainly in his, sparked an envy within him that he found ugly.
She scented the air like an animal, but even that looked unstrange as she did it.
Whatever she sensed didn’t seem to offend her. She came closer, spoke to him? Dunan responded by giving her a look of utter bafflement. If her utterance had meant anything, it was lost on him.

Then she sniffed the air again, and that was when her scent hit him. The depth of his sense took him away in one breath, to snow-covered forests, the heady scent of pine and spruce, to the sharp smell of burning bark, to frost on whiskered muzzles, and teeth in hot flesh and the thick smell of marrow.

Sometimes when he ran as a hound through moon-drenched fields he felt almost wild, but the sense of her, this woman, drowned his feeble imaginings with a single glance.

Dunan hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes. Just for a moment. When he opened them again, he realized that intense, predatory gaze was still upon him. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn she saw straight through to his cursed form.
“Who are you?”

“That, is a very good question.” Dunan sighed. “I…don’t really have an answer.” He replied honestly.
He thought that perhaps she deserved more of an explanation, but a sudden shout pulled his attention away.

The wary locals that had been dogging them were growing bolder, fed obviously by some slander concocted by the loser of the encounter he had witnessed by the shore.
He glanced at his new companions, and especially at Arnou, for a que on how to react.

The knight was the first to speak to them, matching anger for anger, but the crowd continued its wrath, now in a proper broil. Dunan gave him an empathetic glance.
“Good enough at running and hiding.” He muttered abashedly.

Dunan glanced quickly from his new companions to the angry mob amassed against them, then he set his jaw as if making up his mind about something.

“If things go badly, use my diversion to escape.” He told them. Dunan had thrown his lot in with them, and he was never one for half measures.
He slung his pack off one shoulder and took a fold of cloth from it, then, steeling himself, he began walking towards the crowd. They jeered and hissed, threw insults and stones. The smell of the rotten things made him long for that wild scent of forest that Annik had carried.

A stone caught him over his right eye and made him falter, a thin line of blood began to creep its way down his face. He kept walking, going as close to the old preacher as she would let him. Once that was done, he pulled back the cloth to reveal what he carried: a large block of cheese, and three sticks of dried meat. The best of the rations he had brought with him to the island. He held them up so they could be seen by the mob, hopefully it would draw their attention away from his would-be companions.

“Listen to me!” He cried, bellowing over their voices in a deep bark that surprised even himself.
“You accuse this man, these people, of taint, and murder, but how many here have committed acts that you hate yourselves for? You would strike out in malice when this place would make demons of us all!”

He could feel the tension in the air, ready to snap like a bowstring drawn too tight. One wrong word and he would bring them all down upon him.
“Please! Your enemies are not here, they are there! Beyond the walls of the citadel!” Dunan pointed in the direction of the gates, to the towers high an unreachable, where the mages dwelt.

“They can perform miracles, no? That is why we came here, why we all came here, but where are the miracles? They hide in splendour while they leave you to rot! Tell me, what greater evil is there? To have everything and watch as others die under your feet?”
He lowered his voice, looking directly at the preacher who had pushed the crowd to their violence. “A gesture of good will, lady cleric,” he held the cloth and food out to her. “Will you help feed the people gathered here?”

Perhaps it was a foolish hope, but Dunan hoped. He hoped that mercy here would quiet wrath, and kindness would instill a sense of mercy, but there were lines of tension in his body, Dunan was ready to spring away as fast as he could, should his plan go as badly as he suspected it might.

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire Daylight Fantasy

 

[BlueXBlood]

Group 4 | Eibor and Quart
The Forests Southwest of Iyesgarth ​

The reveal of Quart's curious appearance put a grin on Alfius' face. An expression of silent fascination. Stanford had well taken the lead of the conversation, though, as he directed everyone inside the caravan, depriving the elf of the opportunity to compliment her so. Upon entering, the duo could see that the interior was adorned with bizarre oddities, some places even suffocated with peculiar trinkets. Artifact-like objects lined shelves along the walls, and the most unusual sorts of plants hung from different spots on the roof. Each individual possession seemed to earn the same pleased expression from Alfius as did Quart and Eibor at first. The elf truly made no effort to conceal his interest in atypical and extraordinary, and his collection spurred pride within himself, displayed in his enigmatic smile.

Stanford finally brought the group to a low, rounded table, veiled with a dark purple cloth and seasoned with various maps and tools. "... Don't mind the mess. Go ahead and get comfy. It'll be a long story," he said, taking the liberty of leaning against the wall and gesturing towards an array of cushions that surrounded the table. To Alfius, he shot a meaningful glance and cocked his head towards the back of the caravan, a gesture that the elf seemed to understand as he left the duo for a moment.

"So the elf already mentioned we're on our way to Iyesgarth, yeah? Well... it's because of some kind of artifact that was given to me a little while ago. I couldn't tell if it was a gift or a threat since it came in a box with this flowery note and all. 'Enjoy this artifact,' and some other nonsense... When I opened it up and checked what was inside, though, it was like the thing scared the living daylights out of me. Something about it just wasn't right..."

Alfius soon returned with a small stone chest, which he set on the table. He reached out to open it before pausing momentarily. "I advise caution.. Standford and I haven't been able to determine yet if exposure to this object is harmful. Thus, we've kept it in the chest for as long we could help it." Stanford reassured his words with a nod. The chest was then opened, and resting on a cushion inside was a black eye with what looked like an amethyst pupil, encased by strange tendrils that emerged from the object itself.

"My first thought was that this bastard sent it to me," he said, flashing a sharp glance at Alfius, to which his companion responded with a chuckle. "If you couldn't tell from the way this caravan reeks of oddballs and freaks, he's got an obsession with weird things. Seems even that wasn't useful in this scenario, though, since when I brought the artifact to him, he was completely clueless."

The elf nodded disappointedly. "Aye.. even with my life-long pursuit of the mystical, I seemed to lack the knowledge to identify what this strange artifact was. That is why we are pursuing Iyesgarth. Stanford and I have some capable connections lurking about in that city, and we were hoping to gain insight from them. However..." Alfius frowned. "Fortune has not been kind to us. Something has followed us since our departure from Darkmire, attacking our caravan in the night. We've tried to determine what it is, but its marks seem to change each day we travel. We hired a mercenary, but..."

"He's ill, in the back of the caravan," Stanford interrupted. "We can't be certain what's happened to him, but we assumed it was because of whatever is chasing us. But anyhow, we've rambled enough... What say you both? Insight? Questions? Speak your mind."

[ LumeNym , Nebulous Stars ]​

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Group 3 Goonfire Rohan escapist​

Their fun with Chief Hammerfist was shorter than Maude would have liked, but she wasn't complaining given their position. Besides... he looked plenty finished already, what with the other two's finishing touches. She nodded respectfully to each of them as Jac'aal took the dwarf. "Hostage, maybe. A shield? He's certainly meaty enough... what's left of him, at least!" She guffawed at her own remark.

Maude rose to join the disfigured one on the prison escape, only for the expected reinforcements to so kindly greet them.

It's been so long since she felt the rush of battle...

Her squirming, coagulated hands of blood shifted again, forming a different tool in each arm. On the left, a great blade pointing out like a skewer. On the right, a thin tendril with one fiendishly sharp hook at the end. It's that tendril that she spun in circles, the blood hook kicking up dust as it scathed the ground. Maude stepped over free tools and magic items and artifacts. "Come and get me!"

She launched the hook at the nearest guard. It wrapped around his waist, and he'd have felt it squirm and tighten around his body. Then it yanked him forward, dragging him across the floor. A shadow loomed over him. A growing shadow. As the tendril reeled in its prey, the decreasing amount of blood funneled into her bladed arm, making it wide enough to split the guard in two.

No matter how much he struggled, there was nothing he could've done as the hook brought him to his feet—then into the blade. Maude thrust his body up like a shrimp on a kebab as his blood rained on and around her. "More!" she screeched, turning to the other guards. "Give me more!" With a yell, she threw the guard's lifeless body into their direction. Her stomps followed after.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Agonos Isles
Group 1 ( Goonfire , Aegis , Tool , SilverFlight )​

Sheraga's rebuke of Elspelth did little to soothe the growing mob as they pressed in closer and closer, pushing the party against the courtyard's western wall and nearly closing them in on all sides. Elspelth herself merely cackled in response to the insults, indifferent to whatever slights might have been inflammatory in a homeland she hadn't seen in nigh on sixty years. Volleys of refuse and rocks intensified in response, now targeting the heavily armored Sheraga, though to little effect.

"I've told them nothing but the truth, unclean one," Elspelth's harsh voice could be made out over calls for blood. "You come to this island bearing a plague that even your holy order coul-" Her violent tirade was cut off by Dunan stepping forth, cutting through the crowd and momentarily silencing them as he spoke.
The mob bellowed in protest at his accusations that they too were criminals. A struck dog will always yelp. More cries for their banishment from the island followed, the hatred and fear in their eyes burning like smoldering coals. However, they quieted once again when Dunan's words turned against the Conclave itself. Such notions were not alien to the people of Atychía; all held the Conclave in a mixture of awe and resentment, but none spoke of the latter. As if to speak it would make it true, that the mages on the hill were not these benevolent saviors but something else entirely. Malicious parasites reveling in their suffering. They had seen many enter the Conclave's gates, yes, but never once witnessed any cured people leaving its walls. All harbored these thoughts, but hearing them aloud nearly sent the crowd reeling. They muttered to each other in low, conspiratorial voices. Could this outsider be right? And if so, what was to be done?

Elspelth stepped forward to receive Dunan's gift, studying it carefully with her milky eyes. They slowly drifted between the food and Dunan's face, as if trying to draw some connection between the two. Such an act of kindness was rare in Atychía, so rare as to arouse suspicion. She took the parcel in her arthritic hands before scattering the goods across the dirt and spat.

"You think our favor can be bought, like some cheap whore?" Elspelth rasped, words dripping with venom. Others in the crowd thought differently though, eyeing the fallen food like dogs circling a feasting table. "You know not what you say, outsider. You know nothing of us, of the Conclave."

Around her, though, the tide was turning, and dissenting, emboldened voices rang out.

"Charlatans!"

"They promised us cures, but where are they?"

"The Conclave preys on us like vultures!"

Still more cried out in defense of the Conclave, trying to redirect their anger back towards the outlanders. The crowd surged, a wave or ragged bodies now jostling eachother. Words were said that could not be unsaid. Accusations turned to shoves and blows.

"No, no you fools!" Elspelth shouted, desperate to redirect the violence away from the Conclave and away from each other, but her cries lost in the storm of human fury that surged around her. A few figures stood on top of the buildings that encircled the courtyard and watched this mob begin to turn on itself. The evening sun rendered them mere suggestions of people, any details rendered fuzzy and washed out with the distance. The crows, a fixture throughout the entire island, were now swelling in numbers around every possible roosting point the market had to offer, as if anticipating some great feast to come.

"Be foretold! Be fortold. These outlanders, they lie. Lie and deceive. They wish to turn us against eachother, make us easy prey for them. Do not fall for their trickery!" The outlanders stood against a crumbling building, several stories tall, its dark shadow swallowing them all. The mob divided into two parties, their anger and fear no longer focused on the outsiders but shooting out indiscriminately, barely contained by Elspelth.

Above the mob's yells and jeers, no one heard a faint, grating sound coming from the rooftops. The sound of stone cracking. No one saw the piece of stonework falling from eight stories above, an old granite block whose details were lost from time and rain. But they did heard the wet crunch it made when connecting with a human skull. They did see the red blood and grey matter splatter across the courtyard's dusty ground, soil drinking up the crimson liquid greedily. All else was silent save for the roar of distant crashing waves, every pair of eyes locked on the gruesome sight before them.

Ying Ming-Zia staggered forth, half their head caved in by a piece of heavy stone fallen from above. Raven hair dripped with blood as they tried to form words with a slack mouth, but none came out save for an unintelligible "Pblblbssssss." One eye dangled freely from its socket while the other wandered leisurely across the crowd's stunned faces. Ming-Zia drew their sword and swung it clumsily twice, as if to ward off the invisible foe that dealt them this fatal blow, which sent them tumbling to the ground. They hit the floor hard, sending the bloodied stone skittering to Elspelth's bound feet.

She looked up with faded eyes to discern the stone's origins. The shadowy figures once occupying the rooftops now gone, replaced with more black crows. The mob was silent. The former Nurite knew to choose her next words very carefully, for they were on the verge of disaster. Blood had been spiled, and only she could stop the frenzy that was to come.

"We must n-" Whatever she had planned was cut short as a burly, one-armed blacksmith in a filthy leather apron knocked her flat with a punch to the face.

"Conclave witch!" He spat.

The melee ensued.

Some darted for the discarded food Eslpelth had rejected. Others made their way for Ying Ming-Zia's twitching body, battling each other for whatever possessions they could peel from them. But most were more interested in cracking skulls, specifically the skulls of those who either defended or opposed the Conclave. The outsiders forgotten, for the moment, as they punched, kicked, and bit their newly discovered enemies.