Fantasy Ballad of Renegades

[Goonfire]

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

---

The sudden rebuttal against the crowd shocked Sheraga just as much as it did the mob surrounding the party. Dunan's words, coupled with the bold act of charity, swayed many to the brink of civil war. Not even Elspelth's words could quell the revolt among her 'congregation'.

"Wait..." the crusader tried to look up, noticing the indiscernible shadows overhead. His helmet coupled with the blinding sunlight made it difficult to get a clear view of what he was certain were crows perched above. It was hard to even hear anything, as the argument went on until...

SPLAT!

Sheraga felt the vibration of something soft hitting his metal plate armor, like bits of a tomato or rotten meat. He turned and gasped at the horrific sight—Ming-Xia, head caved in, body spasming in his dying throes. He then touched his pauldron, voice trembling as he pulled back red-stained fingers. The cacophony once again swelled to a crescendo and a sorrowful cry blended into the chorus of over a hundred angry brawlers. His efforts to protect the scholar had been for naught.

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis SilverFlight



The Not-Karwa answered her question with genuine ignorance, a frankness she both appreciated and recognized as a precursor to a deeper truth. So many in these strange lands were little more than sleepwalkers, present in the world only tenuously and living out their lives by force of momentum rather than any genuine want. Not having an answer was infinitely better than one given by force of habit, and Annik gave the strange-smelling not-man an approving nod.

A crowd of malcontents swelled, seeming to coalesce out of the very air, led by someone who looked like she was about to drop dead from OLD at any second. She looked too old to walk, with hair the color of snow, wavering and wispy. The woman's scalp and face was so thinned by time that Annik could clearly see the shape of the woman's skull under her skin. Every vein, every dark splotch, every wart, every wrinkle, they all created a mask that hid any trace of whatever woman this had once been in the long long ago. She looked like a bad bug bite might kill her. Or maybe coughing too hard. Or a good sneeze, even. Time had to be out there SOMEWHERE, looking for this woman so she could finally die.

Annik had seen people this decrepit before, at the start of her eighth winter. The leaders of the White Scar tribe, a group of elders had called upon her to look into her eyes. Annik's father, Brom, had kept his wife and child within the caves for all of her young life on THEIR request...... but on that day, he'd decided he wanted answers as to why. Brom's voice echoed strong in her young ears, and rang in them now, strong and angry.

You will give me the truth of my question as payment for my patience. Or, I will take my eight years back from you in blood..... assuming you haven't grown so old and your blood so lifeless that you bleed only dust. Now talk. Or die.

Hoarfrost, but the memory of her father's voice bolstered her heart. Annik had never been so proud of her father than in that moment, and his rage had stirred something unknown in her blood. Things had gotten violent after that, just as things were likely to get violent, now.

The Too-Old one spat insults at the Sick Man in Yellow Metal and Arnou in turn, though some of it was a little too obtuse for Annik to properly understand. The problem was...... Annik had been on this island city for days and knew that people killed one another on the streets frequently. They killed to steal, they killed to keep their victims quiet, they killed those that tried to run from chains or literal cages, they killed for the pleasure of it. These were not a peaceful people. These were a people comprised of predator and prey, both desperate, but only ONE profiting from the situation in which they found themselves embroiled.

Profiting....... like the Embodiment-of-Old, in front of the crowd.

But, before Annik could act, the Not-Man stepped forward, speaking in calm, firm tones, like someone trying to get close enough to an animal of the Wild. Annik stayed her feet and watched.

The Not-Man's words proved convincing to a fair number of the crowd, and they turned on one another as they realized the Not-Man might have a point about the Conclave. These people were mostly PREY, weakened and afraid, but they were finding their courage to be angry at something. Hurting these people wouldn't have been right - they needed to be encouraged to find their strength, not killed right when they were finding within themselves the desire to live free.

To not be afraid.

Not-Man was managing. Being able to speak to hostile humans was little different than getting in close to an animal of the Wild, and for that if nothing else, the scruffy Not-Man earned a few points of respect in Annik's regard.

Unfortunately, a stone from high overhead plummeted downwards and found what could only be its mark, impacting Raven Hair's skull with a wet crunch. He stood on his feet for an impressive few moments, his body not quite understanding that he was already dead, before toppling over. Annik felt bad for the man, mostly because death from an ambush-rock was was a death without purpose, without battle, a death from behind and up above, as devoid of honor and meaning as tripping over a tree-root and perishing. Hopefully, Raven Hair's spirit had already earned a place among whatever afterlife to which his people were destined.

The Sick Man in Yellow Metal looked down at his bloody gauntlet before letting out a mournful yell, and Annik's gaze flickered with visible sympathy. It was never easy to see a friend perish. At least Raven Hair died quickly.

Annik got as close to the Sick Man in Yellow Metal as she could without getting smacked away, and then she breathed deeply, snuffling the hard plate and getting a nose-full of soap and disease and Raven Hair meat and the strange, mingled odor of a Jarnakkian body, both civilized and male, before straightening as quickly as she'd shoved her face in his general direction. Annik looked straight into his helmet.

"I will find you."

And then, she was......gone.

Annik moved with all the speed that the Sick Man in Yellow Metal lacked, slipping her spear into the loops on her back just before taking a running leap for the wall of the building that had so recently ejected a fatal stone. When her body whacked against the rock, it took the breath right out of her, but her scrambling fingers found purchase, and up she went. It was harder than climbing a tree, but age and disuse left plenty of finger-holes, and though some thrown rocks from the crowd below found their mark, splitting skin and making her grumble furious insults against the wall, Annik was relentless in her pursuit. That killing-stone hadn't fallen from the clouds, and it had been too coincidntal for it to land atop Raven Hair's head. Fortunately, no other ambush-rocks seemed forthoming, and those flung by the humans on the ground weren't large enough to be more than painful obstacles, and the further she climbed, the fewer chucked stones were able to travel the distance.

When she made it to the roof at last, Annik found it......empty, though she kept her knees bent and her body low, the fingertips of one hand steepling on the tiles for an endless moment as pale eyes scanned her surrounds. A few decorative.....somethings lined the edge of the roof..... along with the hollow crevice where the killing one had fallen. Cautiously, as though the elaborate stone objects might at any moment spring to life and round upon the intruder to their roof, Annik approached cautiously, keeping her body low and her knees bent, looking at the place where the object had split from the rest of the stone, and then looking at its likes on either side.

Cracks, cracks everywhere, but still connected to the roof itself.

Though Annik tried to smell out whoever or whatever had been up here to give the rock a well-timed shove, there wasn't enough THERE to really detect, and she was bleeding enough from her back and shoulder to muck around with her nose. She sneezed, making a cloud of mortar-dust foomp into her face. Annik recoiled and sneezed again a few times in rapid succession.

A watching crow asked her for food, or more accurately, asked her if she was going to BE food and seemed disappointed in the way bird-brains could be when Annik responded in the negative. Though when Annik asked about any OTHER hoo-mans that had been here prior, she was grimly satisfied to hear that yes indeed, there had been two.

The thrill of the hunt bloomed in the Kellid's veins. Someone had tried and succeeded in killing Raven Hair. Annik had no special or deep connection to the man, but his death laid bare a singular truth: they'd been WAITING for the opportunity.

Someone was hunting.

That was alright.

Annik could hunt, too.

For now, however, she needed to find the Sick Man in Yellow Metal, and any other of the unlikely group that had so recently coalesced. After jumping over to the next roof over, Annik crept to the edge and looked down. Sweet black storms above, it felt GOOD to be a little above the stink of this place, again.

Now, she just needed to find the rest of her pack.

 

[Aegis]

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

A carpet of paper, bones, and dust shifted under each step of Aris and Khadija while Bal's watchful eye prepared for an ill-conceived standoff. Shadows seemed to lurch and move--invisible eyes snatching at them from their peripheral vision. Knuckles taut white with stress as grips tightened on weapons, but the fight they were waiting for never came to them. They parted the black of the library and met no answers regardless of their careful consideration. Until, streaks of black and green blood began to gather in a trail through a door that seemed to lead to the abyss draped in the coat of arms common to their foe; the frame itself had been shattered and the stone itself had been chipped, stretched to accommodate the full mass of the spider.

The crux of their plan at hand, Khadija cast a silent spell yet tantalizing spell. There was a bleat. A silence.

Then, those nerve-grating clicks. A shift as sharpened claws drug shallow trenches through stone in a drawn-out, piercing squeak that sent a jolt through their teeth as though they had just bitten down on a knife. The figure of the monster sluggishly crawled into view with a vigor shared by Bal as it stalked just shy of the ambushed-laden entrance. It loosed another click--this one uncertain and probing, before inching closer to the library at large. The Spider's eyes that had been reduced to burst pustules strained and shifted as it sought out ANY advantage it could afford. After all, it was a hunter and a smart one at though, so the suspicion of a trap didn't seem outside of its capacity.

Blood dripped steadily from wounds the creature had no capacity to staunch--webs and books drinking of this involuntary drain, while two of its legs now hung limp underneath with a third seeming to buckle somewhat even as it stood still.

CLICK CLICK

The Spider inched its head forward past the doorframe and sat in wait. One mandible absently snapped against a phantom one courtesy of Aris, and it was clear that The Spider had chosen ambush as well.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

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

The seconds felt like hours as Khadija pressed herself against the rotten bookshelf, saber primed and ready to strike at whatever grotesque, chitinous limb passed through the dark chamber's threshold.

Only nothing came. All that sneaking around, and our friend doesn't even want to come out and play.

Khadija let the goat's bleating cries fade into nothing, her body sagging like a drawn bow going slack. A mixture of relief and disappointment washed over her, and she looked to Aris to give voice to that feeling. But then she heard it.

A scraping and rasping of bladed limbs across stone, like the dying breath of some ancient and forsaken creature. Slowly, painfully slowly, Khadija drew herself back into her attack position. The hairs on her neck stood up as if she would be struck by lightning, her heart pumping so hard she thought it might break her breastbone. She watched as foul, dark blood dripped from somewhere beyond the door and ran into the library, turning the discarded pages into a pulpy mass of ink and gore. It was right at the entrance.

But the moment didn't come. The beast instead stopped, just the front of its bulbous head peering forth blindly from the door. Evidently waiting for them to make the first move.

Best not to disappoint.

Khadija held out one hand to Aris in a "wait" gesture, indicating that Aris should let Khadija take the lead and attack from the rear. If so much could be communicated through an outstretched palm, anyways.

Khadija let out what was meant to be a ferocious war cry, but instead it came out a strangled, high-pitched squeal as she dashed forward and slashed at the spider's face, hacking almost entirely through its remaining mandible in a spray of thick viscera. In one fluid motion she withdrew from the squealing creature, taking large, graceful steps backwards like some bloodied ballroom dancer towards the spacious center of the ruined library. Khadija took a moment to admire her work, studying how the mandible hung uselessly by a few strands of flesh from the spider's mouth. At least it won't be able to eat us. I think.

She noted the two weakened legs on the spider's left side, and decided to favor that side. If they could cripple one more limb, the spider would be practically immobile. Khadija glanced briefly towards the balcony and began slowly edging backwards, hoping that if the spider were to attack, she could lure it beneath the walkway for another of Bal's plunging attacks.

"Come on then! Come out and fight! I've crushed bigger pests than you under by boot!" Khadija called out mockingly to the beast; not so much to insult it, but rather to bolster her own confidence. Even with the creature wounded as it was, she didn't like her odds.

 

[Aegis]

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

Arnou felt the tension scratching at his guts even as he did his best to ignore it. At times, if you just didn't seem to have enough interest to be a threat then the villagers would just leave you alone, but today was not one such time. The crowd began to circle with a fire rising in their chests, eyes locked as they measured their odds against the makeshift party, and once The Exiled Lord got the Poxbane in hand he was ready to withdraw from the situation and make a swift exit. However, it wasn't in the cards for them.

An older lady pushed her way through the silent, wary crowd with all the confidence of a cult leader and the quiver of her jaw revealed all he needed to see in order to realize her intent, "Elspeth-- NO!"

It was too late. For an aged pair of lungs, her voice boomed through the crowd and across the complex in a wave that rode the sea breeze and drowned his protest beneath it. She began to spit and rant with just enough knowledge of the situation to let the poison of her words seep into the mind of the crowd as they danced to her tune. First, she went for Sheraga--her words thick with vitriol and she tarnished the group on religious grounds, but then she turned to Arnou and took a dagger to the heart of the crowd. Betrayal, that harsh and broken trust. It seemed strange to him that she was so SURE--so focused, on how this Kellid woman had changed him; this was undoubtedly the work of Mikaela's gang. Arnou thought to speak up and reveal they had just met and there had been no 'pleasures of the flesh' to sway him--escort them all back to reason for a moment.

Too little, too late.

The crowd began to take on ideas of their own as a collective voice shot forth like an arrow from the drawstring that was Elspeth, a woman who was now unable to tame the force she had unleashed. Arnou's heart began to pound as dozens of the mob began to close the distance between them. His eyes darted to the people he had already taken payment to protect, and his jaw clenched with a manic determination as he took a few steps ahead of the other members of the party, "Alright, you guys go on ahea--"

Arnou's would-be sacrifice was cut clean off by the newest addition to their party who found it in themself to turn the tide of the crowd on a level equal to that of Elspeth, and at once the crowd was upon itself in a storm of screams and blood. Bludgeoning and stabbing.

His eye's flicked back for a moment and locked with Dunan's before they scanned everyone else; there was a darkness--a lack of light to be more exact, that dwelled deep within whatever well-adjusted front he showed to everyone thus far. The Island had exacted its toll on him as it had everyone else, and perhaps he searched for the effortless rest the long quiet of death could give him. In that moment, a brick fell from the building behind him and ended one of his charge with a heavy thwack that saw him collapse to the ground. Arnou clenched his jaw as rotten produce and smaller stones began to rain upon them blocked only by Sheraga's large, buckling arms. Up the building went the tribal woman, her pursuit set on the murderer of their companion.

It was time for him to act as well. Arnou spied only a few people between them and the nearest side-road out of the market, and set his efforts upon it. He dashed forward past the group of his companions toward a man with a wood axe who was sneaking up from the side of Sheraga before he threw his blade up toward the man and smashed through the wooden handle with his steel blade. The Former Knight drew his leg up and planted it in the man's gut as he staggered back with a cough--Arnou sunk into his hips and swung his blade clean through the man's forearms in a snap of sinew that left exposed bones spilling blood upon the stone. The man loosed a scream as he staggered back into the crowd who scattered in a yelp as they second-guessed whether their chances were really as good as they thought. Another man stepped forward before he tried to turn and flee, but Arnou reached out and snagged his collar as he yanked him screaming from the crowd--his blade sinking through the man's chest and heart. The two leaned against one another for a moment as the man writhed in his killer's superior grasp. Arnou's jaw clenched as he stared into the man's eyes with hate, an emotion that clearly came from somewhere deep inside in order to fuel this violence.

The Former Knight tore the length of his steel from the man's chest before giving him a swift kick to the side of the knee that saw him on the ground. His gaze set upon the rest of the local crowd who stood frozen in fear at the display they had just witnessed, and Arnou drew up his sword and slashed it toward them in the air loosing a spray of blood upon them that scattered them in a stampede of yelps and screams.

Then, he turned toward his companions, "THIS WAY! LET'S GO!"

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Dunan had been ready to deal with what was in front of him. His muscles tightened to a hair trigger, watching the crowd. They begun to argue, fight, and Dunan took a few paces back. What was a unified force dissolved into itself with violence and shouting. Dunan stood, transfixed by what his actions had created. He could never have reacted in time to what happened behind him.

The horrible sound of stone hitting flesh. One of his new companions collapsing, as his skull was caved in. It seemed to happen in slow motion, before time slowly began to return.
The horde converged in upon them, lunging for the body, some fighting for the food that had been left in the dust.
Dunan's instincts took over where his mind still swam in shock. He was moving, turning, running back towards the others. He saw Annik vanish over the top of the building. She was obviously pursuing the ones who had murdered her companion. Of all of them, Dunan was the least worried for her. She seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

Dunan made a bee line for the towering knight marked in yellow. He stood, still shocked, as their attackers came down upon them. Arnou ran past him, ready to put up a defence.
Dunan saw something in his eyes, something he recognized perhaps? No time to assess things now.

He grabbed for one of Sheraga's arms, tugging at it to capture his attention. His strength was twice that of a normal man, but Dunan held a tight control over it.
"We need to go!"

That was then the screams began behind them. Arnou had drawn his blade and was laying into the mob with ruthless efficiency.
More were coming up upon them too, trying to cut off their escape. They were thin, hollow people, desperate and feral. Dunan felt he could draw on them as much as he would draw on a pack of wild dogs. He kept his blade sheathed, but pulled the scabbard away from his belt, rushing forward to bludgeon a path for he and Sheraga to escape down.

One man fell with a swift strike to the face, another cried out as Dunan broke his shin. He injured, but tried not to kill.
"There is something foul here!" He cried as he pushed through the last of them. Sheraga may have been the only one close enough to hear him as they fled.
"I've seen starvation before, loathing, desperation, but the violence here..it seems deeper, darker, like something is pushing it to the surface."

As Dunan turned to let Sheraga and the others catch him, he looked up to the citadel, its white walls shining beyond the gates. "It seems fed by magic."

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire

 

[Nebulous Stars]

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

Quart took in the caravan’s interior with a curious gaze. A part of her wanted to find some definitive conclusion, take it and offer some biting thought. She was a little too analytically honest for that, knowing that the only prior knowledge she had of the interior of caravans was from novels and one or two scholarly texts. Still she appreciated its cluttered, inhabited, appearance. She recognized a number of plants, from books if not from the labs she had stepped foot in. The various trinkets she was left entirely unsure of. The room contained magic without question, but actually deciphering anything would require effort she thought ill-spent, if they were truly bringing out the primary source.

Really the only concern was the curious gaze of the elf, that deeply ingrained chill down her spine. She did not trust the man, and might struggle ever to even should he prove through, but that ultimately didn’t impact the choice she had already made. She wouldn’t be following the man into any mysterious buildings or dark basements, but a traveler’s bond to reach the town bore far less risks. Although the thought of having to step into a proper town struck her as almost worse than stepping into another dubious basement.

Her pace never strayed from following the other man. He lead the way to a low table covered in maps, something that she couldn’t help her own fascination with. Her time in the wilds had gifted her a slow love of exploring, for understanding the world around her. It was a love entirely divorced from what came before, alien to the minds of mages lost in stars and theories, and she had to throttle the desire to reach out and study them.

More important in the moment was following the tale the man spun. Accepting mysterious artifacts got her to mark him as a similar risk to the elf in the back of her head. Perhaps not the same level, but the same kind. She was too familiar with reckless curiosity, her life a story of it, her body a product of it. Still she made herself relax down a notch, a little tension flowing out of her shoulders. Which promptly returned in spades when she saw the actual artifact in question.

Her magical sight and knowledge found in fresh young books proved entirely insufficient, her tutors entirely too obsessed with impractical cutting edge theories. In the end conscious knowledge proved entirely irrelevant to the feeling of kinship in her core. She could feel the death in it, that familiar befouled energy. Necromancy, almost certainly. It had been a hard lesson to learn after she was free, but the second time she had come face to face with undead unexpectedly had taught her. Learning further that some undead saw her as kin was it’s own horror, although she wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than the ones that saw her as way tastier.

She couldn’t help but feel a tainted temptation to reach out to the damned thing, part self-destruction, part her own damnable curiosity. It was a pain easily conquered, her stillness near-absolute as she listened to the rest of their explanation. Her gaze followed their gestures to the door into the back and the man it contained. She should examine him. Even with a limited capacity for medicine his wounds could tell her key information. Instead she turned blindly back to the matter at hand.

So here lay the crossroads. In all wisdom she should make brief apologies and leave. Realistically she should never have even approached, cold ruthlessness dictating that she leave them as deadweight bait. Even if she wanted the artifact, it would be far safer to wait at a safe distance, within her shields without witnesses, and clean up the mess once these men were dead. It would give her more information, a better understanding of potential problems, and far less risk factors. It sat as an itch in her bones.

Yet she turned her thoughts to solving the problem without ever showing more than a flash of frigid malevolence on her face, ready in a breath to find some way for all of them to survive. The answer wasn’t as easy as she would like, especially with the introduction of necrotic power. The safest option for her would be to simply sit sentinel atop the caravan. Sure her endurance might prove suspicious, but staying awake and a magical attack wasn’t all that telling. The safest option for everyone would be to simply hold up the strongest shield she could present.

The issues ran aplenty with both options though. Her attacks were unusually potent, but the oneshot was not guaranteed, The shield was more assured, but anyone with the slightest magical understanding would label her either a freak or an archmage if she could hold a fully embodied shield for that long without rest or material support. Not that her shield-crafting could hold a candle to an actual master, simple technique carried by the depth of her energy. Further, it wasn’t necessarily a simple undead, and some manner of wraith could defeat all manner of preparation.

Normally a shield might be an answer to that, but while she was confident in blocking out the simply less corporeal, this thing could be made to hunt mages and the curious. A true master of shielding could craft wards and intricate defensive structures, turning a shield from a simple wall of energy to an artform, rather than her own brute force. Her thoughts raced around her and ahead of her, and she turned to stare each man in the eye, considering the paths laid out. It ultimately took far less thought than it should have as she turned to prepare.

Hold the shield until they were in sight of town, but hold just enough focus back to be ready to attack faster. First though, she could work some within the mundane to improve their odds, and lay her cards on the table. Eibor was her first point, a simple question to draw on the other source, “Eibor, can you tell anything further from the artifact? I can tell that this is necromantic in nature, but little more. Any knowledge you have to offer would be appreciated.”

She turned to the men in the same breath, her voice business-like, “I think I can get us there, but I want to rely on that as little as possible. If the both of you can help me find and use some suitable wood, I can help reinforce the caravan. It won’t be as good as it would be treated and handled by a proper carpenter, but I at least have the knowledge from.” Here her voice trailed off, returning more thoughtful, and with a gesture revealing her skeletally thin scarred arm, “My father, even if my body isn’t quite up to the challenge.”

She reached out and tapped on the table, safely well away from the artifact, before speaking again, “Once we have shored things up as well as possible, we should simply depart. Give as little preparation time and availability of attrition tactics as we can.” With only a little bit of her uncertainty and her fear showing, she knew she had to make a demonstration. Dismissing her less visible shield she raised a hand, forming a cradle of her long thing figures and creating a visible bubble of a shield. When she spoke her voice was entirely unaffected by the effort and confident genuine or not, “I can shield us until we get there. Hopefully that will be enough, although I will warn you now that if it isn’t I cannot maintain it and attack at the same time. If it comes to that, focus on keeping the caravan intact. If I can’t kill the damned thing we will have bigger problems.

[ @LumeNym , BlueXBlood ]​

 

[BlueXBlood]

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

The silence that accompanied the party's waiting was deafening... at least in the mind of Aris', which found itself completely fixated on the looming thought of the creature. Her senses stood on edge, waiting for just the faintest sign of its hideous form, that she might be able to cleave more from its flesh and finally end this ordeal. But instead... there was just waiting. The sound of its clicking mandible taunted her, tempting her to what would have been recklessly charging to her death. She could only imagine the piercing limbs that waited to lunge at either of them. Was it that clever that it would imitate their own ambush? Did they really have that much to fear from the creature?

As the seconds passed, her own patience and anticipation felt more draining than the fight she was bracing herself for. Perhaps a sacrifice was necessary... Maybe she ought to drag the monster out and let the half-orcs subdue it, leaving her at the mercy of their intuition. She considered it deeply for a moment. As fate would have it, though, the bard, from across the archway, signed a gesture to the Seeker. Wait. Aris furrowed her brow with a searching expression, trying to understand what sort of action Khadija had been meditating on amidst Aris' complacent ponderings.

With a tumultuous shriek, Khadija's saber carved through the face of the spider, leaving it with a grotesquely mangled visage. At that moment, the floodgates of adrenaline had opened, and Aris could feel that combat had begun. She kept herself hidden in the shadows of the room while the bard enticed the creature over to the balcony, biding her time and watching for opportunity. In the flash of a moment, as soon as Aris sensed cues of an attack from the creature, she lunged forward and lanced the length of her blade into the joint of an intact leg. With the rebounding of her momentum, she then heaved her blade out and through the creature's flesh, riving the leg entirely. Every movement in that single attack channeled the very most strength that the Seeker could muster in hopes that with one concentrated blow, the gladiator could end it from above.

As her sword flew out and sprayed her with blood, she staggered backward to collect her strength again. She looked hopefully up to the balcony. It was the gladiator's turn.

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

 

[Rohan]

[✦] Hunadi Dralis- Group 3​

The feeling of a hand on Hunadi’s shoulder jarred him briefly before realizing it belonged to Jac’aal. “ I don't think he hears you anymore” the vagabond spoke gently. Hunadi nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. His comrade was right, Hammerfist was nothing more that a lump of flesh in armor now. He hadn’t realized how much rage had erupted from within himself until he tried to pick up the dagger that had fallen from his hand after removing the tips of Hammerfist’s ears. The blade clinked lightly against the stone floor as trembling hands gathered it once again. Settle down....you’ve still got a battle to survive Hunadi reminded himself, drawing in a breath and releasing it slowly. ” Now, how about you help me, I mean we help each other get out of this, eh?” Jac’aal spoke to the group as he grabbed Hammerfist by the leg and scoured the room for supplies.

It was odd how quickly strangers could bond and begin to move fluidly as a group. Well, extreme torture and the threat of death could really force them together, but so far they holding their own. At least Hunadi thought so. He noticed Maude was as fiery as ever, leaping into the fray with her tendrils of blood slashing and whipping about. What a powerful feeling, to come crashing out of what was most likely supposed to be the room they died in- hauling their captor out as if he was a banner of rebellion for their tiny squadron.

Keeping close to the others as guards seemed to flood the hallways, Hunadi grabbed a few items that were strewn about the room. Some of the smaller items he jammed into his boots and pockets to save for later. In one hand, he wrapped a thick chain around his forearm, imitating Maude’s tendrils and using it to snatch away a few spears. His other hand gripped the dagger, slashing at anyone who had found themselves too close. “ Shall we keep count of how many guards we get?” he asked, feeling his rage shift into adrenaline and then amusement. ” Loser must buy a round for the others at the first pub we find when we escape.” he proposed, grunting as he swung the chain into a guard’s head. While his cell mates progressed forward, he made sure to cover the rear should the guards try to circle around as they forced their way into the open. He could already taste the fresh mead on his lips. Perhaps if they had extra time, they could search for some in the compound.

Goonfire AriAriAbabwa escapist
​

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

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

The crowd pushed and shoved, clubbed and punched like an undulating wave of corrupted flesh, bodies colliding in a grotesque dance. Blood, sweet and sickly, began to fill the cracks between cobblestones as teeth were sent flying and skulls were split. A few of the more daring rioters made opportunistic swipes at the party, but after Arnou liberated one man's steaming intestines from his stomach, most sought out easier prey upon which to vent their anger and frustration. Their blood was up now and nothing could stop them.

Black crows cawed incessantly over the din of the mob as they watched from the parapets above, eager for the feast that was soon to follow. One crow stood apart from the others, precariously perched on a time-worn statue whose features faded long ago. Its pure white feathers stood in contrast to those other crows who shied away from it, and its dark eyes watched the frenzied scene below with an uncanny intelligence. Then, the white crow spread its wings like an unfurled banner and launched itself into the air, a spectral figure against the dying light of the sun. The wind carried it aloft, swift and unerring, towards a gleaming white tower to the north. No other birds followed.


Amidst this pit of chaos, Atychía's newest denizens made their escape. They slipped down a nearby street as the mob raged, trailed only by a few shambling figures who soon gave up their pursuit, their breathing quickly growing ragged and shallow. Arnou led the other two men through narrow and labyrinthine streets, choked with refuse and the detritus of a decaying island.

As they climbed higher and higher into Atychía's upper reaches, the streets occasionally opened up just enough to catch a glimpse of a white spire piercing the sky. The Agonos Conclave. The closer they drew to it, the more destitute and sickly those on the street appeared. Only the healthy could make regular journeys up and down the tortuous climb. The sick, fearing they may not be able to make the trek, chose to squat in these wretched shacks nearest the tower, fearing the day they might be unable to carry their broken bodies to the Conclave's gates for their salvation.

The sun just touched the water's edge in a furious blaze as the party arrived at Arnou's home, if it could be called that. Four walls and a roof, both riddled with holes. Better than some had in Atychía. If the others wished to learn something about Arnou from the quarters he kept, not much could be discerned from its threadbare furnishings. The city below was quiet now, like a camp before battle. Soon, though, the upper district would be swarmed with penitents and alms-seekers, the sick and the dying, as the Conclave opened their doors to a select few.

 

[Goonfire]

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

---

The world around the leper had grown quiet and gray, drained of sound and color as he stood there in shock. In that moment, had the legions of the Hells assailed him, he'd have been oblivious to their approach. It was only when he felt the tug on his arm that he returned to the hellish reality. Fresh blood sprayed all around him, droplets staining his yellow surcoat. His feet instinctively moved to match Dunan's rapid pace.

The people of this island were no longer humanoid; they were but beasts—predators and scavengers, and yet all prey to something worse on the food chain. Sheraga wrenched his hand free of his new companion's grasp once he saw an opportunity. "I'm fine! K-keep moving!" he finally managed, his air of authority coming back to the forefront as he had gathered his faculties. Seizing his chance, he overturned several splintering and rotten planks and a wagon wheel stripped of its iron fittings that were leaning against the wall. Their last few barefooted pursuers were sure to have a harder time continuing after the three.

The steep climb towards the Conclave ensured none from the lower city would follow. Sheraga cursed under his breath, now standing outside Arnou's hut. "Thank you, both of you," he pronounced. "I doubt I would have escaped on my own." After a pause, he raised the visor of his helmet, revealing a scarred and bearded face with waxy skin and a deformed nose. His disease was slowly doing its work, mild swelling deepening the creases of a rugged nordic face.

In the quiet of this crude home, it gave him a moment to think. A seemingly random rock killing a member of his party after people questioned the intent of the Conclave... There was much about that entire situation that didn't add up. "Arnou..." Sheraga started, "What is wrong with the people of this island?" Though he kept his voice down, his tone and cadence built in intensity. "There is something more happening here than mere starvation or desperation. I can smell it, and the odor trails right from that gods-damned spire."

Speaking of smell... He peered out through the holes in the wall, silently wondering where that wild woman—Annik—had gone.

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis SilverFlight


Annik crept along the edge of the roof and peeked over. Though the mob had devolved into violence against itself, at least the people below were finding their spirit. These people had been slaves for too long, and finding one's freedom was often a bloody affair, but for those who fought and lived, they might find something in themselves they hadn't known they were missing. In Annik's opinion, there was always something worth fighting for. She watched as her ragged pack made their way to escape and recognized it as a wise choice considering the swell of numbers and unseen dangerous from above.

Follow. The people below would need to find their own way.

The wild girl ran along the roof tops, leaping from one to the next without too much in the way of difficulty, though even she missed a jump now and again and had to scrabble upwards with flailing arms. Staying within sight of the Sick Man in Yellow Metal was easy enough, though when Annik's clear eyes spotted a white crow fly high overhead, a spirit animal against the harsh sky, her momentum forwards came to a jittery, pinwheeling stop. There was a choice to make: follow the Sick Man in Yellow Metal.... or the bird.

Destiny had brought the Karwi Shwadar to her prophesied target, but the universe did not give blatant signs often, and in Annik's experience, the universe was prone to taking offense if ignored. So, instead of finding her group right away, Annik shifted her track and ran in a different direction, keeping the white bird in her sights and trusting to prophecy to take care of itself in the meantime. When that ghostly crow led Annik to the tower, she wasted no time in climbing the outer wall. Or, at least she would have, if a great dread had not descended upon her chest like a stone. Annik gulped heavily and frowned, letting herself slide down a few feet...... and she found her fears lessened. It wasn't THAT high, this was easily scalable. She could do this. Annik tried a second time to climb the wall, but again, her ascent was curtailed by an unnatural, nameless horror, something that whispered unbidden to the hind brain and smelled of unfathomable danger. Her heart was a hummingbird in her chest for absolutely no good reason whatsoever.

Magic.

There was magic in this place, and it was making her feel things.

Annik was outraged at the notion of some magic user, wielding unnatural powers against her; she was the Karwi, and how dare she feel fear! Irrational anger drove her upwards, right up until she perched on the wall's edge, able to see into the courtyard below. It was a very short-lived victory. The churning in the girl's stomach finally curdled in on itself and made her gag onto the white stone. Stubbornness and a diffuse, general sense of defiance kept her there a moment or two longer, but when she retched a second and then a third time, the wild woman let herself climb back down into what passed for normalcy in this cursed place.

Even bravery had to bow to wisdom, sometimes.

Her knees were the rippling reflections of knees in a puddle of water, and her breath was weak and sour. This time, Annik did not scale the nearest building and leap effortlessly from one to the next, but simply walked on the ground, grateful for its stability beneath her feet. Stupid magic. The experience left her wanting to feel the air against her scalp, and so she removed her wolf-head and pulled down the leathers across her face, breathing deep and constant, despite the overwhelming stink.

As an unintentional result of exposing her face to the open air, the Sick Man In Yellow Metal made himself more easily known to Annik on the wind, and she began to walk that way. As she journeyed along the scent trail, Annik spoke with the crows, a small cluster of them crowding around her in a squawking cloud. She chatted with them about the tower and found horror in their hearts as well as hers. They, too, could only fly so high when near to the tallest-and-straightest-stone-place, before instinctual fear drove them back and away. The news was grimmer to Annik than it might have been to another.

It was one thing to use magic against man. It was quite another to use magic against the Children of Mahra, against beasts.

One was personally offensive.

The other was offensive to the Wild.

Stranger still, it seemed these crows could not speak to the white crow, or at least, the white crow did not deign to answer. And, to top off a small stink-pile of bad news, the crows could not see inside the tallest-and-straightest-stone-place. To the crows, this was proof positive that all the best food was kept inside. Why else would everyone try so hard to get in? Yes, the man-food inside must be both sublime and abundant, all the more tempting for its mystery. Annik did not disavow the birds of their faith in Tower Food. For all she knew, her corvid friends might be right, but they should have been able to see inside on dark days.

But...... it seemed they couldn't.

More fowl foul magic.

Eventually, the trail led her to a building, indistinguishable to Annik's eye from any of the ones beside it. They were all boxes with holes, uncomfortably close to cages in shape and purpose...... but she smelled the others, now. The Not Man, Arnou, even the brains of the raven hair. Gone, but still with the pack, in his own way. The girl stood at the threshold of the building for a long, long moment, remembering the trees. The killing frost. The stone. Flowing rivers. The smell of snow. The musk of predatory fur........ she brought these things to mind and held them close, and then walked in. It was important to remember who she was and where she came from, lest the poison of Civilization worm its way into her spirit.

"Prophesied One? Not Man? Arnou?" Annik spoke for their sake rather than hers; their scent was heavy in the air, though Arnou's far more than the others, but sneaking up on someone she wasn't actively hunting would have been...... rude. So, she called out, before rounding the corner and coming upon what...... was probably Arnou's den. It was less filled with things than other box-places, so that was nice, but its harsh angles still made her eyes ache.

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Dunan kept pace with the others, letting Arnou lead them through the maze of a crumbling city. The higher they climbed, the dryer it got, and the wind now and again turned blessedly sweet from the salt blowing off of the sea. Dunan kept diligently silent as they moved, marking the way they went. As the sun crawled towards the horizon he began glancing at the Western horizon with an uneasy expression, though he tried to hide it. There had been no sign of Annik, and Dunan had lost her strange, wild scent. If her nose was as good as he guessed though, he had no doubt she could find them. Dunan's mind had just slipped into wonderings of just what magic encircled that woman, and if it was similar to his own, when they came to an abrupt halt outside a ramshackle old house.

It was old, and wind-worn, but sturdy, as much as the buildings were here. The abode didn't look much better than Arnou's bedroll, and Dunan thought of his promise.

The knight removed his helmet, and now Dunan saw what the shamed cleric had been yelling about.
"You are welcome, good knight, and I don't know, you still look fit to take on a mob." He tried to put a drop of cheer into his voice, finding it hard after all that had happened.
"I'm truly sorry about your friend." Dunan consoled solemnly. "Had you known him long?"

It wasn't a moment after that he heard a voice call out. Taking a moment to realize how she had addressed him, Dunan smiled.
"You can use my name, it's Dunan." Dunan told her, hoping her title for him wouldn't raise suspicion with the others. "I'm glad to see you in one piece, what of the brutes who attacked your companion?" A darker side of Dunan hoped she had dispatched them, but that was chastised by the reasoning: those men were likely desperate, terrified. This place...it did something to people.

He wasn't the only one to realize it too. Sheraga looked to Arnou for answers, and, after one more nervous glance at the sinking sun, so did Dunan.
"Why don't I have a go at mending your roll while you tell us what you know?"

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire

 

[Aegis]

Group 2 ( BlueXBlood Corn Orc Vandal Zazz )​

The group lunged forward with all the fear-soaked ferocity they could dredge up from their weary bones as they cut and sunk steel into flesh. A shriek bellowed from the spider's mouth before being replaced with a strangled gurgle as the half-orc hacked away at its remaining mandible, and the creature shot forward from its hole swinging its limbs wildly--even the deadened legs saw life once more as they curled out and stomped at the ground. It was clear the creature was beyond wounded, these were its death throes.

A final, fateful plunge from Aris saw the creature collapse under its own weight before it shot back to its feet and stumbled forward only to collapse again. The Spider spun with a weak randomness as it swiped at nothing at all--bookshelves and piles of literature upheaved by its pointless, desperate assault. Squeaking and crunching drowned the room as thick sprays of blood sloshed from its wounded, overburdened legs; Aris's most recent attack worse than those before so that when it attempted to stand the leg tore free from the joint with a sickened crunch of flesh and tendon that saw green meat and black blood pour forth like a fountain from its seizing body.

Mustering its remaining strength, The Spider swung toward the direction its leg was torn from--its mind spinning from pain, and reared up on its legs to bring its full might down one last time. There was no enemy there. In fact, its torturous wallowing had unveiled an impression in the stone, a depiction of Seekers caging some kind of monster to those with a quick eye. Claw met stone in an explosion of force that shook the mountain, and in that moment whatever story was being told by the carving was shattered as the floor caved under the weight of the beast; the resulting hole swallow The Spider first by its legs as it shrieked before the rest of its body followed. The new chamber was revealed by the rapid crumbling of stone as their foe hurled to the bottom some thirty feet before landing with a sickening crunch followed by a screen of dust and rock that obscured any further notion of what happened to the creature.

Dirt particles hung in the air as the structure around them shook but settled even despite the newfound damage to its foundation. Within the hole, a staircase curved around the outside of what was otherwise a steep drop into a flat room whose sole company was a large, chained set of double-doors and sconces mounted with petrified torches. By all accounts, it was buried, forgotten, locked away, even. If the party thought they could find a moment to breath, this new revelation would certainly take the comfort out of their night.

 

[Zazz]

Group 2: Aegis Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Xen6n

---

Up on the balcony, Bal'kafaz dutifully watched over the two women below. She rolled her shoulder in an effort to satisfy the raging itch across her back, but to no avail. Slowly, the great gooey beast came forth from its hiding place in the dark hallway. It was clearly more cautious, now with its eyes shriveled and several legs lamed. Bal'kafaz could see the effort with which it held its own weight, recognized its will to survive. This was an intelligent creature. The gladiator remained still, in case the spider's eyes had more function than it seemed. She wasn't sure if the stench of burned flesh originated from herself, or the beast.

The creatures vocals pierced the air unpleasantly; Khadija's blade hacked off the rest of its mandibles, rendering its ugly face even more grotesque. Black blood spattered the dusty shelves, seeping into moldy books. Bal' was thankful they had taken her advice to heart and continued to disable its legs; Aris destroyed another, causing the creature to enter a deranged death dance. Now was her time, thought Bal'. She gripped Khadija's dagger and positioned herself in a gap in the balcony rail, readying her aching muscles to pounce upon the spider as it neared. Her knees were bent, and the spider rose up to strike at air, and...

The half-orc grasped the railing as the floor gave out, the whole Sanctuary rumbling. The balcony shook, and a chunk of it broke under her foot and fell into the abyss below. Bal'kafaz nearly went with it, loosing her footing; she fell on her rear and scampered backwards, her face pale and her heart in her stomach. Finally, the Sanctuary stood still, save for the dust swirling in the air. Bal' broke the silence, calling hoarsely, "Let's never do this again."

Slowly, carefully, Bal'kafaz got to her feet and dusted herself off, sneezing thrice in the dust. A quick glance over the rail confirmed that both the mute and the bard were indeed alive. She hauled R'hllor down to the main floor where she sat him far from the gaping hole in the stone floor. With a heavy sigh and a frown, she peered down into the room below. "Guess I'll be keeping your blade a little longer," she said to Khadija.

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

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

Khadija darted back gracefully as the creature's limbs thrashed out in every direction blindly, tearing through decaying tomes and dusty air but not much else. Blood sprayed across the library, eagerly soaked up by moth-eaten pages as if it would restore the faded text. She kept well out of its spindly leg's range, watching with a morbid fascination the creature's final moments. Khadija spotted Bal brace herself for a final plunge into the beast's vulnerable upper carapace, but before she could call out to warn against this unneeded risk, the ground underfoot began to tremble.

Stones began to fall out from under Khadija in great chunks and she staggered backwards in a frantic dash. The bard slipped on a bloody piece of parchment and scrambled on all fours like a crab to avoid falling into the same dark pit as the spider. When the crumbling floor finally ceased, Khadija laid at the shaft's edge, legs dangling into empty, dust-filled air as she gasped for breath. Slowly, her ragged pants were replaced by laughter with a tinge of madness at the edges.

There's a decent ballad in here somewhere. Serenade of Silken Death. Working title. Nothing fancy. Something for drunken sots in the tavern.

Once Khadija was sure she was still alive, the bard got to her feet, checked that the blood now soaking into her robes was only the spider's, and cleaned her saber on a piece of paper before sheathing it. She wiped her bloodied face with her off-hand, which only succeeded in smearing the viscous ichor around like some primal war paint. Khadija peered over the ledge, but could make out little amid the settling dust and fluttering paper.

Khadija turned to her companions, who were gathered around the library's newest renovation. "Well, that worked better than expected. I don't suppose you knew about this little feature, Aris?" she asked the mute woman. Wheels began to turn in the Bard's mind. This place was hidden, layers upon layers of concealment. Khadija knew something of great value must be below them, and she was eager to find out what the Seeker's founders had been so desperate to hide from the world. Riches? Knowledge? Whatever it was, the bard was not willing to let it stay a secret.

"Guess I'll be keeping your blade a little longer," Bal said.

"Hah! Be glad I let you hold it as long as you did," Khadija replied as she nimbly swiped the dagger from Bal's grip. "But I will do you one favor more favor to add to your growing debt to me; I'll grab your old one." Jambiya in hand and flickering blue flame in the other, Khadija began descending the winding stairs. Her legs screamed with fatigue at each step, and she adopted a strange, bandy-legged walk down the spiral staircase, leaning one arm against the outside wall, as if such a vertical form of locomotion was alien to her.

"Besides, I'm not in the habit of leaving a job half-done!" She called out, ready to deliver a final blow to the spider if the beast still drew breath.

 

[Aegis]

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

Arnou's body was separate from his thoughts--small strings of actions stabbing through an opaque veil that had settled on his mind were the only connection. As they turned and fled, it could hardly be said that the Frenzied Man looked back at his charges for more than a moment when the dawn of his promise shattered the midnight haze that kept adrenaline flowing through his weary veins. This distance almost made sense to him as the crowd tore itself asunder, but as they made distance it seemed a more invasive and isolating presence.

His eyes dimmed around the edges as they turned onto the hill upon which sat his 'home', that cursed, abandoned villa. Arnou could feel his heart hammering on the drums of his ears as his breath drowned out the noise of the world around him: the whistle of wind, the steps of others, the distant clash still audible even as they climbed. He stopped only for a moment to cast an empty glance over his shoulder and make sure that he was still dragging the dead weight--

Arnou stopped mid-step on the path and at once he felt a weight crush down upon his chest as he stared toward the ground, expressionless. They were his companions--charges if nothing else, and he needed to do well to remember his allies in his current situation. Shaking the fog from his head for a moment, The Exiled Lord looked back to his compatriots, "Not much longer now. It isn't much to look at, but it's well far enough away. Nobody should bother us up here."

He started up the pathway once more until they reached his small compound; it was exactly as he remembered it: the ruin of the villa, the dry fountain, his empty servant's shed. It was familiar now. At some point, Arnou may have thirsted for what was once a place of nobility, but now the building was far beyond any tastes he could even attempt to dream up. Such was his lot, this vacant and crumbling abode. They disappeared behind the withered door and into his spartan quarters.

Elevated above the city, Arnou felt himself begin to stitch back together as he made his way to the large bay window and swept away the tattered cloth cover to peer down upon the bay, one of the last objective beauties of these Isles. What peace he could afford began to swell in his chest once more, but still an emptiness swallowed his eyes as he gazed--lost in deep reflection that barred him from the conversation until he was addressed by Sheraga. Arnou pivoted his body from the sill of the window to regard the famine-framed face of their cleric. Despite his best attempt at calming himself, his eyes lashed toward him with a distrust that drew his jaw taut enough to show teeth before he let out a breath relaxing his guarded demeanor. A semblance of light and color returned to his complexion as he spoke, "I... I don't know."

Perhaps that wasn't the answer they wanted, but if the secrets of the Conclave were so easily uncovered then there wouldn't any questions left to ask at all, "It's difficult to get in there. The place is so eerie to look at it's a wonder anybody wants to go there at all. Whatever they have, you don't need it enough to risk going in, but you won't listen. Nobody ever does. It's all about what they 'might' be able to do for you--never about how anybody who goes in never comes out. I've never seen it. Nobody has. Still, people have no hope left, so they cast this gambit. I stopped trying to convince people to turn away a long time ago. Now, I just take their goods and get them where they want to go."

Arnou vomited out the speech as though he had sliced open his guts and The Man's truest thoughts came raining out in a manic spill, but before he could continue he was interrupted by both Dunan's offer and The Northwoman's call, "Sure, if you wouldn't mind."

The Weary Man dropped his pack and produced his thread-worn bedroll before calling out into the dark at the woman, "You're fine to come in!"

Standing back in the window, he continued, "There's nothing good that will come of being on this island. If you want me HONEST advice, leave on the next boat. There's nothing for you here, and you seem like good people. This place just rots a man."

It was bleak, Arnou's honest truth. It didn't exactly have many answers, but neither did he, in truth.

 

[escapist]

Jac'aal the Vagabond
​

When the stout, armored forms of the guards flooded the room, Jac'aal stood too close to the door and in a too compromising position, holding the beaten Hammerfist in his hand. Quickly, he stepped back, holding the barely living body of the Chief as a shield in front of his robust body. With that he could manage to block the guard's attack who was the closest to him. "Don't attack we got your Chief...!" Jac'aal tried to negotate just in the moment the guard stabbed through Hammerfist with his spear, barely missing the vagabond. "These dwarves aren't joking!" He thought, grinding his teeth together, leaping as far from the overly enthusiastic guard as he could.

Now the sadistic Chief breathed out his last bits of his soul - if he had any after Maude's bone-crushing, blood-draining revenge - Jac'aal realized that the lifeless body was no use to him anymore. So, as one does, he threw the fat corpse in the air, aiming at the seven guards who tried to stop him and his very new comrades. Speaking of his comrades, as his animalistic, bloodied eyes followed Hammerfist's body flying through the air, he noticed as the scarlet blood started to emerge and swim in air, creating elongated tendrils, fluttering towards that handless, brute-looking woman who had already been attacking the dwarves with all she got, similar to the young man with the sun-kissed skin. A smile appeared on Jac'aal's elongated face; he truly appreciated their determination.

From the blissful second of joy and appretiation the sharp pain pulled him back to the reality as the spear of the restless guard scratched his defenseless side, barely missing any vital point. "You little toad..." Jac'aal groaned, more in frustration than pain and stepped aside in order to evade further attacks. His right hand was already behind him, searching for any weapon that maybe had been layed against the wall by chance. Luck was on his side this time and his long fingers bent around the shaft of something that felt like a hammer. Without lamenting on the identity of his newfound weapon his arm moved quickly and precisely, parrying the dangerous end of the spear just in time before it could slide through his chest.

For a split second both were surprised, almost startled by the perfect timing of the parry. Jac'aal was the one however, who moved firstly, rising the hammer and smashing it into the side of the guard's head. More correctly into the guard's helmet that cracked instantly under the pressure. The blood flooded his face, distorted by pain and anger but before he could regain his stance, Jac'aal rised his sinewy arm again and the hammer cut through the air mercilessly, cutting through the spear, the armor, the flesh and bones with loud, wet thuds. As the body fell on the floor, Jac'aal took a deep breath and looked up, his eyes darting between his fierce comrades and the other slaves who were watching the battle curiously. "Hey! Enjoying the show?! How'bout you get here and-" His sentence was cut by attack of another guard...

 

[Tool]

GROUP 1
Goonfire Corn Orc Vandal Aegis SilverFlight




Annik entered a room full of harsh angles and straight lines, a floor that didn't give at all to her feet, her face exposed and silvery-white hair around her shoulders. The three men she knew would be here were standing about, and the Not-Man told her his name was Dunan. Arnou and Dunan and The Sick Man in Yellow Metal. When Annik spoke, it was largely in response to the question Dun'an had asked, her voice frank and regretful.

"Gone. There was too much powdered skin-dust from the building in the air, and I could not find their scent. No tracks to follow in the dirt. No broken twigs to point their way."

She looked contemptuous of them and disappointed with herself. "I do not know the dusts of Civilization well enough to tell one building from the next. All the buildings smell the same."

A hand lifted as she spoke, the arm opposite holding her wolf-headdress close against her side. Her gestures were grand and sweeping, arching against the memory of sky and weaving the retelling of an adventure. "I saw a crow, white as a summer cloud and large. It would not speak with me. I followed the Omen instead of the Sick Man in Yellow Metal, and it led me to the Tallest Stone Place...... Tower? Yes. It led me to the Tower."

With the solemnity of a good storyteller, Annik lowered her arm to hold up two fingers.

"Twice I climbed an outer wall. The first time, I felt fear come upon me, and I could force myself no further. I returned downwards and readied myself. The second time I climbed, I felt the same fear at the same place. It was magic. The Karwi will not be defeated by wall, and so I fought wall, in here."

The hair of her temple received the brush of fingertips to show what battleground had been used in the battle. "When I reached the top, I saw a square place with trapped plants and white stone paths below me. My body kept rejecting the magic that was trying to get inside me, and so I.... I left."

This looked to be something of an embarrassing admission, but she followed it with a dismissive lift of her shoulders. "I will return, later."

A glance behind her accompanied that same, storytelling hand, pointing through the walls of the building as though they held no importance. "With many crows, I walked. We spoke of many things. They feel the same magic-fear from the Tallest Stone Place, and they cannot see in the.... The..... "

This time, annoyance and helplessness at the stupid, foreign words sparked in her gaze. "The ice-that-stays-but-is-not-cold in the wall-holes. THAT thing."

Her chin gestured at the window in Arnou's room.

"The crows cannot see through those. The crows believe there is much food within.... But they are crows. They would wish for food anywhere. The Omen crows do not speak to them, either. Not in fighting or mating or eating. They might be spirit crows or magic crows....... but they are not true crows, and they do not answer to the Wild. The crows fear the Tallest Stone Building. Magic against beasts is wrong. An insult to the Wild."

The girl's attention turned towards Arnou and her voice became as one teaching a lesson to one who should really have learned it by now; "All Civilization rots the souls of men and keeps them in chains. That is the purpose of Civilization. But..... Destiny brought me to the Sick Man in Yellow Metal."

"Now, an Omen has shown me the source of other chains, wrapped around the necks of every Sick Man and Sick Woman on this island. The people here are twice cursed, once by Civilization and once by those who control the Tallest Stone Place. If I can break one curse...... perhaps I can learn how to break the other."

With curiosity in her face, she walked to the wall-hole and peered out into the city. "Slaves live in chains and accept their fate. Prisoners are free men who have not given up on their freedom. But a HERO...... like the Ancestors...... a Hero in chains will not only free himself...... he will free everyone else he finds. A Hero gives Slaves and Prisoners back their freedom and gives them a second chance to decide their own fate. The Sick People in this city do not know they are in chains..... but I think they are beginning to sense it. They are becoming angry. It is good."

A dismissive hand waved away the notion of leaving as she turned back around. "I find this place disgusting. Civilization has invaded this island. And it STINKS ALL OVER. But......It does not matter if being here makes me want to empty my stomach. I am not Civilized. The Omen of the white crow has shown me my prey. Those in the Tallest Stone Place dare insult the Wild and they have put a second set of chains around Sick People. I carry no chains. I will live as a Hero and give these people back their freedom. If I should die...... I will die with purpose on my lips and the Wild in my veins, and I will take my place among my Ancestors. It would be a good death. Leave if you choose."

The girl's gaze lifted to the horizon. For Annik...... the time of legend never ended. Every battle was the greatest battle, every hunt the grandest hunt, and even the smallest actions held deep importance. Every hill was the hill to die on.

"I will stay and those who live in the Tallest Stone Place will learn to fear my name. They will fear the wrath of the Wild. And then.... they will die, or I will."

 

[BlueXBlood]

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

As the creature thrashed about, Aris made a single, desperate attempt to flee from its final fit of destruction. There wasn't a moment to spare for grace. Rather, she simply threw herself out of the way and prayed that it would somehow be enough. The crash of their surroundings resounded deafeningly from behind her, and as she resigned herself to her position on the ground, suddenly, the ground sank, and the Seeker's heart skipped a beat as she felt it give way underneath her, clambering to safety. Then, just like the dust of the sanctuary and the smell of blood, belonging to something no less than demonic, silence had finally settled in the air. Still prone on the floor, Aris let her head fall beside her hands to rest for just a moment, heaving one sigh after another.

Bal's comments then quickly broke the silence, calling the Seeker back to her feet so that she might evaluate the others. The gladiator seemed alright, which, really, just meant no more mangled than before. A quick glance from the half-elf searched for Khadija on the lower floor, but she couldn't quite be seen. It wasn't until she heard her jaunty tone echo from the newly made hole that Aris discovered the spiraling descent that was revealed by the chaos. The sight brought a furrowed brow upon her face, glowing with a solemn sense of deep thought. The feelings of what should've been called fascination wandered so far into ambiguity that what Aris felt was much more vague, yet alluring, putting a much more cold and vacant expression on her face.

"I don't suppose you knew about this little feature, Aris?"

The half-elf couldn't really recall... She certainly hadn't seen such a thing in this sanctuary, but the question tempted her to search her memory of the last one she had been in. She knew of many rooms and passages, so abundantly that their individual purposes eluded her entirely, quickly putting an end to her valueless train of thought. It mattered less anyway, whatever her mind could remember... It wasn't going to sway her from exploring, regardless. Her adrenaline still had yet to fade, and after having familiarized herself with the surface of the sanctuary's crumbling halls, the uncovered room stirred a glowing curiosity within the Seeker.

Shortly after the bard, Aris began to descend the steps as well, the dimming light bringing out an iridescent sheen to her silver eyes amidst the gradual darkness. Her steps sent bits of debris skipping down the spiraling stairs and falling into the depths below, all while the lingering dust permeated the air. She kept her revolver aimed steadily below them, watching in case the creature still had the strength to rear its ugly head again. Even if that ordeal was officially said and done, she could only imagine what might be lingering deeper in the passage. Was she scared, though? Again, it felt ambiguous... Sure, possible death was not a pleasant thing to remain wary of, but something about the nearing exploration felt thrilling, and perhaps she didn't mind clashing with yet another monster. It was times like this that she felt alive, anyhow.

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

 

[Goonfire]

GROUP 3
HAMMERFIST CITADEL

AriAriAbabwa escapist Rohan ​

---

Hammerfist's body fell limp onto the floor, his armor and bones shattered—an unceremonious death for a barbarous man. The guards dwindled in number. Terrified, they ran for their lives. "SOMEONE, SOUND THE ALARMS!" one shouted after discarding his weapon. "THEY'RE DEMONS!" another fleeing dwarf screamed.

"Amazing!" the tenor torturer remarked while clapping. "We gathered your belongings, and our friends secured you a boat back to the mainland. Come on, we'll take my route out of here."

"I think you mean my route," the deeper-voiced man corrected him.

"Time," the scribe reminded them. "You can argue about who devised the route later."

As the three spies moved to open the secret door in the supply closet, a peculiar glow emanated from the workshop. Beneath Hammerfist's bloodied clothing and sundered armor, otherworldly blue light emanated. His eyes opened to reveal a similar glow and the broken bones seemed to set themselves, limbs untwisting with sickening noises. He rose onto his lands and knees and crawled like some deranged, feral beast... towards the standing, mechanical body. The animated, drained body tore away more of its coverings, revealing the light came from arcane runes tattooed onto its very flesh.

The automaton body turned its head to make eye contact with Hammerfist's corpse. The latter's eyes went wide and bulged until they popped and a torrent of energy transferred from sockets to sockets and from mouth to mouth. The metal body then seized up...

... and went still.

Though the steel golem moved nary a hair, the arcane glow lingered inside of it, faint but slowly building in intensity. The flesh once again sank onto the floor, inanimate once again.

"We should go..." the scribe exhaled worriedly.

 

[Aegis]

Group 2 ( Corn Orc Vandal BlueXBlood Zazz )​

The slow descent into the bottom of the staircase was one of a building tension in the stomachs of all those who ventured forward into the unknown. It was a darkness that swallowed their eyes until they could cut through the storm of dust and make out the loose shapes at the bottom. There were legs--outstretched and primed, near a pile of rubble near the bottom, and while one's immediate reaction may have been to flee it was clear that the Spider which owned them had been buried under rock. It was a shallow grave; boulders crushed into its large frame and midnight viscera drained slowly from the breached carapace and wounds the party had inflicted. Their hardship had been rewarded with a victory even if they hadn't been the ones to inflict the final blow.

Otherwise, a door was positioned to their side. It was at some point chained and locked with metal looping through a series of four rings that served to prevent the door from ever being opened, but the falling rock had snapped these taut locks and left them in crumpled piles on either side of the entryway. The large, wooden doors had opened just enough to reveal a narrow, long hallway that led into naught more than what appeared to be a black abyss. It was stone, fine cut--clearly someone had made this hallway with some intent. If one really strained their eyes, they could make out tools tucked into small shelves that had been carved into the walls either side of the hallway. The space was occupied solely with instruments that ranged from knives, to corkscrews, to pliers, to hammers, and an abundance of clouded vials and jars replete with dusty syringes.

A small noise, rhythmic. Shaky breaths. Shaky indeed. Monotonous. It was almost like the breathing was a practiced labor. Painful. Desperate. There was never a hint of panic, but instead the low, solemn pinch of acceptance with each full release of air.

 

[Goonfire]

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

---

Sheraga heaved a depressed sigh when Dunan asked about the deceased. "No. We had only met on the boat, but to die young and so suddenly, it is... unfair." He found it difficult to recall much information, but was certain foul play was involved. No one could convince him otherwise.

Arnou had made several good points about the Conclave, elaborating upon topics only briefly touched upon by the warring commoners in the marketplace. "Oh yes, I heard," he added swiftly. "The Conclave is suspicious and I would like to leave, but I..."

Sheraga paused respectfully as the wild woman announced her presence. "I somehow knew you would be safe," he mused before listening to her tale. A shiver crept up his spine as Annik spoke of strange magic halting her entry and spooking the crows. "You are no lesser person; that I can tell. White crows that do not communicate with the others, some dread barrier, and murder disguised as an accident... This is the work of witches."

His forehead creased and he let out a slow, tense breath. "Arnou... I hate that I must defy your recommendations and my own better judgment, but I am sincere in my intent to help. If there are witches poisoning this land, then I, Sheraga, former Captain of the 13th Nurite Crusader Company, will purge them." He drew his mace and raised it, small runes on its flanged head producing tiny motes of white sacred fire.

 

[SilverFlight]

Dùnan Skye

Group 1

Dunan took the bedroll and laid it out, producing a needle and a spool of thread from his worn bag. He sewed, expertly and silently as he listened to the others in turn.
Annik's tale was a wonder, he looked at her with admiration.
"Not just anyone can stand against mind magic." He murmured quietly.
The resolve of his companions lit a fire in Dunan's heart too.
"They are both right of course. It would be wrong to leave this town in the state that it is. No, there is something certainly foul afoot here, and I agree, I want to see this through. Make things better...if I can."

Dunan stood, holding the roll out to admire his work. He handed it back to Arnou. The worst tears had been mended, the largest holes, patched. One patch he had cut out into the shape of a wolf's head and he offered Arnou a smile as his eyes fell over it.
"Wolves seem to be a theme with you." He observed playfully. "But there is one biting question I have, Arnou. If things are as bad as you say they are on this island, then...what brought you?"

He listened intently as Arnou answered, but after that, his eyes fell upon the vanishing light and a cold sweat broke on the back of his neck.
"Ah, well, I think I'll do a little scouting. There are a few rations in my pack, help yourselves while I'm away, please, and do not wait for me. I will be back before dawn truly breaks."
He stepped out of the little hut perhaps a bit more quickly than intended. He wondered if it would rouse suspicion in his something-like-friends, but he was sure it wouldn't be more suspicion than if they watched him transform into a large, hairy dog.
He raced down the steps and bolted down an alley, striving to put as much distance between himself and the others as he could before the curse took him.

Dunan barely made it a quarter mile before the pain forced him to stop. He doubled over, grit his teeth and tried not to make a sound. Tears welled up in his eyes as it felt like his bones were rearranging themselves under his skin. He counted his breaths, quick and shallow. He knew how many it took for the pain to stop.
Eventually it did, and Dunan let out a long, slow whine through the muzzle of a great wolfhound. He shook himself and sighed.

Somewhere in his mind he hoped, that if he performed enough good deeds and acts of kindness, that the curse may be satisfied one day...but if it was true, then it wasn't today.
Dunan turned his paws, and carefully began to pad back to the house, careful to avoid eyes as he went.

((Someone could absolutely have followed him, if you want to find out about the curse right away, I have a feeling Annik would be suspicious if she caught the dog's scent. Dunan still smells like himself.))

Aegis Corn Orc Vandal Tool Goonfire

 

[Corn Orc Vandal]

Khadija Aslan​

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

Khadija cautiously hobbled down the stairs, each step a battle against fatigue and fear. Whatever bravado she summoned up during their fight with the spider had evaporated like morning mist. Her illusory flame cut through the darkness, moreso for her companion's sake than her own, and she could make out beneath the rubble the crumpled form of their slain foe covered in dust and paper and stone. Khadija froze, watching the creature for what felt like an eternity, waiting for it to spring back to life the moment she grew too close. A desperate gambit by the beast to bring her with it to its grave.

But the creature did not stir.

Khadija let out a sharp exhale she didn't realize she'd been holding as her aching body relaxed. Upon reaching the uneven bottom, the bard extinguished her flame, letting her eyes adjust to the now-greyscale world around her, before clambering onto the spider's debris-covered corpse on all fours. It took only a moment for her to find the dagger Bal' plunged into its carapace, and not without some amount of effort, Khadija wrenched it free. Black ichor splattered across her filthy robes, and Khadija gagged as if she weren't already covered in it. The bard turned and tossed the weapon to Bal'.

"Try not to lose it again," the bard scolded her, adding a wink that was lost in the darkness. Khadija studied the fallen foe underneath her. What eyes the creature still possessed were dim now, its life spent. She stared, the rush of victory tangled with a disquiet she could not name. It was far from the first time something, or someone, had tried to kill her. But it was the first time she answered this violence in kind.

Khadija thought of the songs she might sing of this day, of her first real kill, but the notes felt hollow. The weight of the moment pressed on her, a thing unseen but undeniable. Other ballads came to mind, ones of triumph and conquest over beasts more fearsome and malicious than this one, but they never spoke of the silence that followed, the stillness of the world once the struggle was done. They didn't capture the emptiness that came with the end of a life, even one as alien and dark as this. She wasn't about to start weeping over the thing, especially not in front of Bal', the professional slayer, but the uneasy feeling in her gut was not a welcome one.

Khadija brushed the thoughts aside. Something to ruminate over with a bottle of wine, or perhaps a bath. She returned to the dark and dank world around her. Her racing heart slowed after the quiet moment of reflection, and Khadija took in her surroundings more fully. A door, half-rotted and swollen with age, stood before her, heavy locks broken from the debris and half-open. Her companions were still descending the stairs behind her. Khadija shook her head as if to rid herself of the brooding thoughts and hastily approached the door, eager to discover what secrets might lay behind it. The half-orc reached to swing it open, but paused just as her hand pressed against the ancient wood, peering into the near-total darkness beyond. It wasn't the strange, rusted implements that lined the wall that gave her pause, but something she heard within.

Shallow, ragged breaths.

Khadija stumbled back from the door as if it were electrified and fell onto her back before scrambling to a half-upright position, dagger in hand and pointed at the door. She felt ice water in her veins as her heart pounded so violently in her chest she feared it might burst from her ribcage. Images of wretched undead and cursed litches trapped for eons behind lock and key flashed violently through her mind, for nothing else could survive that long in such dire conditions. What kind of madness might centuries of confinement invoke? Khadija was not eager to find out. A week in the Safir Sehi jail was enough to bring her to near-insanity. The bard dropped to a low crouch like some feline about to pounce on their prey, a knife-fighting stance she'd seen in the streets of Kiledo.

"Bal'!" the bard hissed in a low, panicked whisper. "Bal'! There's something behind that door. Alive." Khadija certainly wasn't going to be the first one through the door. She was just fighting the urge to split and run. "Go see what it is."