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Kesmek: Mothers Hide your Children, Darkness Lurks in the Daylight

Timestamp
The 40th of Melora (Morning), The Season of Winter, Era XVIII Post Fractum
Location
Arakmatian Frontierland
Darkmavrck
February 28, 2011 10:56 PM​

[Kesmek] Mother's hide your children, darkness lurks in daylight. (GF'd Closed)

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Outpost Kesmek
The 40th of Melora (Morning)
The Season of Winter
Era XVIII Post Fractum
In the time of the Great Revitalization​

Five long brightenings had passed since the fateful morning when squads had begun to return, the information which they had found being passed on to Commander Makin who immediately sent dispatches to the Sultan Rafiq Al-Hakkar. The camp had grown quiet in the passing rise and falls of the suns and moons, each brightening a few less than the previous returning. In the field the undead had attacked with a new vengeance, massing the fields of green and cutting down any who stood in their way.

Those who had been most crucial to the revelation that indeed the Xet were among them had been asked to rest and wait. Their specific captains gave testament to each member’s strengths and valor in their reports and for that a select few were considered the best hope for a special mission, one that only a fool would openly accept, the goal was to kill the Xet.

It had been the brightening before when two rogues had come limping back to base, their bodies were ripped open and the blood loss each had sustained was beyond repair. The men had simply refused to die however, their will to live and report what they had found surpassed Jalat’s grasp. Although they had to use one another for support as they walked, they had made it, and passed on the crucial directions.

Word spread quickly that the men had found where the detestable creature causing all of this suffering was, and that their brethren were still tracking it to the best of their abilities. Commander Makin had sent word through the camp and asked for those of section eight to prepare, they left at dawn. This dawn was the beginning of the end, and slowly those who would be taking on the task, those who still wished to serve gathered in the thickening fog.

Ahead of them was a full brightening’s hike, followed by a night of camping in the wilderness. At some point they would rendezvous with the other rogues and take up the trail, from there it was simply a matter of how quick they could catch up to that which brought life to death.
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Nimavel Mynendil
March 1, 2011 01:10 AM​

He walked in silence as usual, although his black boots conversed in a soft whisper with the ground beneath him. Nimavel Mynendil had never been prone to indulge in idle discourse. He found it to be a waste of time and breath. More often than not, he became easily agitated with those who attempted to engage in meaningless conversation with him, that is, those rare few with the constitution to brave his callous demeanor first. His reticence notwithstanding, the Lord of House Mynendil was a superb listener. While his hollow gaze generally bespoke inattentiveness, his long ears soaked in everything, not that he needed much prodding to listen on this particular occasion.

There were rumors that the Xet had been found.

The silver earring that hung from his left earlobe chimed almost inaudibly in the wind as he turned his head to regard the rogues, the men who had purportedly stumbled upon the location of the Xet. The mere thought of the legendary insect elicited an unsettling feeling in the elf lord’s gut, a feeling that he seldom experienced: nervousness. He had seen the abominable bug in the undead Legionnaire’s brain; he had seen the heightened power that the undead Legionnaire had consequently exercised. How much more could be expected from its master? A lot more, Nimavel thought uneasily to himself.

He had killed men, women, and children. He had toppled small governments and overthrown rival criminal factions. He had killed an Archmage Necromancer with his bare hands. But the thought of squaring off against a Xet with companions like the useless mage Limbus or the meddling faerie Tiarela did little to boost his confidence. Nimavel sighed and drew the folds of his raven cloak closer about his slender frame, the mantle secured by a clasp fashioned in the shape of a horned owl’s talons: the insignia of House Mynendil. He would have enjoyed his brethren’s companionship any brightening to the medley of fools that he traveled with now.

Perhaps he was a fool for going with them.

The thought had plagued Nimavel ever since he had agreed to accompany Section Eight to its final task: the destruction of the Xet marauder. His knowledge of the abominable race was limited to what he knew from the horror stories, but if there was an ounce of truth in their prose, then he feared what awaited them. The reaper was never far behind him. He sighed and clung to the edge of the dense fog, the Shadow Gaze alerting him to his other comrades in the nearby vicinity. How many of them would not return? He wondered, although he hardly cared.

Sliding his magical gloves, the Claws of the Great Horn, onto his scarred and raw hands, the master assassin flexed his fingers within them to acclimate to the coldness of the enchanted elfin steel. And then he waited, only he did not wait for a prey to come into his sight or for an accomplice to initiate one part of a broader scheme. No, he waited for the others. He waited for those who would march with him to the Xet . . . for those who would march with him to their doom.

Amber Brightwing
March 1, 2011 03:32 PM​

Amber had not been completely convinced that Xet were the one and only explanation to the undead plague. From what they had found and leaning on the knowledge Gazi had provided them with, it seemed to be the most obvious explanation however and when put next to what the other groups had brought in as evidence it was clear: the Xet were back.

The corpses had turned up to be animated by bugs, rather than Arcana or souls. With that fact, the Faerie had lost most of her initial interest in this situation. As there was no Arcana involved, there was nothing to learn from it in that regard and neither was there a need to counter-act the source to prove not all Necromancers were vile. Without the souls, there was less of a drive to exterminate them all to please Jalat either. All that was left were the stories of Xet... and those were more than sufficient to renew her interest in this ordeal.

Every story and story teller seemed to agree that this was the worst possible explanation one could think off, but the Fae was not one to be impressed that easily. She had to agree that while tales tended to be exaggerated, the disappearance of whole legions was a fact and proof that these oversized bugs were not to be underestimated. She had seen an Archmage Necromancer tear through a legion once with ease however and for all the power he had, in the end he had been just another member of a simple mortal race. If the mages that had marched against them would have ambushed him rather than meeting him head on, their strength against his, he would likely have been the one that perished.

Still, she was no fool and she would be very cautious in how she approached this situation, taking good use of being so small and hide behind the bulk of the eight section when she thought it would increase her chances of surivival. If these Xet proved to be as dangerous as an Archmage, that was very bad news and it would likely mean the death of many of those that marched with them. She would take the advice of the dead mages and try not to pose any threat until she was certain she would have the upper hand.

Pescado Branch
March 1, 2011 03:51 PM​

A Xet had been found. The buglike creatures that had torn the saurid asunder in Rak'harin, as well as the rest of the saurid nation, were back. At least according to all of the reports. Pescado, a bound mystic, looked around, and then made his way with the group of Section eight to where the rogues were. Part of him felt that he would be useless against the Xet, armed with nothing but knowledge of the war between the Saurid and Xet that his ancestors had fought. Wearing his black leather armor that contrasted with his green tinted scales, the saurid had his spear in his left hand as his right arm hung there dead as could be. Upon his waist was a bag full of imbuements, ones he could use to assist with his combat against the Xet, a bag of tricks of sorts.

As they continued their hike, he would take note of his other companions, specifically the elf lord and the fae that had proved to be quite useful in their earlier combat with the zombies and undead. She had also proven to be observant as well. As the saurid, whom was going by the name of Kri'Sri'Kaloss at the moment, given Pescado Branch was a wanted man, made his way with the group to their deaths, his mind thought about Ra'Ssss'ni, and if he had gotten to the Saurid mounds of th Ssss'Rak'kk alive with the message that the Xet could have returned to Aelyria's borders. He was hopeful that Ra'Ssss'ni had made it there alive, and had been able to deliver the message.

Emerald eyes looked onwards in a similar fashion to those of sadness, knowing full well he could die at any point in time on this mission, and was well prepared for it. He had taken on a human persona, so fear was part of his mind now, but perhaps that fear would keep him alive longer. Then again, he remembered his saurid teachings so as to never fear death. He wasn't afraid of it, just knew it could come unexpectedly whenever. As he looked onwards, a simple prayer to Rak to guide his spear to where it needed to go was issued. Nothing more, nothing less. The Planetar of Power would not want the saurid to be asking for help, as it was his destiny to control fate with his own hands. He was the fourteenth power-monger after all...

Duncan Sythe
March 1, 2011 04:57 PM​

Xet... as if the Kingdom didn't have enough to worry about. It was not that Duncan Sythe could exactly solve the problem single handedly either. No, all he could do was assess it and work out exactly what this was going to mean. Were changes going to be needed? Or was this just a...fluctuation in the western border? Fortunately though, it seemed this time he was joined by at least a few who possessed considerable talent.

Firstly there was the fairy, they'd met before though never exchanged words. Amber Brightwing he knew merely by sight, but she was at least able. Then there was Pescado. Duncan so far had kept intentionally back from the group with his cloak up so as to avoid bumping into Pescado and instead to give him a chance to study the assembly; though it was clear he was not the only one who sought solace.

That? That brought him to the other curiousity, an Elven man by the look of his form but one who radiated power and self-assurance like a cloak... quite one of the most lithe men Duncan had ever set eyes on in terms of his movement; and his weapons? Arcana dripped from them, how this figure, whoever he was, had escaped the Mage's notice over the Eras raised many questions, whoever the Aeternia he was as Duncan observed him, as he did the rest of the group, in Clara.

Duncan for his part was equally unshielded in terms of displaying his Arcane ability and assets, the ring on his finger and the Ardentium over his heart with the same Elven steel greaves he'd worn on the previous patrol and the Aetherium sword at his side, Ardentium blade on the opposite hip.

He'd heard the rumours, he knew what he'd seen too, he knew that this was merely the first foray in something greater...but it needed to be done, especially of the Xet had graduated to infecting others like parasites. Abigor had been bad enough, a corrupted object left to steal souls, how many more were laid out over Aelyria to be caught by powerful mages? How many others were already pawns of the Xet.

Since Draelmar Duncan had thought it a one off, now he was...not so sure as he finally speeded up his pace and drew level with Pescado.

“Pescado.” His voice was quiet, although probably Nimavel would hear, not that it really mattered.

Darkmavrck
March 1, 2011 07:06 PM​

As the group assembled the fog seemed to thicken slightly, its white haze blocking out the suns above and leaving all with a chill, creeping feeling. What they hoped to find was still uncertain, there had of course been the smaller bugs, and the reports, but no one had actually confirmed what the supposed Xet looked like, at least the specific one or ones they were on the trail of. The first four had come together rather quickly, even beating their captain, or commander to the site of their departure.

The air had a certain thick dampness to it that slowly made its way into their cloaks and clothing. It hung on the thin blades of grass in the form of tiny droplets and even in their hair only adding to the chill each breeze brought. In truth it was quite a miserable day to set out, a day which only those raised on the sea could appreciate and only because it would have reminded them of home. With the water laden air vision was not the only sense muddled. So to were scents, and even sounds which had been clear on brightenings past seemed distant and muffled through the gray thickness.

Pescado and Amber were rather relaxed in their demeanor at this point, in stark contrast to Duncan and Nimavel who had their guard up before even taking a step into the wilderness. They were the first to notice, another form gracefully approaching from the camp. For Duncan it was the Vis of a fellow Mystic, one that seemed familiar, for Nimavel it was the cat like form that stalked their group hungrily.

From the fog emerged a lithe, bronze skinned woman with chocolate colored almond shaped eyes. Her raven hair had been carefully braided back in thin tight rows which now hung loosely behind her head. She moved like a cat, not a katta or simple feline pet, but rather a hungry, vicious beast that stalked about looking for her next victim. Her body was wrapped in a set of intricately decorated leather armor that was stained the color of the sands residing to the south of here. It gave light to her, though the design on the armor itself was rather macabre. Upon each of the piece, from her breastplate to the grieves and bracers right down to the individual strands of her tasset bodies in contorted, suffering, and disarming poses had been cut. At each hip there was a dagger resting in matching leather sheathes, their handles made of sun bleached and gleaming white bone.

“Duncan, Heru, I’m disappointed in you, neither have taken the time to come see me. Am I so bad that you are ashamed of me?” She smiled darkly, her eyes narrowing a bit as the wide toothed grin both had seen before spread across to woman’s full lips. “For you two, my name is Etana, the honorable Sultan has asked that I look after this little party and insure that you all stay alive, personally I make no promises. Enough of that for now though, I think we will give a bit more time for the others to arrive. Surely there are more brave souls in this camp than the four of you, so until then feel free to talk amongst yourselves.”

Pescado Branch
March 1, 2011 07:24 PM​

Pescado's snakelike head turned at the mention of his true name. There was only one person that would ever recognize the metallic tailed saurid for whom he truly was, and that was Duncan Sythe. He knew the true nature of the saurid was not one of a murderous beast, but then again, he also probably knew the saurid had some problems of his own to deal with, internal struggles and all of that. The powermonger turned to look towards Duncan, and allowed his emerald gaze to settle upon him. "I prefer the name Kri'Sri'Kalosssssss nowadaysssss, but call me what you wissssssh..." he said briefly, his mind still elsewhere thinking about the Xet, and about the saurid history he had learned when he was much much younger.

"I didn't know that you were apart of thissssss group," said the saurid, his body turning towards Duncan, his right arm hanging there useless, and his left arm holding the spear he happened to be carrying. The bound saurid knew they were in trouble, and knew he himself was in trouble just for being on the opposite side of the law at the moment, but didn't know if Duncan would, or could do anything about it. He had sent his daughter to parlay with Alexis about certain subjects, mainly helping to move the Saurid mounds to the eastern borders of Arakmat, but then again, he hadn't heard word from Ra'Ssss'ni yet, in hopes of what was good news.

"Eitherway, glad you could come, if the rumorssssss happen to be all but true..." the saurid then said, his eyes downcast towards the ground briefly before looking back up towards Duncan. It was then that a lady arrived, and seemed to know Duncan and the elf personally. Allowing his gaze to look up towards her, the saurid quickly said to Duncan under his breath, "I believe sssssshe meansssss to ssssspeak with you..." As he spoke, his s's were a bit more silibant, than normal, as he was unsure of how to act now that he had been made out to be who he really was, and not by his former name...

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 1, 2011 08:37 PM​

Still quite shaken from the ordeal of that fateful darkening, Tiarela Iceglitter and Sir Aslan approached the forming group with reservations about whether or not they should be there. However, the back of her mind tingled with remembrance that Iallea’ryn could make use of this Xet thing and the absolute terror it could provoke. This would indeed prove useful… as long as the waking form of the little Guaan survived.

She approached with reserved silence, eyes only glancing about her every now and again to make sure that legionnaires and giant bugs who lived in metal buildings in jungles… or was it jungles made of metal? Were not at the present able to jump out and slit her throat or steal Aslan for their own.

Of Aslan, it could be said that the Cabbit was noticeably apprehensive of what had come before, when he had to save his pet’s life. His nose twitched often, eyes darting about him as he half hopped half walked after Tiarela, keeping close out of an instinctive desire to protect the frail little creature.

Eyes catching a glint of the metallic tail she had seen only once before, and Tiarela’s eyes widened as her mouth gave a half smile. The lizard from before that had summoned the sweet-tasting snot dragon. Delightful. It was a shame Willow was not here to assist in the explosion of Xet heads.

One other form, besides Nimavel, who Tiarela purposefully avoided given how capable and ferocious the man could be (and that was something Tiarela both respected and felt the need to avoid) that the Faerie recognized: Duncan Sythe. And oddly, she recognized Duncan Sythe for who Duncan Sythe actually was, considering they had met one particular time in Arios when he was not under some ridiculous illusion… and she had fallen off or perhaps onto his boot. There was also another time that Tiarela had hidden in his cloak, and his pocket. Duncan had also gotten her off of Arios in that freak storm that proceeded to follow her there… and back to Ethgan’tor.

Fluttering up behind them, Aslan in tow, Tiarela cleared her throat and gave Pescado a tired but cheesy smile. She waved a hand in the air at him and said, ”Have any more issues with dragons exploding into candy-boogers lately Mr. Lizard?” before noticing that she was not the only Faerie present. Tiarela regarded Amber quietly for a moment, sizing her up (a literal statement, considering she was nearly half Tiarela’s size)… But one could have even said that they were related. Both had blueish wings and black hair. Of course, Tiarela would be quick to disagree with this relation, citing that their wings were of starkly different colors and black hair was a common trait amongst families. Also, given the revelation about her bloodline… It was hard to say that her line had actually progressed any further than Tiarela herself in the past hundred and fifty Eras.

And quickly to Duncan, before he could depart to speak with Etana, she added, ”Allo’abe, Mister Sythe.” with a small incline of her head. Should she catch Nimavel’s eyes, he would get a small nod too, and quick, quick diversion of the eyes… For despite all he had done to essentially save Squad One previously, Tiarela was still afraid he was going to break her like a twig with that steely gaze and shroud of complete badassery.

Alden Faedryfal
March 1, 2011 10:57 PM​

[nomedia="[MEDIA=youtube]ikQXY4qnFNs[/MEDIA]"]YouTube - The Gael - Albannach[/nomedia]​
The cool damp of fresh air, alive and saturating clouded over the horizon. Cold coastal climes were blowing in. Generations of the Inovantes tribe had tested themselves against the environ, driven by a will to acclimate and enjoin the harsh land. Alden felt it prudent to dress down when the chance afforded, where furs would have little use to the comforts of light and supple leather alone. His bare feet toed the wet ground cover, placing him somewhere in the medley of adventurers. There were many missing faces, their fates unknown or undecided. He breathed a memory of them, but did not linger to wonder on the thought. The rumors had filtered through many of the camps warriors, infiltrating fire circles in whispered and hushed tones, or in contrast, with terror and delirium, men visibly frightened by what were obvious signs of the fabled enemy; the Xet.

The barbarian seemed in rare form by the matter, heightened with a sense of life, his thoughts precise and turning to a prophetic manner of assessing. The young savage had been tasked by his tribe to seek out the wisdom of the gods, and to contemplate their ways, and much of his journey had walked him through the seasonal cycles of Carmelya via the metaphors. His journey was compelled by Nature the whole way it seemed, even as he stood at this threshold, detoured from his path in to the Heart of The Forest. Every fiber of his body felt a presence of great omens. The ancestors, they were all there, watching their Son of The North.

The Xet. The mere thought of them brought the barbarian closer to the gods. The gods brought him to their battlefield. There had been a great change taking place in the mindset of Alden over the course of the last few cycles, and thoughts had turned chiefly to battle. The culture of war and victory called to him, and the hunger to rise to the occasion left him insatiable. It was in his blood, and tribe commanded it. He radiated sacrifice in his own silent way, and believed the purpose of his tribes geas has provided him with every omen worthy of this moment. Many faces of power were present, many people of skill, and much was at stake. The whispers of the fair one called Nimavel had spoke of certain death on the battlefield. The words and common knowledge of Duncan Scythe spoke of mastery, arcane force, and ordinations of experience. The rumor of political power play, and intrigues to imply the Nairu and elves left him clinging to his oath, and the honor he placed upon finishing the task. The presence of Royals could surely stir such a remote land as this, so far and so independent from the throne at a distance. Through all of those obstacles there he stood, a raider's ship caught in the storm. Shores of glory awaited though.

Which one of them would deal the blow? How many of them would it take to make that blow count? What would a man be measured by if he held the head of a Xet in his grasp, and laid it before the wondering masses? What fire would he be forged from? The barbarian inwardly radiated a sense of veneration, visibly proud to be here.

From across the realm he was called to be here, and every step out of Boergnar, from Jaedaxia, Trysvale, Solace Isle, Paxia, the mountains, and Kesmek was steering him toward a true test of contemplating the gods, and learning from their wisdom, and offering service where opportunity presented itself. Those were the exact tenets of the geas bestowed upon him. He had not understood their full meaning, but every step seemed to lead him unerringly toward the extremes of reality. It was much to absorb in such a short time, but through the span of a season he stood in a deathly crux.

He looked to the mist in the sky, and could hear in its depths the war songs of the Great Hall. The sky was chill, wet, and the wind blew with purpose. The ancestors of his land were here in the air. No Vagaran could have been given a greater opportunity to enter the same battlefield with such a foe as the Xet. Warriors of the old ways could only dream of such a death. Men of the tribes were known to give their lives just to land one first blow upon a great enemy; something made up of fear and respect co-mingled. The barbarian's glossed-over expression revealed his immersion in visions of ages long ago.

The barbarian believed with all his heart that he had chosen the right battle.

The prayers, songs, and sacrifice had been answered.

Darkmavrck
March 4, 2011 03:20 PM​

The collective group stood for about a quarter candlemark waiting for any more to show. Here and there the last of their squadron wandered in. There were eight in total; Nimavel the shadowy assassin, Tiarela and Amber two fae who had much in common but were also very different, Kri’Sri a suarid with his mysterious secrets, Duncan the puppet master and manipulator of minds, Alden the wandering barbarian, and Etana their leader. The arrival of the eighth was the signal which the cat like woman had been waiting for. From the mist emerged a brutish man smeared with coal to darken his pale flesh and hair that burned like the flames of any strong forge fire. A long curving bow at his back and a single bladed woodsman’s axe at his side seemed to be the weapons of choice for the second uncivilized of their group. Alden had met him once before, in the brightenings that preceded his first mission, a man from the mountains with a namesake befitting his appearance.

“This is Pyre, he will be our guide, and with his arrival it seems we are ready to face death now.” Etana’s voice purred as she turned and followed the burly man into the mist, simply assuming the rest would follow. Taking up a small pack that had been just out of sight, she imagined that the others would have what was needed to survive. As word had spread of the encounter those who had been asked to join were also told that they would be in the wilderness for some unknown amount of time. It meant that each would be in need of basic essentials for the journey, food, water skins, perhaps a blanket to keep warm in the chill darkening air were the very least of what they should have. What each actually brought was up to them, some would likely have chosen little others a need to bring too much, it was a careful judgment call to be made, bring to little and suffer, bring too much and fall behind. Whatever the case their leader was likely to let them lay in the beds they made.

While they marched the fog refused to lift, it covered the land like a blanket wrapped about a child. The half vaporized water continued to seep into their clothes and mixed with the thin beads of sweat forming upon their brows. It was a hard hike over the rolling hills of the land as Etana pushed them continually forward. Her body was a testament to fitness, her pace one that bordered a jog as they cut through the lands and the entire time the burly scout lead the way, backtracking his earlier path. She did not seem to worry at whether there was anyone, or rather anything, lurking in the fields and further did not seem to care who had followed, or in what way. The only thing the woman seemed to be sure of was their direction and pace.

“We march for six candlemarks, then we shall stop. Our pace will slow at that point as Pyre has only found clues of our scouts to that length. We eat, and then move on until we can walk no more. That will be where we set our camp for the darkening.” She announced at last, giving them direction to their course of action. It was going to be a long brightening and only the gods knew what was ahead in that mysterious veil of shadows.

Nimavel Mynendil
March 4, 2011 06:33 PM​

Few were the brightenings when Nimavel Mynendil’s stoic visage capitulated to emotion, but as the Grandmaster of Demir Kum stalked towards him like a feline in human form, the elf lord could not mask his surprise. The corner of his mouth subsequently curled into a half-grin as his lavender eyes roamed her deadly features. “Lady Etana,” He greeted with a curt nod. “I would have visited much sooner had I known you were in the area.” The elf lord confessed. Indeed, as Etana had agreed to be his eyes and ears in the Province of Arakmat, Nimavel was most interested in learning all that had happened in the region since his last visit. Perhaps it was the psychological effect of seeing the formidable woman again, but he felt a sharp pain suddenly lance through the bridge of his nose, which she had shattered during their duel several eras prior.

Some wounds never healed.

Your presence will be . . . most welcomed,” The assassin candidly said as his Shadow Gaze heralded the arrival of the other members of the group. He glanced briefly to the human who Etana had called Duncan, a man whom Nimavel was neither acquainted nor familiar with. There was something about the nondescript human that was innately puzzling, but the Heru Mynendil could not quite place a scarred finger on it. Perhaps it was the fact that Duncan was a human. The elf lord wore an invisible frown. The last human who Nimavel had traveled with, Limbus, had been more useless than an umbrella with dozens of holes in it.

As Etana introduced herself to the remaining adventurers, Nimavel stole the opportunity to segregate himself once more. He returned Tiarela’s quick nod with a glance, one that conferred minimal acknowledgment. Other than her and Etana, the assassin was familiar with no others in the group, and thus he opted to refrain from socializing while his prospective comrades mingled and reunited with one another. Ever the lone wolf and apathetic towards the majority of mankind, he was most relieved when Pyre arrived and Etana indicated that the group would be departing.

He followed in silence as usual, one hand assigned to his traveling bag and the other hidden beneath the folds of his raven-colored long coat. Nimavel did not mind the fog so much, not when his Shadow Gaze enabled him to weave around the terrain’s obstacles as if he were strolling in broad daylight. He kept a stable pace behind the gliding Etana, whose fluid movements continued to impress him despite all that he knew about her already. As she explained their route, he replied with a tacit nod, his thoughts far more concerned with what awaited them than how they planned on getting there.

Amber Brightwing
March 5, 2011 01:02 PM​

Amber glanced at the other members of the group, but saw no faces she was particularly familiar with, other than Kri’Sri’Kalos who had been part of the same expedition as hers a few days ago. Duncan she had met before as well, but as he had been in one of his guises when they met, she did not recognize the mystic. When Tiarela sized her up, she wondered what the other Fae was thinking. If camp rumours had not informed her yet, the three rings on her fingers should make it obvious enough that she was a Necromancer. Since she had been accepted as a member of the Acrane Council, Amber no longer saw a reason to hide. Most Faeries had a notorious dislike for the Sphere of Death however, so she would stay clear of her for the time being, not interested in provoking enmity unneeded.

A long flight was tiring and when you had to carry food and beverage for a few days worth, it was not something Amber could keep up for long. Fortunately, she would not be flying a whole lot. Her Spirit Minion spell was probably the most useful one she had created so far. It allowed her to pick up human sized objects – such as the rations she had taken with her – and do other things that were difficult for a Fae living in a Human’s world such as opening doors. On top of that, being an advanced form of the Spirit Shield, if offered her protection from basic assaults as well as the cold. It was a bit chilly to the touch, but nonetheless it was a much loved spell during the Vortex winters, and now it proved its use against the chill darkening air. Having been put in an enchantment, she needed it and turning it off when not. Right now, she had formed the bottom half into a crude pair of legs and the top half into a seat of some sort, allowing her to travel comfortably and without tiring.

When the six hour candlemark march was announced, Amber sighed softly. Not that it would be a very tiring trip for her, but she had become used to travelling great distances at great speed. She flew closer to Etana as they were walking. Her shadow walk would be too draining on her to guide the whole group, especially since the sun would soon be up, and it would be confusing for this Pyre person to lead them as well, assuming the lot of them would get the hand of being turned into shadows in the first place. There were other things she could do to speed up the trip however.

“Excuse me miss Etana, but could I perhaps aid our progress by a few candlemarks by providing us with horses.” They would not help beyond their first stop if Pyre needed more time to pick their path, but they could greatly reduce the time needed for the first part of the trip. “I could summon some of the... ‘untiring’ kind for a few candlemarks.” No doubt she had, as leader of the group, been informed of her skills and with the way she had put emphasis on ‘untiring’ there should be little doubt about the nature of the summon she was proposing.

Duncan Sythe
March 5, 2011 08:50 PM​

Ah the joys of the utterly unexpected, and judging by the Elf's response – the other figure addressed by Etana – not expected by him, either. Surprise on that face was a rare thing, although his own no doubt mirrored it. Yet Etana seemed to have a talent for turning up without expectation, and so.... and so what the Elf said was correct. Etana was one of the few people in his life to have fought him to a stand still. Granted, he'd not been quite working at full capacity but it was none the less an entirely impressive feat, and she'd won.

“Indeed, very welcome.” Duncan offered in turn, mirroring Nimavel after taking a long, careful look at him. Out of everyone else in the group there was something about his grace that suggested it made quite a lot of sense he would know Etana out of any of them. Of course Duncan by contrast was....competent in his movements but hardly exceptional, his talents lay in other areas.

Armed as he was and with supplies for the trip to come and a backpack containing a tent and all the other things one might need to survive in the desert, Duncan was as prepared as he had ever been for a trip across the sands. Not perfectly, but then with Etana around he suspected they'd be pushed well enough.

“Miss Iceglitter.” was the only other thing he said, having acknowledged the small, strange little Mystic fairy and her equally strange companion with a glance... A cabbit?

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 5, 2011 09:28 PM​

Tiarela took note of the coming of the eighth and final addition to their group: Pyre, as he was called, and the Faerie immediately saw why he was named as such. Perhaps he had been placed in one and somehow miraculously survived.

Face death, Etana had said. Tiarela cringed. Death was not exactly something she felt like confronting but it seemed she and Aslan had little choice. The Faerie, after all, knew that facing it meant that if she failed to best it, she’d be standing face to face with her creator soon enough… and that woman was probably not going to be happy with her. Probably was an inept word. There was no doubt about that.

Having gathered supplies in the camp previously to their departure, Tiarela was lucky in that rations for herself and for Aslan were actually not a very big hamper like they would have been for the rest of the traveling folk. Sure, her pack was considerably smaller in comparison but when one’s stomach was so small, the thing she was more packing for was the survival of the Cabbit and not of herself.

The fog forced the Faerie’s eyes to squint and she wiped idly at her arms every now and again, the exposed skin collecting the dew in a way she found slightly irritating. Luckily despite Etana’s push of those who walked upon the land, Tiarela found it considerably easier to surpass the hills. The only hindrance was poor Aslan, who had to walk amongst them. Perhaps she should have asked if someone would pick him up so he didn’t get left behind. Considering Nimavel’s already expressed dislike for him though, the Faerie had thought against it and occasionally tossed him a nut or a tiny piece of a ration to entice him ever forward along their path.

As Etana paused to announce their march, Tiarela felt her heart drop a little. Six candlemarks! Luckily Aslan had experience with long treks, considering the Faerie had picked him up in Demios of all places and here they were on the clean other half of the Kingdom a few months later. She said nothing, however, but would request that someone – anyone help her out if Amber did indeed summon those horses and that was how they were supposed to proceed… specifically with picking up Aslan to put him on one of the blasted things, since she herself could not manage.

An idle thought went to how Aslan was going to need some imbuements and enchantments of his own… Something she would look into as long as they survived this, anyway.

Pescado Branch
March 6, 2011 11:20 AM​

Death would come to them, at least one of them, the saurid was not looking to get out of this alive, given the nature of his binding, as well as his only basic experience with a spear. It would be nearly useless against the Xet. The most he could offer the group was knowledge of the Xetan's weakpoints, and the tactics used by the saurid against them. It was not much, but if asked, he would provide the lore of his ancestors, the Xetan conflict that they had undergone eras and patterns ago. Hopefully Ra'Ssss'ni would get the message to the other tribes about the Xet being here, but if not, Pescado might have to try to get out of it alive and with Rak's blessing to stay alive.

He was a power-monger, a changer of fates, and this event would prove it. He was sure of it, but then again, he didn't know what exactly it would prove if he died. Perhaps that he was just to weak to defend his race, or perhaps that he wouldn't be able to defend them in their time of need. Marching with the rest of them, he chose to be solemnly alone, walking away from the group, much like the elf, but keeping his senses alert, so as to make sure that whatever was out there, hopefully wouldn't sneak up on him, or the group. He was quite sure that others would notice it before him though.

Emerald eyes downcast upon the ground, he didn't speak another word to Duncan, for he didn't have to. The man knew in particular what they were going up against, and was quite aware of their impending doom. The power-monger would remain silent much of their trek, and hopefully his silence, and focus on Rak would be answered when the time came. Hopefully, the planetar he held so high in regards would see him for what he was, a powerful being and individual that could change the fate that was lying before them, a fated death...
 
Alden Faedryfal
March 7, 2011 02:55 PM​

This new leader snapped with a distinctive and commanding charm, and the barbarian had not missed the brief and cautionary acquiescence between champions. Great warriors who have met and faltered in contest to their superiors often had a subtle way of deference that saved what command they held.

Alden was ready to leave. He could carry his life in a low hung saddle-back, and find more than enough comforts. This many extra people would only widen the pooling potential for resource accumulation. It would also mean more mouths to feed. More people in need. Nature would decide what was necessary, and what was to be offered up as sacrifice. Aslan would decide how survival was to be measured.

The arrival of Pyre sparked a solemn loner from quietus, and Alden could not help light up a little at the recognition. His stag tine helm tilted in respect and greeting, pleased, but not surprised to see him. The man struck him as something unbreakable, as if the gods labored to piece him together, that only They may wrest him apart.

Falling out with the others, Alden moved to shadow the mountain man, offering heavy attention to flank and scattered, brush, eyes alert for distinguishing signs on the horizon, while mentally marking significant landmarks such as a certain and distinct patch of brush or two intersecting boughs fallen against each other, measuring the depth of the fog and counting his paces to measure the visibility levels. Looking for pockets of intense reflective glare, that they may gauge the suns locations, benefited from no forest canopy to hamper more than usual. There were many signs available, omens in the passing that might speak a whisper or murmur their secrets if one could listen.

The wild man kept all senses perched on the precipice, waiting to descend on the first of what would likely be many clues. Figuring their closing locations, encampment status and first agenda would help the man look to prioritizing survival where it counted. Every step they took bought him time to search out indicators.

The barbarian was preoccupied with searching for signs of scat, disturbed thicket or tall grass grazed upon, branches bent and valley scrub nipped at. His eyes watched for birds to circle in the distance for prey on the ground, and his ears listened for them to chirp nearby, acting as sentinel and likely warning the other wildlife of their groups approach. The wilderness often spoke in concentric rings, messages over-lapping one another, and each conveying its own meaning. Silence in a wilderness was perfectly natural, though a prolonged absence of life spoke of something passing through a region that did not seem in accord with the normal cycles. The barbarian would be looking for those signs. Signs of two-legged predators.

He traveled in the raiment of his people; a cloak of patchwork furs and wolf skin mantle, leather war-skirt and fur leggings, hide vest and quiver of throwing spears slung across his back. Two blades hung at his hip-- the right hip brandishing a heavy leaf blade of old Arkduni craftsmanship-- his left hip bearing a worthy and well-cared for long sword, its weight and edge making it more suitable for hacking and piercing foes. Behind the long sword rested a primitive stone hatchet, both a tool and side-arm for clubbing. Crowning him was a deer skull helm boasting ten curving tines with patchwork mail and leather flaps. His travel bundle was comfortably tied at the waist, braced against his lower back.

Generations of acclimation birthed Alden into the dead of winter, where his people could tolerate bitter conditions without many comforts. His breathing timed to retain temperature in his core, some random bits of kindling for a fire later on had been gathered wherever it presented itself; kept in a fur pouch at his stomach, to be gradually dried against his core.

Moving toe heel as the peoples of his tribe do, he measured steps, and remained mindful of the grounds contents and his own footing. The moisture in the air would be a boon, and the yak skin slung across his back was full to brim.

Sraosha
March 7, 2011 11:15 PM​


There was the sounds of movement all over the camp, whispers carried on the breeze, trembling sounds as the words were spoken among various men... Xet. Everyone was preparing in their own way, making themselves steel fast against the unknown they were about to face. For Sraosha, it was a hunt that weighted heavily upon him. Already had they encountered things that were twisted creations, many lives already torn apart by the darkness, gruesome things that were best left forgotten, though most important was for him to prepare to remember. Live deeply the hunt that they were about to embark on, live thru and keep alive the spirits of those who fell protecting the bounds of the mother.


Meditation was the best way that calmed his heart, there was something about the cool touch of the land beneath, the playful breeze as it made its way into the tent, the voices of those around him all mixing together that made everything seem at one.
A deep breath left the katta's mouth, his eyes calmly opening. He could feel it, the motion in the camp, soon they would begin...


Stepping out of the tent, wearing only the barest of cloth, he slowly moved about the camp, awaiting a direction to form, his paws taking in the feel of the ground below him, the impressions left behind of each person that walked before him. So much could be spoken of the fragments each left behind. All of this was a part of the grand memory that would be formed.


oocsorry for the late post, ready to go now

Darkmavrck
March 8, 2011 11:28 PM​

“Death begets death little fae, I am sure your intentions are well but do you not think that there are enough creatures going against the great mother’s plan already in these lands? We shall take the slow way, silently as to not attract attention to our presence, and by our own, living means.” Etana’s words were simple but like many which fell from western lips, they held a very specific meaning. Amber could push the subject if she chose but the leader had said her peace and was not apt to changing her mind. It was true enough though, the horses living, dead, or undead, no matter what their construction would have drawn much more attention than a simple band of travelers hiking through the woods. If this were too much for a frail soul then what lay ahead would surely be their end.

The remainder of the group had been surprisingly quiet about the command of direction. Frankly the woman had expected to hear much more aching and groaning about her pace and the distance. It seemed that these adventurers had already taken to her command however. A wise choice all things considered. As the leader of the sanctum, the cat like woman was not prone or particularly apt in taking commands. Rafiq Al-Hakkar had personally come to ask her assistance and who was she to turn down the sultan, little more than the last of a noble family and once more one of less than a handful who had perfected the Arakmatan martial form.

So as it was the group moved, their pace burning at the muscles of them all, a six candlemark jog or flight with limited breaks at best. The travel was grueling over the rolling hills and slick grass. Nimavel’s shadow gaze served him well, and even as they moved he could feel that they were the only life in the area. Alden with his ear to nature noticed as well, just as it had been on their first mission, no life resided in this land either. The fog and deafening silence was brutal on the mind, it made shadows move that shouldn’t have, fog swirl in strange ways, and a certain unknown apprehension filled the air.

The first landmark they had passed was what appeared to be an old stone circle for rituals, it had not been used in ages but at that point their course altered from a predominately northern to westerly heading. Other signs that the barbarian had sought were all but missing. Animal droppings were far beyond fresh, footprints were sparse and often hominoid in nature, not even the blackbirds hung in the sky. Though with the thickness of the fog the last was impossible to discern, only the lack of calls indicated that they were not among them. Further, because of the veil which hung overhead only a general time and heading could be found from the suns. Often Pyre stopped, kneeling to the ground and rubbing a thin shard of metal through his hair and gently sat it upon a bit of water poured into a bowled leaf. The shard would dance for a moment and then eventually center in on a point. Pyre would smile, take the sliver of steel and drink his water before moving on.

These were the only moments afforded to the group, their guides’ quick stops to insure their direction was correct before continuing on. Both were fairly silent through the entirety of the march, and if chatter in the ranks carried on for long, those speaking were met with a stern glance from their commander. At last however, just as some would think their bodies could go no further the robust man spoke up with a bit of cheer in his tone. “Here we are, just as I left things.”

With a few more steps they came upon a small wooden circle where wood had been gathered and covered with a single hide. A stone fire circle had been constructed and above a few embers that ever so faintly glowed through their ash hung a pot filled with water. The man quickly fetched a set of logs and set them in the circle, taking a seat on a makeshift bench nearby. Etana sat across on a stone, and went about fetching something from her bag. It seemed that they had come to their destination.

Sraosha had picked up their scent and caught up with relative ease, the combination of his senses and arcane powers made him a powerful tracker in the right circumstances. He along with all the others filtered in behind their guide and leader. There seemed to be enough places for them to sit, between stones, the log bench, and the pile of wood but it was up to each to actually take action. Once they had assembled Etana threw a small sack into the pot while the flames beneath began to lick at its iron surface to boil the water within.

“You all know what we face ahead correct?” She asked rhetorically, her tone stern and her eyes narrowed as she looked upon each in the group, sure that some of them would either flee or die by the end. “I promise you, no matter how strong you think you are, or how much you have experienced nothing can prepare you for a Xet. The people of Arakmat have fought them for ages; my grandfather often told me stories of their kind. While the east forgets about us we are in vigilant defense against their numbers.” A soft yawn escaped her lips as she stretched out and tried to get comfortable. “Many era ago, the Xet took on the legions of this land, twenty five thousand men fell at their hands. Their power in unimaginable, whatever we face will be strong, and it will take all of us together to defeat it. Let us pray that we can find it’s weakness before it has its way with ours.”

Sitting silently for a moment her eyes danced between the members and the pot, the water had begun to darken with whatever was held within the bag and a soft steam was rising from it. It smelled of the earth, rich and robust with the slightest hints of vanilla intermingled. “Tell me what each of you knows of the Xet, of what we have found so far and I shall fill in the blanks. I am open to your thoughts and ideas for what is happening and will answer any questions the best I can.” Before the first could speak however, she rose and dipped a cup into the pot pulling forth a selection of the liquid its color the same as coal. The taste was bitter and seemed to course through the soul with every drink; she smiled watching them and then bid each to join her in the hostile, oil like, liquid. “So then who is first?”

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 11, 2011 10:33 PM​

Curious was the only word Tiarela could think to describe exactly how Pyre seemed to find their trail. Where rangers and barbarians used clues in the wilderness, such as disrupted foliage, signs they might have left themselves, or in tales her kind would have told, breadcrumbs… This Pyre fellow seemed to be able to tell his path simply by use of a piece of metal he was combing his hair with (was beauty really that important in the desert when one was about to face the Xet?) and some water he kept pouring into a leaf. The piece of metal however seemed to somehow guide him as if it remembered more than he did.

Weird.

As they continued on, Aslan protested slightly with a glower in Tiarela’s direction as a twitch of his nose. The journey was trying for a cabbit, even one that was practiced at making long treks alongside a Faerie. Nevertheless, the bunny-cat combination found his way until the group came upon a stone circle meant for a fire and a pile of wood. With the indication that this was where camp would be, the Faerie motioned for Aslan to come take a seat with her on the grass. He obliged and was quick to actually lie down, body and mind tuckered out from the journey. His eyes were only half open as Tiarela offered another small piece of food to him. It was obviously time for a nap.

Etana began to speak, and Tiarela’s attentions once more turned back to the woman who had been chosen by the Sultan himself to lead. Honestly the little Faerie had no idea who the Sultan was, but she supposed he was a lot like the Faerie Queen, and thus quite an important figure. If he told you to do something, you did it… Kind of like how if King Loreannon had suddenly asked Tiarela to dance and sing in the language of the Elves, she would have certainly tried. It was all a matter of respect. Such a formidable woman respected the Sultan and so the Faerie assumed she was to do so as well.

… And Etana’s words were less than comforting. She recounted some history and some stories from her grandfather, passed down through the people of Arakmat’s numerous struggles against these bug-men. Tiarela inhaled the rich smell of the liquid from the cauldron and as Etana motioned for them to join her in partaking of the drink. She fluttered up and presumably took a sip from an offered cup. Considering cups full of liquid were much too big for Faeries to carry alone, Tiarela hoped that it could be sat down for her to somehow sip on, even though she could just as well fall into the cup and that would be that.

A small shudder reached her wings at the bitter taste. Looking about her, Tiarela decided that she would answer first since everyone else was so silent.

”Excuse me, Miss Etana, I suppose I will go first. I don’t think I’ve quite introduced myself. I am Tiarela Iceglitter and my companion there,” She pointed to Aslan, ”Is Sir Aslan Loreannon Iceglitter the Second. He’s not the second anything, I just thought it sounded fitting.”

Introductions taken care of, the Faerie addressed her questions. ”As for what I know of the Xet, very little is the unfortunate answer. The Xet are a foreign concept to Fae’rel and Kel’rondar lore, as we deal more with Leprechauns causing problems instead of big bugs. I have heard the stories from mothers who scare their children into doing the right thing, though. Nevertheless, as for what is happening…” She gulped and gave a long glance to Aslan, then to her bitten and sore arm, and quickly at Nimavel who would know what she was talking about.

”When we went on our scouting mission, Squad One encountered a group of undead legionnaires that were being controlled by a very small bug-like creature, kind of like a centipede. It had many legs, green blood, beady eyes, and a black carapace. When one legionnaire was still alive, I attempted to read its mind and somehow wound up reading far more than I had anticipated. I was sucked deeper and deeper into the head of this thing until I encountered some odd string of visions that I cannot fully convey the meaning of to you, even now. There were buildings in a jungle, made of metal. Giant bug-like creatures living in them. Well, they were giants to me anyway, but most everything is.” She gave a half hearted smile and a sigh before continuing.

”I heard many voices, but one was stronger than the rest. It was giving orders. It was also aware that I was invading its… hive mind, I suppose is a good term to use. It instructed its undead minions to kill us. Obviously they didn’t, as it seems disconnecting the bug from the host’s body severs the control, unlike cutting off random body parts. But, this leads to the obvious conclusion: the Xet has the ability to control minds via these little bug friends of it. I believe they could be both useful and troublesome for us, as this might be a way for mages like myself and Mr. Scythe there, and perhaps also Mr. Lizard,” She didn't know Pescado was bound, obviously, ”To access the creatures mind in a more controlled, more careful setting then what I achieved. Troublesome though for the obvious reasons. I don't know how to get them out if they somehow get inside our brains. I don't even know how they get into their brains.” Tiarela shook her head at the conclusion of her observation. Pausing to allow time for all of that to be processed by the rest of the squad and Etana, the Faerie then decided to ask a question when it was appropriate.

”How have the Arakmatan people defeated the Xet in the past? I am concerned that something who can control presumably an entire legion through use of parasites will not give us a lot of time to identify how best to kill it before overwhelming us with those… things.” And with that she took another sip of the bitter liquid, pondering if she should ask just exactly what this weird drink was. Obviously their leader wouldn’t poison them, but this was a far cry from Faerie teas or even that of the rest of the Kingdom.

Amber Brightwing
March 12, 2011 12:40 PM​

Amber softly shook her head. It seems it had slipped her mind that people normally shunned Necromancy. “We do not use souls that linger or pull back those that have passed. When we summon, not even the corpses of the deceased are defiled by making them walk again. What we create merely looks like walking corpses, but that is where the comparison stops. Do not worry, I do not intend to oppose the great mother’s plans. If you want to compare them to anything, an Elementalist’s summons would do better.” They were nothing like the Xet’s zombies either, so she did not see how they would become attracted all of a sudden. Their construction would cause no more Arcane disturbance than the spell she was carrying about her already and she doubted whether it would make any difference if that simple band of travelers was walking or riding horses as far as being suspicious went.

She said no further of it though, simply shrugging and letting herself fall back a bit again. She did not think her words would change Etana’s mind, but she wanted to set things straight. Necromancy was no more vile than any other sphere after all. She had no intention of making a huge deal out of a few candlemarks travelling time they could have saved though. She would still stick to her own means of untiring transportation though. Her body was frail and her muscles limited in how far they could carry her. It was her Arcane talent that put her amongst the most powerful in their group. If Tiarela asked, she would be free to join her, or get some transportation of own, but as Amber assumed she would her dislike of Necromancy would be even greater than Etana’s, she never bothered to ask.

When they rested, all she had to do was let her Spirit Minion halt. She listened to Etana and when she was offered the drink, she bend her Spirit Minion, letting one tendril stretch out towards the pot of oily liquid, shaping it in such a way that she could scoop out a Fae’s cup worth. She sniffed the smell and watched the other drink for a moment before taking a first small sip and awaiting the result. Not knowing what it was, she would take her time emptying her cup, allowing her to stop if she started to feel ill all of a sudden.

After Tiarela had spoken first, she raised her voice next. “In many ways, I have no idea what we are facing.” She gave a short shrug. So much for the rhetorical question. “Sure, I know it’s Xet, but that’s about where it stops. I have never seen one and the stories only tell you that much, most of it exaggerated or inaccurate tales that have passed from one person to another a few times too many.”

She grinned widely. “I can adapt quickly though. Now that I know those corpses are driven forth by small living creatures these opponents should no longer give us much trouble for example.” Twenty five thousand at once might drain her of all her Vis, but with such a big group, she was quite certain that Etana had different things in mind than taking on the legion of corpses. “I know nothing of what killed those men the first time however, so I cannot tell yet how efficient my Arcana will be against those. I think it is just a matter of finding their weakness as you said though, finding it fast enough to make use of it and to be able to pass it on to the rest of the Aelyrian world.”

Pescado Branch
March 13, 2011 10:39 PM​

Pescado followed silently, disabled as ever. Unable to use his right arm, bound to the magics within his mind, cursed by the voices of demons, about the only thing he had going for him was that he knew Saurid Lore, the tails woven by Eris'Suu'Tirs, a Saurid historian that spoke of the Xetan Conflict between the Saurid and the Xet. He had information, but how much of it was relevant would be up to Etana to decide. "I have sssssstoriessssss, of the Ssssssaurid tacticssssss vs the Xssssset during the Xsssssetan Conflict... Ssssstoriesssss ssssspoken from my people from when I wasssss younger... They ssssspoke of huge beatle like creaturesssss, Annihilatorsssss they called themssssselvesssss... Onessss that took three hundred imperial sssssoldierssss to kill, but jussssst a handful of sssssaurid..." began Pescado. "And then there are the Vindicatorsssss, sssspiderlike creaturessss that managed to tear a Dri'Kalosssss to piecssssssessss within sssssecondsssss, even though he wasssss weilding the legendary Ssssspear of Kal'sssssrak..."

He knew of their kind, simply from the stories told when he was younger. "Asssss for what we are facsssssing now, I myssssself have not heard of them... but if it isssss an Annihilator or Vindicator, I know that we ssssshall be in deep water... given their the ssssssizssssse of sssssmall fortresssssesssss..." he said, emerald eyes looking towards Etana, and then towards Duncan and Tiarela. To Tiarela, he then said, "My magic will not be sssssso ussssseful at the moment, for I am bound oncssssse more. Unable to accssssesssss the arcane..." The Saurid informed her of this problem, so that hopefully she could see how further futile their situation happened to be...

Nimavel Mynendil
March 14, 2011 01:58 AM​

His somber demeanor followed him to the campsite, and it only darkened metaphorically as the sobering discourse began. Leaning against the trunk of a tree just beyond the circle of wooden logs on which the others were seated, the Lord of House Mynendil lingered in the shadows and stared absentmindedly into the manmade fire. The dancing flames reflected in his lavender orbs, conferring upon him the dismal appearance of one possessed. He wondered if he truly was after listening to the ominous tales about the Xet, their elusive quarry. What demon had ever possessed him to agree to such a suicidal assignment? Guilt, perhaps? The inability to accept the fact that he had murdered his own family?

Nimavel glanced upwards when Tiarela recounted what Group One had discovered on its earlier endeavor. The mere memory of the mind-infiltrating bugs churned the assassin’s stomach. It was not the bugs themselves that disconcerted him, but rather, what they represented. If the Xet had indeed massacred legions of soldiers in the past, then there was no telling if the small party would encounter them again in the service of their insect masters. Eleven had been more than enough to deal with.

From the shadow of the towering tree, the assassin looked at the other faerie and allowed the darkness to mask his scowl. Yet again, it seemed, the gods had conspired to kill him. Sighing, the elf lord crossed his gloved hands over his chest and supposed that he should be grateful that the self-proclaimed necromancer at least appeared to be more confident in herself than that useless mage Limbus. He found his gaze instinctively roaming skyward, staring at the countless stars that dotted the sky. Perhaps he would soon join them . . .

When it became his turn to speak, his eyes flickered back towards the group, gleaming with their typical alertness. “The faerie tells it how it is. I have little more to add,” He reticently said, looking briefly to Tiarela before turning to Etana again. “But it seems that the mind bugs only function on corpses.” His voice casually trailed off, leaving the implications of his statement clear: so long as they survived, none of them would have to worry about playing host to an insect tenant. So long . . .

How did the people of Arakmat fight them in the past?” Nimavel queried seconds later, his tone surprisingly soft notwithstanding his callous countenance. If what Etana said was true, then the people of Arakmat must have come upon at least some secret about the Xet during the times they had been forced to repel the dangerous creatures.

Alden Faedryfal
March 14, 2011 03:31 AM​

The tea was acrid, like drinking dirt. Alden forced it down, and made no expression but to watch the fire. The settling reality of a group-controlled force, executed with the efficiency of a single will had begun to affirm itself in numerous gestures. His considerations matched by the faery, Tia, much the way Hadi had illustrated when they encountered their corpses. The opposition of majority would likely be undead, though Xetian influence lurked at the heart of the matter.

When it came time for the barbarian to speak he could merely reflect on caution, much as children are warned.

"I know only that they are the greatest of foe. They have enslaved peoples, those who were not destroyed utterly, and they are advanced, even beyond the greatest of academics in the realm."

His knowledge of them was limited. He was beginning to realize he was in similar company.

 
Darkmavrck
March 14, 2011 10:45 PM​

Etana’s eyes scanned those in attendance; she hoped that the collective group would have had more to offer then what they gave. Seeing as each group’s captain had reported different information she had expected them to share experiences. There might have been something worth milling over, or a detail that their leaders had not seen as important. Anything might have given them an edge in battle, but instead they all seemed rather reserved. Obviously teamwork was not a practice each of the adventurers was accustomed to, but they would learn, they had to or they would all die. A particularly sour expression presented in the turn of a slight downward angle of the lip crossed the woman’s face as it became apparent that some would not be contributing in the slightest.

“Well then I suppose I shall fill in the blanks now.” She stated flatly with a minor hint of irritation. Again, Etana had to remind herself that those in attendance were volunteers and hired hands. They did not understand or even have experience with her way of running things and it had to be assumed that when asked to do something they would likely perform lackluster at best. It was going to be an irritating venture to say the least.

“Tiarela is correct, they share similarities to bugs, but they are not the same either. From my understanding they are more of a combination of insects and humanoids. As our Saurid companion mentioned there are two types best known through the stories of different cultures. I do not expect to confront a Vindicator or Annihilator though, if such a thing were about there would be no way for the sultanate to have kept it hidden from the masses. Instead I think we are facing more of the smaller units, what some might call the ‘normal’ Xet.”

She paused taking a sip of the murky black liquid silently enjoying the displeasure it brought upon the others. The drink while bitter and earthy was an ancient and special blend of the Nairu people. It was a combination of rare herbs and medicinal additives that restored the body. Those that partook would slowly feel there energy levels rising while listening and the aching in their joints and muscles fading. They still had far to go this brightening and had no intention of slowing her pace. Giving the cup another long draw Etana continued, her eyes again moving between those in attendance.

“The Xet are an ancient race, founding their cities long before anyone can recall. Our people separated from their lands long before the eastern movement but have had numerous encounters since. As Alden stated, they are the things of legend, the ultimate foe and those they do not enslave in life become their victims in death. For unknown reasons they have chosen not to overrun these lands, but their cities tower like ominous beacons beyond the deserts, and the people of Na’dosh in the strange, thick forests of the west that would make any we know of seem pleasant. “

“Occasionally one will wander into our territories and a skirmish will ensue. I believe they are testing us, to check our strength and observing how vigilant we are. The massacre I spoke of earlier happened shortly after the aetherfracture, six to eight era but I cannot remember exactly as I was still quite young. Facing them has always been interesting, generally a trap is laid and we will spring it. The sands are suited for such things as we often have advanced warning but here it will be near impossible, especially considering our enemy has far more information on us, then we’ve on it. This is very similar to what the Saurid have traditionally done is it not? From my understanding it was their kind that worked with the sultanate to create the strategies.”

Etana stood at this point stretching out, rolling her shoulders and examining the group one last time. “When the time comes, watch for unprotected places on their armored bodies or an area where we might fit a blade. Joints have been the best places to strike in the past as the movement often leaves a weakness. There has been very little experience with them against magi, but that which has been recorded did not go well for the caster.” Fetching a small bundle from her pack, Etana unwrapped a section revealing a loaf of bread and dried meats. Taking a bite and swallowing a gulp of the tea to wash what was far from delightful down, she smiled softly, a rather unnerving smile filled with polished teeth. “We march again in half mark’s time. Do what you need and prepare to move on. “

Duncan Sythe
March 16, 2011 06:39 AM​

Duncan's gritty fingertips stroked across his forehead in the dust and he stared with bloodshot red eyes across the land before taking off at a jog. ““Death begets death little fae, I am sure your intentions are well but do you not think that there are enough creatures going against the great mother’s plan already in these lands? We shall take the slow way, silently as to not attract attention to our presence, and by our own, living means.” Prescient, perhaps? Certainly...certainly Duncan had seen enough death and did not wish to promote any more.

A fine group of hunters they made though, were it not for the two fairies and the cabbit the world eclectic might have sufficed. As it was...well, Duncan would have settled for the word bizzare. For as they paused again he turned to regard the small cabbit through the haze. Understand and Tiarela Iceglitter? Not two words he'd particularly associate.

Finally though they arrived at what Duncan presumed was a camp set by Etana on her approach. As the group settled down from the travel he stood with his arms folded, peering out vaguely at the fog and recovering his breath. There was no need to use Arcana, not yet, he trusted in the tracking abilities of Etana even if he didn't know of the abilities of others in the group, and Arcana was in the wrong circumstance a beacon rather than an asset.

Then came the questions. He listened to Etana's words, her promises, her questions, and he said nothing as the fairies and Pescado spoke up. No, he simply listened.

Sir Aslan Loreannon Iceglitter the Second, indeed. That caused a wry smile, but it wsa the mention of small, bug-like creatures and visions in the jungle. That shot Duncan's eyes to the fairy, but he said nothing and let her finish. Orders, a hive mind, metal structures. The little fairy was right though, the bugs were both an option and a trouble.

A trouble also because the last time Duncan had been near a Xet mind it had nearly killed him, whilst before, well? Other things had happened.

The curious question therefore presented of how deep into this hive mind he'd gone, had he merely been inside the mind of the undead or...deeper? And if deeper, what was the line between the mind and, well, the rest of all things Xet? Amber and Pescado then spoke up, though Pescado's words caused another frown from Duncan. By now though Etana was speaking so he didn't reply to Pescado just yet.

He partook of the tea as she spoke, staying quiet, then finally he spoke.

“I have seen two kinds. The first, I believe is what Tiarela has seen though I could never name them.” A shug. “That type I saw on our own patrol, I read the mind of one of the undead and was...drawn into something.” His eyes flicked to Tiarela. “I know not whether this is the same bug you mean, was it found inside the mind or connected to the skull?” If the latter he'd not seen it, if the former it might have been in there. “Either way I fear I was dragged further into the hive mind... it presents difficult issues around using Mysticism against them; if they are so connected then they must possess a powerful innate Psionic nature.”

Dangerous then to subject them to too much Psionic energy...but it was a run that ran two ways.

“I have also seen a giant, floating, metallic bug.. near the veil; and a black Xet with an armoured body, and arm blades.” He glanced at Pescado to see if the description mirrored anything specific he knew, then inquired as to something else. “Why are you bound again? ...something can probably be done about that...”

Nimavel Mynendil
March 18, 2011 03:25 AM​

Normal Xet? The Heru Mynendil shook his head within the shadows. What in Aeternia was a “normal Xet”? The classification was absurd and humorous, really, considering that nothing the elf lord had seen on his journey with Group One could have been called normal. The mind-infiltrating bug itself had been anything but normal, and the enhancements that it had imparted to the undead legionnaire? Those had been supernatural, not normal. Sighing, the elf lord seated himself at the base of the trunk, his back strategically facing its sturdy bark. He hoped that the Xet could not breathe murderous intent into the trees as well.

His pale visage showed attentiveness as Etana provided information to the party’s limited pool of knowledge. Ordinarily Nimavel would not have cared for the history lesson, but it was always important to know one’s enemy, especially an enemy as notoriously formidable as the Xet. Naturally, he wondered what had brought the insect race to the Empire in the first place, but he doubted that anyone had ever really extracted that knowledge. As far as he knew, no one spoke “bug” in Arakmat.

His almond-shaped gaze darted to Etana as she mentioned the Xet’s weaknesses. The prospect of trying to wedge a blade between the armored joints of a monster capable of mind-raping did not sit well with the master assassin. He instinctively glanced to his gloves, gloves that covered horribly scarred hands. We’ll need to get close, he glumly realized. A cursory glance of his companions indicated that none of them seemed to favor long-range weaponry. Either they were all melee fighters or they were mages. Hopefully they possessed some skill.

The situation seemed bleaker than ever when Etana stated that magic was generally ineffective against the creatures. His eyes instinctively roamed to the faeries. So much for them.

He mulled over the ramifications of the news as Duncan shared his input. Another bloody mystic? Nimavel slid a piece of salted beef from his rations past his lips and chewed silently. His gaze wandered to the dark skyline again, and for a moment he wondered why the gods had cursed him so. Was it not bad enough that he was marching to his doom already? No, his survival was now dependent in part upon a bunch of probing mind-readers.

He swallowed the beef and drew the folds of his cloak tighter around his frame. The warmth of the fire felt good against his alabaster-colored skin. One of the last things he heard before he entered reverie was Duncan’s mentioning of a bug floating near the Veil, his home. His discolored hands, which were still bedecked in his magical gloves, squeezed tightly together as his mind finally wandered off to darker places.

Amber Brightwing
March 19, 2011 12:43 PM​

OOCBit of a short post, but I lost many hours when going from and to work by train in the past few days leaving me very little time to go online. A crane fell on the rails, my train was accidentally send the long way around, a train blocked the tracks and a sign house burned down.

Amber rubbed her chin. “If mages are of little use against them I fear I won’t be much of help.” She gave them a curt smile. “But you mentioned the massacre happened shortly after the aetherfracture and a general lack of experience in having them face mages. Add to that that there was no indication that the bugs we encountered earlier died any slower when assaulted with Arcana,” she briefly smiled again, more broadly this time, “and I am certain I will have my uses.”

She would keep the armoured bodies with weaknesses at the joins in mind. Even if she had no blades or spears, perhaps she might get the opportunity to exploit their vulnerabilities with Arcana as well. When Duncan voiced the problems using Mysticism against the Xet she spoke up again. “Just a thought, but if they have a hive mind, perhaps trying to sever or disturb that connection will have more effect than trying to control them in some way? Even a minor distraction could be enough for someone to slip a between the defences of these things and kill it with weaponry.”

When Pescado’s binding was brought up, she watched the Saurid closely. Unless the binding was a permanent one due to some freak accident, unbinding was easy. The question then was however, why had someone thought it necessary to bind him. And who had accomplished it, for she find it hard to believe a Master was easily bound or would let himself be bound voluntarily. If it had been a punishment of some sort for abusing his Arcane powers, it might not be a bad idea to make a possible unbinding temporary.

Pescado Branch
March 19, 2011 05:42 PM​

Pescado allowed his emerald gaze to shift towards Etana as she spoke about the saurid tactics. "Yessssss, that isssss correct, the sssssaurid had formulated thosssssse tacticsssss back during the great Xssssetan Conflict..." he said, affirming the notion of them working together to formulate the tactics used against the xet, mainly the use of underground traps with spikes sticking upwards to pierce the heavy Xet when their bodies fell through the hidden gaps to their death. It had been a useful tactic, as well as burrowing behind the enemy forces to surprise them from behind, and then pincer them in between two saurid forces.

Pescado certainly remembered the stories of old that were told back when he was younger, though, seeing through the fog of all of the minds he had absorbed made things a bit more difficult, but somehow the saurid managed. As Duncan began to speak to Pescado about his boundness, the saurid shifted his gaze towards the man. "Sssssstormhaven..." he began, and then looked towards him with piercing intent. "The inssssssane magessssss managed to find a way to con Aerienne assssss well assssss Sssssstraylor into a binding of my mind when all I had done was casssssst a defenssssssive sssssspell, Sssssspell Nullify to make sssssssure things went sssssssmoothly during the procsssssseedings at Port Alyxssssssandrya..." It was a lie of course, the voices within his head had intended him to kill a great deal of people there for a self-promotion to archmage, but he was thwarted once more by unseen forces. It would be a gamble to explain to Duncan what had actually happened, but for now, the saurid was not willing to take that chance, given the fact he might be able to become unbound once more.

So lies it was, until the truth could be revealed, and the saurid would use it to gain his power back by any means. The ability to utilize Arcana which he had grown so fond of over his years of practice. His emerald gaze shifted slightly towards Amber, knowing she was a mage too, but not of what magnitude, granted he acknowledged her power during their battle with the Zombies, a necromancer at that. If Duncan did decide to view within the saurid's mind, he'd come across a hundred demonic presences within it, as well as Motito's mind, the mind of a phaelan mage, and a few farmers here and there.

It was up to him though to believe the saurid's story or not, and unbind him, or leave him powerless as he happened to be at the moment, granted he was a veteran of spear usage, it was still a limiting skill compared to what he had accomplished Arcanically over the past era, with his testing the limits of his summoning of Animations, his vis absorption spells, and his prophecies that he had managed to make. His emerald gaze shifted towards Duncan once more, and he then said, "I am usssssseful with or without the arcana that hassssss been sssssstripped of me, but if you deem me more usssssseful with it, i'll have no qualmsssss gaining it back. Being bound hasssss been sssssomewhat of a learning exsssssperiencssssse... one that I will not take forgranted in the future..." He would then await any response from Duncan or Amber, as well as allow his emerald gaze to shift back towards Etana, and prepare himself for their journey ahead, drinking some of the stew, or whatever the feth the nasty tasting bile was, but feeling rejuvinated all the same, so thankful she had made such a disgusting concoction for them to drink...

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 19, 2011 08:33 PM​

As Etana affirmed that she was correct, Tiarela felt a little bit of pride well up inside her. Useful! Look at that. She listened quietly and intently as Etana gave them a short history lesson. The Faerie shook uncontrollably as she described the history of the Xet. There was little for the poor Fae to say, so she instead listened intently and took as many mental notes as possible so that she had all the information necessary to assist the group in their defeat of the Xet.

”But that which has been recorded did not go well for the caster.” Tiarela wrinkled her nose and shut her eyes. A large sigh left her lips.

Risthal help her breathe another darkening so she could use the horrors she was about to witness for fuel in the Mistress’ work. And Carmelya, if she still gave a damn, keep watch over her children that coming brightening. For all the loyalties the Faerie had, she still acknowledged her creator… in the same way a scornful child could never forget from whence she’d came. Home was home, there were no two ways about it. The relation between the Half-Vysstichi and the dark-hearted Faerie were so much more intimate than the call between the Life-giver and the spawn of her paradise. A paradise Tiarela had been taken away from… and one that if tomorrow went poorly, she would never see again.

Closing her eyes tight, Tiarela continued to sip on the bitter and horrible drink but felt it revitalize her. Leaning down to Aslan, she offered some to the Cabbit – who promptly upturned his nose. Stroking his muzzle, the Faerie pried open his mouth and essentially poured some of it in before quickly darting out of the way as an upset Aslan expressed his complaints about the liquid.

”Merrrow!” He sputtered and seemed to cough. His nose went down to the ground as if this would somehow remove the taste, and then he found a left-over piece of food that Tiarela had thrown at him upon their arrival at the camp. This, intermingled with any grass he could find, set about quenching the bitterness from his tongue.

Of Pescado, Tiarela pondered for a moment on the idea that he was bound by a group of crazy mages from Port Alyxandra for casting something defensive.

”Ridiculous.” The Faerie commented as he concluded his explanation, ”It seems that arcane prejudice is still rampant in our societies.” And well, if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, given Tiarela’s thoughts on Amber’s choice of magic, a direct offense to Carmelya herself… Honestly, while Tiarela was the scornful child it seemed the Master Necromancer would be the rebellious child that wore all black and wrote horrible poetry about hating Telath and their mothers and wishing they could die some meaningful or gruesome death.

”I think we should unbind Mr. Lizard, here, then.” Affirmed the Faerie, ”Even if he is dangerous, he will cooperate for the betterment of the group until the imminent threat is eliminated. Surely he cannot take on an entire legion and a Xet on his own. He will need us, and we will need him. You do not chase a thief in your nightgown while brandishing a spoon, and similarly, it would be foolish to not use every tool we have in our arsenal.”

With that sufficiently stated, Tiarela closed her eyes and focused on the image of a chocolate-brown feathered Eagle, with deadly talons and the sharp, bony projections of the blood quills that had re-calcified at their ends. The blood that stained its beak and its back like a cloak, and the hollowed out eyes were all watching her within her mind. This was Iallea’ryn, the name that was also shared with the second image that entered her head. A staff, slender and twisted with an infinite amount of pits throughout the shaft; the wood was embedded with shards of a broken mirror and covered in runes where the reflective surfaces didn’t touch. The top of the staff was just as intricate, exhibiting a wire that positioned the shifting phases of the moon Menora. From this, three discs dangled: one was a pentacle of magic that also had a dreamcatcher hanging off of it; the second was in the shape of an eye with a distinctive slash through it as if someone had dragged a needle across it, and the third was a dangling spider. All of the symbols were suspended by a silvery thread that formed from the base, beneath the shifting phases of the smaller moon.

Tiarela held the palm of her hands out in front of her and called the staff to her. The left palm contained a crescent moon, forever scarred into her hand. The right had an eye on it, similar to the one that would be dangling from Iallea’ryn, and there was a slash through it that extended from the upper outside corner through the bottom diagonally.

Assuming Iallea’ryn appeared in her hands, Tiarela examined Pescado for a moment to determine if it was possible to unbind him. However, it would obviously be easier for Amber or Duncan to take care of this for them.

”I’m sure you would agree, Mr. Scythe? Perhaps it would be best to do so before we departed again, since we know that we are safe here for the moment. As for your previous question, I believe it was attached to the mind somehow, but I am not sure. I doubt there is too much of a difference? I believe Caitiff cut it free from something, but which part I am not sure. Since the bug seemingly controlled the mind, I can only assume that is where it was located.”

His assessment gave the Faerie pause, and she had begun to question whether or not this innate psionic nature could be used against them. But then she also started to question whether or not the Xet know what psionic nature even meant and if it existed with them the same way it would with… say… a Yid.

To Amber’s comment, Tiarela gave a slight shrug. ”Possibly, but I was also thinking that running interference through the pipeline leading up to this hivemind might also be useful or, hopefully, disorienting to the Xet itself. I’m sure there won’t be a lot of time to try, but if there is a weakness there I hope to find it so that I am more than target practice for our crunchy friend.”

And with that, the Faerie quietly went about gathering her things and sipping on the liquid, all the while forcing a little more down Aslan’s gullet to revitalize them both. Fear was creeping in at the base of her neck. The time of reckoning was coming. The nightmares were at hand.

Alden Faedryfal
March 19, 2011 11:26 PM​

The barbarian appeared a stone, inwardly daunted by the expressive lengths at which the mechanics of arcana were rehearsed, though his mind struggled to piece their agenda and decided the group was attempting to disrupt the central power behind the undead, though the specifics of their technique were a baffle to him, and he did not even have the arcanic experience to understand their root. He resonated with only one concrete piece of information: arcana was unpredictable, or futile in its use against the Xet. There would be difficulties the mages must uncover, of that the barbarian seemed certain.

The decision to unbind the saurid seemed an obvious one, and the barbarian nodded his desire to see it done.

"As it was told to us, we face a great foe. We will need everything, and likely more."

To physically wound a Xet. The barbarian was in a trance-like state at the thought. He could feel his own death pressing against his skin, and breaking the surface to shatter bone and pierce organ. He could feel himself slip away at the thought. The task would be a great under-taking. The elf seemed the most formidable, if what the rumors in the camp spoke were true of his prowess. The mage Limbus, a man filled with self-importance seemed staggered by the fair one's ability. Who else could fight, wondered the wild man. Turning his eyes to Pyre, Alden found a landmark to guide himself through this group. They were a motley of strangers, and he hadn't the ability to get to know them. In their eyes he must be a distant, animate body, somehow here. Little would pass between them, he reckoned.

The drink was a rejuvenating escape, one that was most welcome, transforming the barbarians poise and command as the moments wandered through the conversation of magic. Over-stimulated by the brew, he glanced to Pyre and quietly asked, "Were you grooming yourself, or did you divine something from that sliver of metal? he said it with half the heart of a joke, but there was a secret hope Pyre had a trick up his sleeve. The mystery had kept his mind working for half the run through the wilderness. half the run to what he believed was the border, where a fortress once garrisoned troops some eras ago.

The Xet. What an unexplainable foe. He looked over his comrades.

What a worthy sacrifice they made.
 
Darkmavrck
March 19, 2011 11:46 PM​

Pyre welcomed Alden to sit with him and gave a soft chuckle to his statement. Indeed, the man never thought of how it might have looked to others, but he was happy to share the knowledge. Reaching back and pulling the thin needle of metal from his hair he offered it to the northerner to examine. “It’s just a simple sliver of elfin steel, you rub it through your hair and set it on top the water and it points out north for ye, like a compass they use of ships. It’s an old trick we use in the mountains in case we get lost in the snow storms.” The man smiled tucking it back into his tangled locks so that it wouldn’t get lost or damaged. “The trick is to get it nice and charged up and then carefully setting it on the water so it can float. If it dips in or sinks you have to wait for it to dry out.”

Just as stated, the group was given a half marks time to discuss and decide on whatever they liked. By the time Etana joined there group again those that had decided to partake in the liquid were feeling overly energetic. With few words she sent Pyre ahead and together their trek continued through the wet grasslands. The fog still hung thick in the air and through it, it was barely noticeable that half brightening had passed.

They were left to their thoughts through the hike, their feminine leader continued on, and as it were, the ordeal had begun to drag out. The information process had not gone nearly as well as the woman had hoped and she felt as if they were all a bit unprepared at this point. Once they connected with whatever was left of the scouts and set up camp, she decided the group would have a serious talk about strategy and the tactics they should keep in mind for the coming battle. Hopefully that would get them all talking a bit more.

The hope was quickly dashed however, suddenly tracking became rather easy rather quickly as Pyre came upon a trail of blood. It was still fairly thin and red, giving clue to its relative freshness. To this the burly mountain man wasted little time drawing his bow and picking up the pace again. It would be clear enough to the others if they chose to give any attention to the ground, the crimson streaks were abound and it was either from one severely wounded man staggering from side to side, or up to three… which to their leader meant very bad things. The scout group they were searching for had only been five strong to start with, two of which were likely dead by now in the camp, meaning that if truly the remaining three were all wounded the new force from Kesmek was quickly running out of time.

As they progressed the blood became more and more abundant, the trail was easily followed at a running pace and they did just that. Etana looked to Nimavel and his shadow gaze to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, knowing full well his ability to sense a presence at some distance. It mattered little though, still there was no life left in these woods. That is nearly no life. He was the first to sense it, five forms directly along the path of blood, and then those magi with their staves picked up the vis reserves of the new life forms.

Standing around three fresh corpses were five shadowy figures, waiting patiently for their prey to arrive. “We need at least one alive.” Etana stated, breaking into a sprint as she pulled her daggers. Immediately Pyre, fell to a knee and strung his bow in one fluid motion, releasing the projectile into the air and watching as none of the figures flinched. It disappeared into their folds of darkness yet still not one of them moved. They stood in a perfect line, all cloaked and watching the oncoming tide of warriors and mages. It seemed that battle was to commence.

Sraosha
March 20, 2011 02:10 AM​



Listening to the tales of each told about stories and encounters they had with the creatures of the Xet brought forth no memories for the katta, though still he listened carefully and patiently. It was too soon perhaps to speak of half thought ideas and speculations, and at the moment, it served much better to observe. The group was unique to say the least, they certainly were no unit, there were little connections between them, as their body language showed and the atmosphere reflected there was quite the lack of harmony among them.


Speculations on each of the attendance could have been made, but it was better to go by instinct, and each of the members in attendance had the smell of danger. Two faries, two humans, a saurid, the child of the forest he had prior contact with... and as much as could be told about them by even their smell, they all held back so much. Such things were natural though.


The hike to join the scouting party felt unsatisfying, a tone set by the mood of Etana not satisfied with the prior talk of what the group had known. Communication was a tricky thing, too many things that could go wrong, so many things left to interpretation . It didn't take long till something in the air caught the katta's attention though, the scent of fresh blood was something that all hunters knew, all too well... Coming upon the trail of blood, the atmosphere quickly changed, no longer was this a simple travel, something had gone wrong.


The amount of blood on the ground could have come only from battle, the type that he would have described as unnatural. Alert, he followed, cautiously. It was unclear as to exactly what had been attacked or what had done the attacking; though these sort of questions had a way of providing the answers themselves with in time... shadowy figures waiting above fresh corpses, lying in wait almost as if the original attack was meant as a lure.


“We need at least one alive.”


Etana on her way to the figures, Pyre's attack moving seemingly thru them, the actions of the others not yet resolved for the katta to make out... The undead had struck before, could they had been more? Breathing slowly, deeply, the katta focused his mind, the feel of the ground below him, the motion of the air around, working his way towards clara, there was more to the creatures that simple sight seemed unable to determine, simple smell could not detect...




oocsorry for the delay, work's been a little more demanding of my time

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 22, 2011 10:26 PM​

As they approached the trail of blood, Tiarela looked down at the ground and upturned her nose, shaking her head. Aslan skirted to the outside of the trail, attempting to avoid the yuck that was spewed all in lines for the eye to see.

The Faerie stayed back with the cabbit, watching as the ominous streaks of blood filled the path in front of them until they suddenly came upon five shadowy figures: their prey, or something like it. Tiarela clung to Iallea’ryn tightly, holding the staff close to her and squinting out ahead to see the vis of their bodies.

… How had the zombies looked in Clara? Her mind couldn’t remember.

Etana broke off into a run and Tiarela was quick to follow, her instincts telling her that while the woman was probably more than capable of handling herself, backup would ensure that they captured one appropriately and that the woman was not injured before the battle with the Xet. This was a key component of Iceglitter’s relatively new devised plan: anyone capable of actually hitting weak spots with more strength than a sneeze from a cabbit should get all the support they could, lest it turn into two faeries and a useless lizard versus one giant bug when all was said and done.

”Single one out to keep alive,” the Faerie called back from above, hoping that in doing so there would be a focused effort to avoid annihilating them all.

Tiarela darted up into the sky and then followed after Etana, watching the ground below her to keep the sprinting woman in sight. From somewhere behind, Pyre fired an arrow and it either missed the figures or went straight through them. Tiarela’s eyes narrowed and she sped off as fast as possible, attempting to get closer to the figures and examine them before she devised some sort of spell to either assist her fellow crazy comrades or something to hinder the foe that their leader had demanded be captured and not completely annihilated.

Something was different. Something was not right. The Faerie looked back over her shoulder curiously at the rest of the group, wondering what they would do. Uneasiness set into the Faerie’s mind, at the base of her neck… Perhaps something that Sraosha had felt as well. A grim expression on her face, Tiarela darted back and forth in an attempt to discern exactly what the figures were, for the behavior was not what she had expected from the zombies. They had outright charged them last time. Why was this different? What were they waiting for?

Was this a trap?

The Faerie took a deep breath, and tried to stay out of the grasp or range of the five shadowy figures, waiting instead to see what those capable of direct assault would do. Perhaps Etana and Nimavel could dispose of them easily. Perhaps Tiarela should explode one of their heads again. It was hard to say given what they had seen previously, but she also attempted to make herself as unnoticed or unfocused on as possible in case she needed to drop in and make one of their heads turn into goo.

There was also the issue of the three fresh corpses… But with so much blood loss, Tiarela was sure they were dead and paid them little mind. Searching for anything important through sight alone, Tiarela decided it was best to observe, but kept Etana in her sights and also watched for Pyre’s additional arrows, sure that his assault would be something she had to dodge given that she was airborne and the others were not.

Hopefully her relative inaction would not be mirrored in the others... and would not put them in a completely hopeless situation.

Nimavel Mynendil
March 23, 2011 12:17 AM​

A blind poodle could have followed the trail of blood: it was that apparent on the grassy frontier. Kneeling down to examine a fresh splotch on the ground, the Heru Mynendil shook his head. If the group had entertained any hope of saving the scouts, Nimavel was certain that those odds had now been reduced to zero. He rose to his feet and readjusted his black long coat with a firm shrug. While he hardly cared about the livelihoods of those who had gone before him and his temporary companions, the assassin was not fond of the notion of supplying the enemy with three more corpses to use at their disposal.

The damned bugs.

They’re over there,” He eventually said as the group closed in on the source of the carnage. “Five of them to be exact,” The elf lord added to Etana, although his monotone voice was loud enough for the others to hear. Pausing beside the Grandmistress of Demir Kum, the assassin surveyed the landscape with his lavender eyes, eyes that betrayed no emotion in the face of such butchery.

Upon further analysis with his Shadow Gaze, he lifted a gloved hand and tucked a disobedient strand of raven hair behind his pointed ear. “The scouts are dead,” He blankly said, knowing that they emitted no palpable life force. “We’d be wise to be wary of them in case they’ve been . . . rigged.

Although Nimavel would have preferred evaluating the oddity of the encounter before rushing headlong into the unknown (and what appeared to be a suspicious arrangement), Etana seemed to possess a different mindset, a mindset that was unsurprising considering the woman’s brutal powers. Nimavel framed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb again, instinctively remembering its crunch the time he had dueled the woman.

Even if it was a trap, he pitied the fools who had sprung it. They had no idea who they were up against.

Like the wind, he flew unnoticeably after Etana, his black boots creating the faintest whisper as his slender figure seemingly floated across the grass in a blur. Unlike the last time, he paid special attention to Tiarela Iceglitter’s location at all moments, duly aware of what happened the last time he had allowed her to practice her creativity upon the undead Legionnaire’s head – that had almost cost the entire group their lives. He suspected that she had learned her lesson, but then again, Nimavel had met far too many fools on this particular endeavor already to be fully convinced otherwise.

A throwing knife suddenly appeared between his index finger and thumb as he ran. His hand crossed his body an instant later, sending it in a deadly spin towards the head of the Legionnaire on the outermost part of the ring. The elfin assassin seemed to chase the blade itself as it traveled, following its trajectory at an impossibly close range.

And then his left hand shot forward behind the missile, four fingers outstretched together and thumb tucked beneath his index finger in a lightning-quick stab to the creature’s throat. Judging from the sheer momentum of the strike, it appeared that the assassin was fully intent on severing the abomination’s head with a single punch.

Darkmavrck
March 23, 2011 12:35 PM​

Etana did not notice that only two of their assembled group had risen to battle. Had she, the Grandmaster of Demir Kum would have likely turned round and slit all their throats where they stood. However, she had more important things to worry with. The five forms stood stoic, though as she was in reach of the center most enemy, her eyes caught the broken form of the arrow Pyre had let loose. It was lying severed before her expected opponent, it meant one if not all of them were very fast. The theory was quickly proven as well, swinging in with one of her blades, the centermost foe engaged her catching it with a knife of its own.

The foes were nearly impossible to discern beneath their cloaks in the lack of light, long shadows were cast about their face and around them. By their demeanor alone it was obvious that each had been well trained. Trained in what skills was the question however, they seemed unaffected by the two figures running toward them and at first only reacted when engaged.

Nimavel’s blade cut through the air, thrown by a practiced hand. The elf lord followed in its shadow as it neared his foe. The assault would have been brilliantly beautiful had they been facing the undead legionary from before, unfortunately these five were very much alive. The familiar sound of steel connecting with steel rang through the air as the Heru’s eyes glimpsed the flash of an arm holding an elven long knife in the reverse grip swipe by. It was the left which held the blade as its owner’s right foot swung back, shifting the figure ninety degrees. Nimavel’s powerful hand erupted forward and passed by his enemy’s rotating face, so close he could feel the warm breath of a soft exhale escaping her lips across his gloved and covered limb.

The force and velocity of the blow cause and eruption of air, its force blowing the hood back to reveal the features of his opponents face. She looked Sylrosian with her elongated ears holding back earthy chestnut locks, and emerald eyes locking with Nimavel’s lavender orbs. For a moment time seemed to stand still as a soft smile turned her lips skyward. Ducking down beneath his arm her left leg rotated, bringing her body about in another ninety degrees so that her form was in line with the others once more, her blade coming across to cut open the Heru’s midsection.

At this point the other three shot forward from their stoic positions to engage the others. They were fast, not nearly as the pair that engaged Nimavel and Etana but amazingly quick none the less. At their center was a large bobbing figure who released his cape half way. A massive Saurid warrior let out a blood curdling shrieking hiss, its golden and red scales glimmering as he charged for Pescado. At first it seemed to have no weapons upon him, but as it neared a small black rod in its hand caught the aelyrian’s eye. The others in the trio seemed to be honing in on Duncan and Alden for the moment as Pyre had abandoned his forward position, falling back behind the group as he set another arrow into his powerful bow.

Tiarela, Amber, and Sraosha seemed to be of little concern to anyone at the moment for whatever reasons may have been. Both with their staves, and the katta entering clara could see however that each of the five had a full compellation of vis in their forms, all were very much alive as if their movements had not been proof enough. For Sraosha the world was alive with the essence of sorcery, motion was everywhere, and taking hold of a strand was a relative ease. He would have the mana for whatever his mind desired if only he reach out for it.

Duncan Sythe
March 23, 2011 02:33 PM​

OOC: Damn...missed this was moving so fast.

IC:

Duncan fell silent as Pescado spoke. Port Alyx? He had many doubts about that place, but equally as much as he had doubts about the city and Stormhaven he had additional doubts about Pescaodo. For better or worse he paused for thought, that might cost them all; later.

Of course, it didn't help that the entire scene was distracted by Tiarela making the poor Cabbit scream. A wry, distant smile creased his features as he sat with his arms folded, concentrating on the issue of Pescado and whether or not he had a right to interfere, here, now, of all places and times; not that Duncan was quite of the fairy's opinion when it came to magic and its ensuing prejudices. Mages were dangerous things, most thought they had a right to use their powers how they wished – at least those outside of the academies. And those inside? They were sometimes more dangerous as they felt their abilities did not affect others.

None of the other senior Mages spoke up after Tiarela's words though, neither the Necromancer nor the mysterious Elf. So he left it alone, wordless, undone. It was perhaps unlike Duncan not to make such decisions, but a moment doubt was perhaps precipitous, or else there were other reasons he could not quite put a finger on.

In any event they were soon onward again, and into the realms of blood. Wounded men, two it seemed with more blood coming as they followed. Duncan carefully slid his sword from his sheath and went to Clara taking several short breaths to focus his mind.

Then they found them, five shadowy figures, standing around 3 dead corpses. He picked up the Vis of them being in Clara, but for the moment...did nothing.

It was too eerie, too perfect, too...enticing.

Keep one alive?...and why hadn't she bothered to tell them that before exactly? Never mind, if one was left at the end it was left, if not then they would all be dead and they'd need another set.

Something told Duncan there would be no shortage of Xet and that these five were not the first. That, in part, was why he waited, his eyes and senses expanding outwards and around; cautious, searching.

After all, if the force ahead was a challenge for Etana and the other fighters? What good was he. One more body, certainly, but not one used to fighting in groups. So while the others ran followed he followed at a walk, stepping foot over foot and keeping his blue eyes scanning around rather than just forward.

Any mages? He peered at the Vis of each in turn, but before long he too was occupied, two more rushing towards him and the other man Alden. The sad thing was that the one coming had waited a little too long, Duncan had far far too much time to himself.

Giving Duncan Sythe time to prepare was, well, generally speaking as unwise as upsetting Nimavel. He didn't even technically need much effort if the appearance of the figure rushing towards him was right. As an apprentice spell his Psionic Cage was effective at disconnecting individuals from reality, with the power of an Adept's Vis behind it, the device would be crippling.

Stepping to one side to test whether the onrushing figure reacted as expected, Duncan released an altered and abjured cage which was shaped around the onrushing figures mind and senses, completely enmeshing their senses. Sound, touch, taste, sight, hearing, each was snipped away at the focus of the psionic energy in the body; the mind.

Duncan Sythe then replaced them with simple, forceful, damningly stark divined void.

If all went well then the onrushing figure simply dropped to the ground bonelessly. If it fought, if it had very very good mental strength then it might end up slightly mad; but either option worked really, Etana had wanted one alive and he was more than happy to oblige.

The problem was whether or not these figures were normal, either way as the figures came towards him and Duncan settled into a defensive sword-stance, if the spell didn't completely work, he still had the energy there to play with afterwards. Usually he used the Cage to completely control the sensory perception of an individual, using it simply as a nullification was intentionally crude and abrupt...and minimalistic.

It gave him more to work with later.

 
Pescado Branch
March 23, 2011 04:38 PM​

Duncan didn't unbind him. How disappointing, and oh, how the man would regret it come battle time. The saurid had been at his peak in mysticism when he was bound, and regretably so. If he didn't want to interfer with stormhaven affairs, it was okay, but then again, Duncan was a fool to have not unbound the saurid. It was left undone as it might well should have been, but oh well. Pescado knew they'd come sooner to their dooms if he was bound, and so they would. As they began their trek, the saurid said nothing further towards the fool of a man named Duncan, as powerful as he might be, the saurid found him to be arrogant, wanting to be the only powerful mystic amongst the group, thinking his power was enough to stop a Xet.

Fool, Pescado thought, and then continued onward with the rest of the group. As they stumbled upon the shadowy figures, Pescado watched carefully, and then saw them spring into action as Etana and the elven lord made their way after them. A trio of them split off from the other two to assault the saurid, Duncan, and the vagaran. Emerald gaze looked upon the one heading straight for him, and when he saw it was a saurid, he quickly bellowed "Cssssseasssssse your actionsssss at oncssssse..." His voice was that of a Dri'kaloss, commanding, and otherwise accurate to what the saurid assaulting him should be doing.

But he did not expect the saurid to stop as he came at him. Pescado braced himself for the assault, pulling his spear out from it's holster on his back with his left arm, and then making his way towards the creature. Not wanting to mortally wound the saurid that was attacking him, he quickly swept the spear downwards towards the other saurid's legs, so that the neck of the spear, not the blade, would hit the legs, and hopefully knock the saurid heading towards him off balance. Pescado would have to swing it with a lot of force though, and thinking Alacrity to activate an imbuement of alacrity upon himself, the saurid's speed would hopefully increase twofold or more given his reactions would be much much faster now that the spell had taken shape upon himself...

Nimavel Mynendil
March 24, 2011 01:46 AM​

With the flick of her wrist, the elfin lord’s opponent plucked his throwing knife out of thin air – not an easy feat for anyone. Nimavel glimpsed the blur of movement as his deadly hand overshot her shoulder, not because he had misaimed, but because the woman, and it was indeed a woman, had evaded what should have been a lethal attack. That, too, was no simple exploit. Surprise seldom manifested upon the master assassin’s callous visage, but his widening eyes evinced what few on Telath had ever witnessed before.

He watched her long knife scythe towards his belly, an attack generated by her nifty footwork. The blade moved in slow motion before him, his insanely honed senses and speed inducing the phenomenal effect. He could probably have sprung his nekodes, captured the dagger between them, and pierced her face with his opposite hand, but his confusion dissuaded him from that instinctive reaction. The assassin instead leapt backwards, sucking in his stomach to avoid the tip of her unwinding arm and dagger.

Who the hell are you?” He asked, his lavender eyes narrowing suspiciously as they settled upon the startling and undeniable form of an elven woman. An elven woman? Initially, the assassin wondered if the five assailants were an ingenious machination of the Xet, but that seemed improbable considering that the woman was veritably alive. He had felt her hot breath against his arm when he had tried to dismember her, and his Shadow Gaze had confirmed life in the five cloaked figures. Was it possible that the Xet were capable of controlling the living as well?

Why does an elf travel with a saurid and guard three dead scouts?” He coldly asked, beginning to circle strategically to her right side. As he moved, the folds of his black long coat succumbed to the wind and shifted enough to reveal the black hilt of a short sword fastened to his right hip.

The sound of multiple battles transpiring around him suddenly triggered the elf lord into motion again. While the presence of living creatures in the area remained an enigma to him, the reality was that they only needed one of them alive. And if his companions –barring Etana- were the least bit like that fool Limbus, then the assassin knew that he would not be able to count on them to hold their own for long.

In other words . . . there was no time for horseplay.

His circular motion became a terrifying haze as he pushed off the balls of his feet, using his supernatural velocity to carry him in a continuous, circular pattern around her. In a matter of heartbeats, his masterful footwork generated several images of himself, making him appear as if he were in multiple places at once about her. The Phantasm was not a technique that he unveiled often to his opponents. In fact, Etana was one of the few whom he had demonstrated it to. But the group’s forward progress had enormous implications not only for them, but for Silrosia and the rest of Telath as well – not that he cared about the rest of Telath. It just happened that if Telath was overrun with bugs, so too would his homeland.

Indeed, there was no time to mess around.

It was not until he was behind her that he sprung from the illusion, his enchanted glove activated to reveal four gleaming blades bursting from his knuckles. They sliced the very fabric of the air as they raced towards the back of her left shoulder and at her heart, preparing to tear mercilessly through the slim defenses that were her skin and rib cage.

Amber Brightwing
March 24, 2011 03:31 PM​

Tiarela’s point was valid to a certain extend. The Saurid would be far more useful unbound, but on the flip side, unbinding him meant that you would carry a certain responsibility for his actions as well. If he had been bound for valid reasons, he might as well endanger the group with his behaviour. If he had been just an Initiate or Apprentice, things might have gone different. The impact of his actions would have been less and he would be rebound easier. Like Duncan, Amber felt no need to be the one taking the responsibility of a rushed decision in this matter. She kept the option in her mind for later though. Perhaps when things looked more dire the risk would be worth taking.

The Fae hesitated for a moment when she saw the men awaiting them, trailing behind the assaulters as she tried to discern what kind of foes they were dealing with before acting. When it became obvious that they were facing regular living beings she curled up her lips. After a quick scan to see if there were unbound minds amongst them, indicating that they were facing mages, she – or her mind at least – sprang into action.

Using her prowess to the fullest and being safely behind the line of fighters, she would start cranking out spells in a quick succession, leaving little pause between them. Ara and Vis, Arcalysis, Focus, Channelling and Shaping, again and again. If she had discovered mages amongst them, the one that looked the closest to casting would be rewarded with a Conjuration. A simple Acid Sphere to distract him a little in the hopes that he would not notice the Evocation of Impotence that would follow it immediately. If no mages could be discerned straight away, she would stick to Impotence castings only, targeting the ones already in combat first.

Impotence was not as powerful as Duncan’s spell, but being only Initiate level, she could produce them a lot quicker and while a strong minded being to resist the effects to a certain extent, it should make them pushovers (literally) for the fighters in their group. They should have little trouble capturing or killing, whichever they preferred.

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 24, 2011 11:43 PM​

Tiarela’s nose was on fire in a matter of seconds.

The rot of Amber’s attempts, the ambiance of the actual location, all entwined with the lilacs of Duncan’s attempts made her nose feel like it needed to sneeze. The Faerie shook her head and grit her teeth as the scene unfolded. Etana was parried. So was Nimavel. Tiarela sucked in air- hard. This was going to be way harder than before. Nimavel had been a machine of death, nearly Jalat himself, against the Zombies. This was not the case here.

Still. Etana and Nimavel were more than capable of handling themselves. Pescado? He was bound because the two masters in the group were so self righteous that they were neglecting one of the larger assets of the team. So much for working together. First, Pescado was a saurid. They had fought the Xet before. It was imperative he was at his best. Second, Pescado was a mystic. Considering the mental connections the bugs were making, this was either very important or very useless and thus far it was hard to tell exactly what it would be. And third… Why the heck would you allow morality to get in the way of staying the Aeternia alive?! No one was going to carry responsibility for him if they all just plain died!

Thus Tiarela’s choices were narrowed. Duncan was so confident that he wouldn’t need Pescado and thus could save everyone himself, so Tiarela half-trusted that he would be okay and half-felt that even if he wouldn’t he needed to get his teeth knocked out for making what she thought was a vital mistake. Her eyes scanned over the scene as the three broke off to attack Duncan, Pescado and Alden. Taking back to the air, the Faerie raced after the three shadowy masters, having already summoned Iallea’ryn to her, there was no time to waste. The overlay in front of her made it easy to cast on the move without much thought. Clara was already achieved. The middle man was out of the way.

The Vagaran was formidable in size and stature, so perhaps he and Pyre would be alright for a moment. Looking back to Pescado, the Faerie focused on the charging Saurid that he was desperately trying to command to stop. Yeah… That wasn’t going to work, Tiarela was fairly sure. It wasn’t time for Flashbang! yet, but rather a more stock-spell that she was sure she knew the outcome of and had practiced several times.

Grabbing for the Ara next to her as Tiarela flew past it, she yanked it towards her form and mixed it with her Vis to create an arcalysis reaction and launched herself into the Astral Plane. There, where time had stopped, Tiarela would focus on the Plane of Thought and channel the Essence of Thought to herself to create Mana. Tiarela was careful only to channel and thus create an apprentice’s amount of mana, as that was what her spell required. Assuming everything went as planned, the Faerie paused but a moment in the air and dropped like peregrine falcon out of the air towards her prey. The Mana was then abjured into the Saurid’s body, spread over every limb, rather thinly. Its purpose was to force the Saurid into spasms and to cause some moderate damage. Tiarela honestly wasn’t sure what damage this would be because most of the times she had used Psionic Shock she hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out… And then there was the Poppet, who was not made of humanoid things, and thus did not experience “damage” in the same way she expected something fleshy to experience it. Honestly the Faerie sort of expected the Saurid’s nose to start bleeding or his muscles to tighten and relax uncontrollably with the spasms. Well. She was about to find out.

The abjuration was quickly followed with evocation, the blueprint of Psionic Shock being followed to the best of her memory from her brightenings in Ethgan’tor when she was taught alongside her friend the Poppet. Perhaps Tiarela would try to create a Poppet, if she survived this insanity…

The weave was released from her Vis and aimed directly at the charging Saurid. If it missed, it would hopefully hit the ground and not Pescado.

Tiarela’s approach to the mind was much different than Duncan Sythe’s. Her thought process was more that while the senses in the legionnaires might have been controlled by the bug and perhaps did not require the activity of a functioning or even alive mind to do so, there was very little a bug could command a shell to do if the body was essentially rebelling against it with uncontrollable contractions and spasms. It didn't even matter if there actually was a bug in the heads of these five crazy people. She assumed there was, because ... well... why would five people randomly kill three scouts, why would they try to destroy their group... It didn't make any sense. If they were also scouts, they would've surely recognized that the party was not a threat and was attempting to find the Xet as well. Instead they attacked. There was no reason to attack. Their brains must've been crawling with yucky bugs. Even if there weren't any bugs... Tiarela wasn't killing the Saurid, just hopefully giving him a second to second-guess trying to knock Pescado's head off his shoulders. Whether or not a mind-infiltrating bug could feel pain (since the legionnaires hadn't) was secondary. She had intended it to be a muscular pain, at the end of the neurons, and thus hopefully it would force the muscles to be weaker when the Saurid recovered, allowing Pescado to overpower him.

Somewhere in the back of Tiarela’s mind, she knew that this could very well be a point of weakness for Pescado. He wasn't lashing out at the assaulting Saurid like he should be; he was sweeping at its feet. As long as the spell actually produced an effect (and only if it did, mind you!) Tiarela yelled down to him, ”Kri’Sri!” desperation in her voice, ”Don’t hold back! You can’t hold back!

… Because if he did, Tiarela was fairly sure that he would soon be very, very dead. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. If Saurids were so integral at bringing about the fall of the Xet, Tiarela didn't want to lose the only one they had. Even if he was restricted out of some insane moral obligation by the other two masters in the group. Tiarela hoped that he was as important as her instincts told her he could be based on his race and what Etana had said alone. Otherwise... She should've been helping Alden. Time would tell soon enough, as long as they lived through this bout of the nightmare, anyway.

Darkmavrck
March 26, 2011 01:40 AM​

For the master of house Mynendil the Xet and their minions were proving to be a powerful foe. Already they had drug out surprise from the depths of his cold heart, not once but twice. What was perhaps the most unnerving came in the process of how the man was caught off guard. It was not from overpowering the elf but rather with simple unexpected things. These were things that he should have been above, and he knew it. Then again this was a new enemy, one unlike any he had ever faced. Even the woman that he shared dodges with had been infected with their power. He was right to be fearful for his home; left untamed this new enemy would destroy all in their path.

The unknown woman watched the Heru with careful eyes. All the while he could sense her heartbeat, pounding softly, regularly, within the chest. She wasn’t scared of him, not in the least. As he began to circle she brought the blade back up, still in its reverse hold, to just below her neck line. Words rolled forth, they were soft and melodic just as they were from most of his kin. “Because my master bids it.” His fears were correct, in one way or another, this woman was being controlled. As the man launched into his technique, his full skill and power being revealed, the woman continued to slowly circle, her heart only slightly picking up its pace as one foot rotated behind the other.

Then, as the grandmaster picked his moment and made way for his prey he knew that he had her. The long knife was coming for him, she had picked him out, but it was too late. By the time its edge crested her hip he could already feel her heart pulsating through the blades of his glove. Something else happened in that moment as well. A companion was giving assistance where it was not necessarily needed, and Nimavel would be sharing the consequences.

Neither Amber nor Tiarela had a need for meditation to obtain Clara. Their staves acted as a tether to the astral plane, and gave them certain advantages over most, even over other magi. As Amber made her scan between the five she saw no unbound magi in their groups, it seemed that the rarity of Arcana users even extended into the far western realms. Instantly she went to picking out targets and found an easy one in Nimavel’s opponent, she was simply standing there for goodness sake. The problem was that the battle she partook in was happening at a speed few in all of Telath could comprehend, let alone participate in. Impotence was successfully cast, engulfing the immediate area around the woman, including Nimavel’s arm.

The arm holding the long knife threatening the elf lord suddenly fell limp, but so too did his arm. Filled with necrotic essence, and being a spell that the Heru knew, there was little room to doubt whose fault this was. It was a considerate gesture to be sure, but not well aimed and most definitely causing more harm than good. Nimavel’s opponent staggered for a moment, already dead the spell was quick to dissipate from her body, and over her shoulder he caught sight of Etana. The woman had just stuck her foe through the wrist with one of the deadly daggers in her possession, and brought the second up to sever the arm from its owner. In response a blood curdling scream filled the air but was quickly replaced with a muffled gurgle as she brought the blade down through his neck piercing vital parts and letting them drain into the lungs.

Again however, the culmination of the Nairu’s attacks, the spell coming into existence, the slight stagger, and the realization that Nimavel was now the proud owner of a disabled arm happened in less time than the blink of an eye. And with its shutting came another surprise. The now very dead woman was doing something that did not befit a corpse. It spun dragging the arm of the elf about and tearing free a rather large chunk of back, lung and heart meat as the claws came free. That was the least concerning part of the action though, for with her spin came the blade, first drawing a superficial wound across the elf’s thigh, and then aimed to be brought down upon his chest. The slight sting of split flesh gave reminder that he was alive, but if he did not react he soon wouldn’t be.

“What in Aslan’s… Die you fool.” The frustrated words of Etana gave some comfort, or despair, that his counterpart was suffering a similar reaction. “Seems the kids are up as well…” She warned, and if the fellow grandmaster spared a glance he would see that the thee guarded bodies from before had risen to their feet as well. Two were prepared to give assistance to their recently killed comrades, while the third set out to close in on the other three quarters of the group.

For Tiarela and Pescado, things were going better, slightly. As the Saurid activated his spell a sudden rush of energy washed over and through him. It worked perfectly and while the master was currently not a mage, his bag of tricks still provided the perks. The spear came in, sweeping for the legs, and timed perfectly, there was only one tiny miscalculation. As his opponent charged, and even observed the attack, he jumped. The spear swept beneath the foe, seemingly in slow motion thanks to Pescado's latent spell and the slightly larger lizard opponent glided directly through the air at the most respeced saurid leader, mouth wide, and ready to take the Dri’kaloss into it.

It was an interesting moment. To think that his own brethren, a descendent of the proud race that had fought the Xet for so long, would be Pescado’s end. What would happen to him, would he to become a corpse slave of the Xet? Would Rak save him? No, it wouldn’t be his god that came to the Powermonger’s aid; it would be something much smaller, and perhaps the very antithesis of the Planetar of power. From the edge of his vision the mystic saw the only person who had beseeched the others on his behalf, the overgrown Faerie known as Tiarela Iceglitter – Cabbit wrangler.

In the same form as Amber’s, the second Fae’s spell came together without a hitch. The defining feature between the two was that Miss Iceglitter had been much more thorough in her target acquisition and spell activation. As the Saurid leapt through the air at its prey, she released Psionic Shock and there was little where else for the spell to go then its intended target. Its golden body locked and a soft screech of surprise erupted from its throat. But as physics went, objects in motion tended to stay in motion. The body then promptly barreled into Pescado and sent them both rolling across the ground, together in a tangle of scales, claws, and spear. Success… Sort of.

Duncan’s work seemed to go just as well. Upon entering Clara he had not spotted any magi amongst the opposing force, the same as Amber. Further while his spell had taken the longest to achieve, the effect appeared to be quite complete and rather controlled in contrast to the other two. His foe went from a sprint to a stumble and just as it drew a short sword from its belt fell and slid to the most experienced mage’s feet. The man, for that was what he was, panted heavily as if fearful, desperately searching for the blade resting between Duncan’s legswith blind grasps. Success.

This of course left the trio of Alden, Sraosha, and Pyre. The three most feral in their group also seemed to be the least active through the transpiring events. The katta had obtained clara, and seemed to sit idle within it, luckily away from the attention of the others. Alden stood, well that was about all he was doing for the moment, standing and watching the events transpire, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the fifth of their obscure foes was coming right for him, long sword trailing in its shadowy wake.

The man / woman, for it was still unknown, brought the blade up in a sweeping two handed slash from lower left to upper right as it closed the distance. It seemed ready to end the barbarian’s life in one attack, and would have if it were not for Pyre. “Move boy!” the words erupted into the northerner’s ear as his body was rudely shoved out of the way, landing at Sraosha’s feet. The blade of his foe nicking the flesh of the Alden’s arm as it arched by and drawing forth a thin line of blood from his right bicep. Pyre, drawing a hatchet from his hip, instantly engaged the much more skilled foe. Swinging in and catching the blade just about its hilt in an attempt to gain leverage. The questions would be if he could, and for how long.

Pescado Branch
March 26, 2011 03:58 AM​

Hissing wildly in surprised, as the other saurid leaped towards him, Pescado was sort of braced for the assault. Sort of. Then it suddenly spasmed, and slammed into him, knocking the two of them over. Pescado could hear Tiarela's words towards him, telling him not to hold back, he couldn't hold back. Those words were enough. While he wouldn't kill the saurid, he certainly wouldn't hold back in stopping him, even though he was seemingly already injured and stunned. The saurids rolled upon the ground, and Pescado worked to push the saurid off of him as they rolled, using his strong arms and legs to thrust the saurid away from him, and then if his spear was within reach, would grasp hold of it as quickly as possibly in an attempt to recover from the fall.

His emerald gaze surveyed the battle area quickly as he recovered, getting up as fast as he possibly could. Then he laid eyes once more upon the saurid that had been injured throughout the fight, seemingly by Tiarela's spell, whatever had happened to the creature, Pescado only knew it probably wasn't his fault he was fighting him. No fething way was Pescado going to kill the creature if it wasn't his fault, and by Aeternia's fury, he would stop anyone whom tried to harm the saurid now that he was down upon the ground once more. Approaching the downed creature, he would aim his spear carefully, and slice downwards towards the creature's leg, specifically it's tendon between it's heel and calf on the back of it's leg, so as to injure it enough that it wouldn't be able to walk. Using the same strategy, he would then slice the other leg as well.

Hopefully in doing this the saurid wouldn't be able to get up as quickly as possible, and that would prevent it from doing any damage to the rest of the group. Backing away form the saurid to give it space, he quickly kneeled down, aiming his spear toward's it's throat, and then saying in the native saurid tongue, "Why have you done this, attacked a Dri'Kaloss of the saurid people. Who were those men that you've killed?" Hopefully by the time Pescado started to question him, the saurid would be able to speak once more, and have recovered from Tiarela's spell that she had cast upon him.

His words were said in a calm, but demanding tone, as if to project the thought that the saurid needed to answer Pescado now, not later, now at this very point in time, lest his throat be skewered by the spear blade that Pescado was strongly holding towards the downed creature. He needed answers, and needed to know if there was anything he could do to snap the saurid out of it's senses, given the fact that he felt the creature wasn't fighting naturally. His emerald eyes roved the saurid's body, and saw the black item the creatur happned to be holding. "What is that in your hand?" he then continue the question in the saurid language, preparing himself for whatever might come next, whether it be a blow to him, or something else, as well as keeping his mind vigilant for whatever could come from behind the saurid, ears perked, and senses working all in tangent to create a living weapon, what Saurids happened to be...

Duncan Sythe
March 26, 2011 07:46 PM​

Duncan's Sythe's foot swept sideways and downwards, slapping the flat of the disorientated man's short sword and pinning it to the floor. Tugging the blade back he lent down to collect it with his left hand from his disorientated target, and studied the disabled man carefully for a long moment. What came next was simple practicality.

With swift and methodical brutality the Aetherium Fallax fell, and dragged. It rose, and it fell again and was dragged again. Each cut was a deliberate, surgical slash of the tendons at the back of the man's legs. He took no particular pleasure in it, but he needed the body disabled and the easiest way to do that was cut its tendons as he flung the carried the man's shortsword in his left hand.

This done, he looked around at the group in more detail. Feth. The analysis was brief but several things were obviously clear. The first was that Etana was proceeding efficiently, and that the Elven man was clearly of similar ilk to Etana and having...a deal more trouble. That melee was further away however and so clearly complicated that the thought of interfering at this distance was pure lunacy, especially given that the rest of the group were having significantly more problems; and the other three men had just gotten up and decided to pay attention to the world.

Still, Duncan had learned the important lesson he'd wanted to test before getting into another dire mess; these individuals were still using their normal senses, and so were still as vulnerable to Psionics energy as the ones he'd fought before. And while Pescado was playing Saurid-rough-and-tumble it seemed that Aslan and, presumably, Tiarela, were observing the scene.

That left the other three seeing as Nimavel and Etana were managing to hold their own in any event... they were having far less luck with their opponent whilst one of the formerly dead scouts appeared to have been co-opted into the effort. Jalat's balls...

Duncan broke into a jog towards the trio and interplaced himself between the onrushing undead and the mostly alive figure with his back to the Mystic who was now engaged with Pyre. Whether he'd get there quick enough to simply lop the man's head off from behind? He wasn't quite sure, since the situation seemed pretty precarious, but either way his intent was clear enough having incapacitated one figure and hopefully fulfilled Etana's keep one alive request, taking a long indrawn breath as he approached and concentrating inwardly to draw back the state of Meditation as he approached in order to be able to reach for his Arcane skills again.

Nimavel Mynendil
March 26, 2011 09:23 PM​

For a split second, the master assassin had the upper-hand. For a split second, his gleaming claws were ripping through the elf’s skin, blood vessels, and beating heart. For a split second, he thought that his suddenly limp arm was a trick of his imagination. More than a split second later, he entertained bloodcurdling aspirations of cutting the necromancer fae’s neck off and pissing down her useless neck. “Learn to aim your spells, you winged bitch!” the Heru Mynendil roared from the melee, his timbre rising to an altitude that no one in Aelyria had ever heard before. Steam might as well have poured from his long pointed ears. He was a heartbeat close to disengaging from his formidable opponent and pinning a throwing knife between the fae’s eyes. Oddly enough, patience was ordinarily the assassin’s forte, but his reserves were quickly being exhausted. First Limbus. Then Tiarela. Then Limbus again. Now Amber.

He was certain now. The gods wanted him dead.

The assassin had no time to brood over the incompetency of his companions. As his right hand reached forward to pull his flaccid left arm free from the elf’s corpse, she jerked suddenly and nearly wrenched the elf lord’s arm from its socket – not that he would have felt it considering that the blasted fae had rendered it numb. For perhaps the fourth time this brightening (one hundred if he counted how many times his companions had failed to impress him), the elf lord was a victim of surprise. With his arm trapped in the woman’s chest cavity, he had little room to avoid her wicked slash to his leg, a slash that tore through black fabric and drew a crimson line down his thigh.

Nimavel clenched his teeth and winced, his sheer stubbornness preventing his cold visage from betraying any reaction. How long had it been since anyone had drawn blood on him? The assassin did not know the answer off the top of his head, but his lavender eyes darted to the dagger-point that swept downward at his chest. That will certainly do more than draw a little bit of blood, Nimavel grimly realized. Although his left arm was disabled, and he knew that it temporarily would be until Impotence’s effects wore off, the assassin’s feet obeyed their master’s instinctive command.

He backpedaled like a dancer, his boots digging into the earth and pushing him backward to avoid what could easily have been a fatal blow. Even as he moved, three shuriken were already in his functioning hand: one between his index finger and middle finger, one between his middle finger and fourth finger, and one between his fourth finger and pinky. “Is your master too scared to fight on its own?” Nimavel calmly replied, more to stall the creature as he entered clara than to probe for additional information. The assassin only had one strategy in mind right now: survival. He renewed his circling of the dagger-wielding wench, eyeing it more cautiously now than ever.

If he managed to enter clara, he would immediately conjure an army of gruesome spirits from the Infernal Plane and alter them around the wight to bind her in place with Spirit Shackle, but not before unleashing the trio of shuriken at her as a form of distraction. The assassin seldom resorted to necromancy because he generally did not require it (that and the fact that he liked to keep his practice of the dark arts a secret), but it was time to take the gloves off – that is, figuratively speaking as he could not even move the fingers of his left hand.

If the succeeded, he would waste no time in launching at the elf again, severing her head at the neck with a single slice from the claws on his opposite hand. As evidenced from Etana’s handiwork, the damned creatures needed to be slain like the others. While he wove his dance of death, the elf lord remained conscious of those around him via the Shadow Gaze. It seemed that the saurid and Tiarela (yes, the same who had nearly cost him his life the last time) were holding their own, and the blue-eyed human and Etana as well. They were the ones to keep alive.

Feth the rest of them.

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 27, 2011 04:12 PM​

Success!

Sort of .

Tiarela Iceglitter watched as if the entire thing was moving in slow motion. The creature locked up and essentially collided with Pescado, the two of them rolling about the ground in a flurry of scales and claws. The combatant was twitching uncontrollably, or so she could only assume as they continued to roll across the hot floor Arakmat had provided.

Fluttering a little closer as Kri’Sri got to his feet and proceeded to attempt cutting the tendons so the creature could not walk, the Faerie was dismayed. She had told him not to hold back – but he was, just the same. Pescado did not kill him. A moment of weakness. Had she known of his alignment with his god, Tiarela might have assailed him for his inability to destroy the Saurid then and there. The spell provided him with the perfect opportunity. The creature could not resist. Immediately, her hand went to her satchel and she retrieved one of the invisibility sticks she had created in Kesmek earlier, clutching it in her hand against the staff.

”He was dead long before now, Kri’Sri.” Tiarela’s voice was quite melancholy. ”Get some answers if you can.” She commented as he went for the tendons. Tiarela’s hands were still wrapped tightly around Iallea’ryn, and in the perpetual clara, she looked to the black rod curiously, eyes searching for any type of enchantment or imbuement that would make the rod dangerous. If it didn’t look like it was going to be, Tiarela glanced back at Pescado to make sure he was watching so she didn’t get suddenly struck with a massive Saurid hand, and fluttered down to the ground momentarily, her senses apprehensive and watching for the impending claw that would try to attack her. She knew it would come. The question was, how much time did she have before Psionic Shock wore off?

”Distract him.” Tiarela stated to Pescado, in hopes that his slicing of his tendons would be the enemy Saurid’s top priority and not the focus on the Faerie.

Landing approximately three feet from the creature, Tiarela began to walk forward and as she did so, cracked the stick to release her Invisibility field so that it would hopefully encompass the Saurid’s hand but not his eyes. She was looking for the invisibility field to provide her with just enough of a cloaking ability to wrest the item from his hand before he had a chance to find her and react. Throwing his vision off was the first step to that… Or so she hoped.

Slightly bent at the waist, Tiarela crept towards the creature quickly on foot, staff held across her body in front of her. When she was about a foot away from the Saurid, Tiarela gripped the end of her staff tightly and swung at the object like someone playing baseball might swing at a ball. The staff was unbreakable, so it was practical to hit things with. Tiarela threw most her weight behind it but grounded her feet in the dirt of the ground so that she wasn’t pulled with her swing. The other great thing about the staff was that it could be summoned back to her if she lost it for some reason.

Hopefully, the rod moved. If it did, Tiarela would sprint/fly towards the top of the creature’s hand and try to pull it out of his paw, momentarily putting Iallea’ryn on the ground next to her to use both hands as leverage. All the while, Tiarela was keeping her eyes on his mouth and his other arm, in case they began to move. At the slightest movement in her vision, Tiarela would let go of the object and jump backwards, wings spurring to life to avoid getting caught. That was her chief priority: avoiding injury to her wings. She kind of wanted to shove her staff into the Saurid’s eye, but figured that wouldn’t be conducive to removing the object. If he stopped moving, Tiarela returned to the object and continued trying to pull it out of his hand until a point that it either came out or was useless, or was obvious that the Saurid was going to find and eat her.

Again, self preservation was her top priority, but Tiarela was also concerned with that rod – especially if anything had shown up in Clara for her that looked odd. She wanted to pull the object free and get it away from the Saurid, in case it was somehow involved in why he was doing what he was doing. This seemed too odd for a lizard to carry and so she was sure they had to get it away from him… Even if it turned out to simply be a small black rod a vicious monster was carrying for a more civilized beat-down.

Hopefully Tiarela wasn’t going to lose her wings in the process.
 
Alden Faedryfal
March 28, 2011 01:22 AM​

[nomedia="[MEDIA=youtube]MXlCFBluTMY[/MEDIA]"]YouTube - Slipknot- Surfacing[/nomedia]​
The exchange between Alden and Pyre seemed to spring from a common occasion, and the fates had been kind to the young barbarian in bringing him such company. The mountain man was a refuge in a strange and inhospitable place, and where communication struggled amidst mixed numbers, Alden knew he could speak to the man from Arium at length, finding a small solace in that. The knowledge of the trinket satiated his fascination, and did not disappoint to please, for the barbarian would surely add the information to a library of resource already contained within.

Pyre had also offered Alden a form of retreat, and under his shadow he had managed to avoid the frustrations of Etana, who seemed displeased with the harmony of the group, finding them to be either ignorant, inexperienced, unadapted, or purposefully distant and unwilling. He could dabble in all of those group-struggles, but ultimately he found himself an abstraction for the time, attempting to find his niche where he could, but he knew also that his time would come given the right circumstances. He could remember the landmarks they passed, and could generally orient himself in their direction now, and if he avoided the fallen, then survival would be his main challenge, a challenge he would accept. If lost, he could make it back, and perhaps guide others should they lose their leaders.

While the moment called for battle, Alden knew he could make an offering of himself as well. No man of academics or scholastics, though often intrigued by certain worldly wisdoms, the barbarian was a man of steel and action, thusly determined early in life. When Etana broke from their group, Pyre taking their lead, Alden watched until his concerns matched that of the others in their group, and following the blood trail had propelled them in to a headlong collision of contests.

The five shadowy figures that initially came out to challenge them were met with a swift response on Pyre's part, its volley followed by a lancing charge from Etana and skillful barage and grasping charge from the elf. Alden could barely match their movements with his dark gaze, but what he saw in the outcome clouded the barbarian over in a haze of paralysis. Pyre seemed to render little affect in his act, Etana clashed and locked, and Nimavel met a such similar resistance. The confidence he had felt before seemed to sap from his bones, and these new foes emerged as a frenzy that forced the barbarian to temper will and fears, but distracted by a fray of combat and inexperienced in the field with spells and multiple foes, even in this small of group, Alden found himself displaced from the moment. He sought to act, but it would have been too late, a glancing thing quickening his senses when he felt the sting on his arm. Pyre's words came clear, and he shook from the reverie. He thought he might have seen his life flash before him, and revitalized to the moment, he quickly picked himself up. Both hands clenching the earth for grip and pull, hands moved to throw his body up and in to a lunge for Pyre, for the enemy at hand. Too close and too quick to manage a calculated blow with sword, the barbarian went to his roots for the response, grasping out to wrap two very large hands completely around the enemies head and hoist them up while they locked with the mountain man out of Arium Alden had come to respect and curry for friendship on this trying journey. Risking the man that saved his life hearkened to a way in his culture, and Pyre was tribe on this journey. He could not have Pyre's injury or death on his hands. Alden reacted as if the foe engaged a brother of his. The savagery in his momentum and longing to clench would turn into a will to crush if his clutch managed to seize hold.

Darkmavrck
March 28, 2011 02:26 AM​

The battle was playing out like a game of Chess, the force of good against that of evil, white verses black on this small yet grandiose board. The backfield was all in play, the queen Etana, the rooks Duncan and Nimavel, the bishops Amber Sraosha and Tiarela, and finally their knights, Pescado, Pyre, and Alden, all fought to protect their king, or rather the kingdom. Each had a role, a responsibility and certain moves it could make. Together the pieces were shifted about, assaulting their lesser foes. However, the beauty of chess was that strategy trumped strength. The carefully planned assault would most often yield the victory.

Duncan Sythe was the first to make his move, standing over the fallen foe he went to work. With precision he cut into the flesh of his opponents legs, in response screams of pain filled the air. The mage may have killed his outward senses, but he had not stopped the inward. The screams could have sent chills up the most hardened murderer’s spine and disabled looked up blankly with tears forming in his eyes. It was likely that even if he lived the man would never walk again.

Then something beautiful happened, an opportunity arose from a carefully planned attack. Duncan turned his back on an opponent who was not only still alive, but who he had also failed to completely disarm. For whatever reason the mage had not felt it necessary to check for other weapons, and seemed to assume that while his foe had been feeling about for his sword that his spell could not be defeated. The moment was a simple joy for the puppet master, for while it normally would have depended on those senses cut off by the arcane, it was close enough and watching what transpired between the pawns to not need them. The moment the mage turned his back the link between Xet and toy took shape. As Duncan took his first step while surveying the field with his normally careful eye, a knife was drawn from his opponent’s sleeve.

The blade was quick and it came from Duncan’s blind spot, his pride. Steel cut into flesh, and as the thought of Jalat’s accessories came into play it held a double reasoning. Pain shot up through the mage’s right leg, across his spine and slammed like an out of control airship into his mind. The focus on his previous spell was shattered; his spell disappeared, and beneath him the leg gave way as important tendon and muscle was severed just above the rear of his knee. Blood poured forth and ran down his flesh; the only saving grace was that the wound had not been deep enough to catch that which would have been Duncan’s end. An eye for an eye as they said.

Not far away, another surprise was playing out. As Pescado clambered to his feet, his Saurid foe was quick to rise as well. His attack was too far off base for him to carry through with it and so they stood face to face the questions presented still lingering in the air. The gold colored Saurid stared blankly into the eyes of Pescado, as if he did not understand the ramifications of his actions or even the Saurid culture. In common it replied with a question of its own. “Why do you not sssssssssserve?” The hand holding the rod came up and with a movement of the creatures thumb it extended in both directions to form Javelin like weapon six foot across. Letting loose another feral hiss the foe took a step forward with his right and thrust a point forward aimed for Pescado’s face.

The attack, while quick for even one of his kind seemed slow to the former mage. He watched as the tip of the stave came inward intent on spearing him. Easily avoided thanks to his spell but the question remained as to how he would handle this new turn of events, especially as the scent of human blood filled his snout.

For Tia and the mighty Aslan II, the plan fell apart before it ever began. She had got as far as wondering when the spell would wear off when it did, and both lizard-men rose to their clawed feet once more. As they locked in a gaze she had time to think about her next move, and even prepare a spell. As the Spear suddenly shot forth she had a choice to make, help Pecado, or help Duncan, each were not at their full capability and fighting for their lives. The Fae’s choice could very well be the deciding factor in who lived and who died. Aslan mimicked his master, actively looking between them as if he understood the dire nature of what was going on, and then suddenly looked to the branches overhead. It seemed something was rustling above.

For Nimavel and Etana the situation was growing progressively more frustrating. While the elf lord fell back and tried to focus his mind Etana was locked in a tight dual for supremacy. After the arm was removed she was able to take the head of her first foe with little conflict beyond his resurrection. Instantly she moved to the next trying to buy her fellow combatant time by engaging both of the recently risen scouts. Gracefully she danced between them parrying blows and keeping the fools occupied. They were not nearly as fast as their living counterparts but trying to occupy both was a taxing role.

Clara was a hard fought battle for the K’tesh grandmaster. At his level with no staff it took precious moments, time he did not have at the pace things were moving. His words were met with parted lips that expelled a thin line of blood down fair flesh. There was no doubt now, if there had even be some before, he had killed her the first time. Still limber and warm however the fleshy form of the elfin opposition moved with ease compared to the undead legionaries. As the moments burned by she slowly matched his pace, the woman was more like a dog now, and she smelled blood.

Charging forward the uncanny speed from before was missing, now she was little more than a quick elf, similar to Caitiff from their first outing. Blood ran down her body making it shine in the dim light of the foggy day and the as she neared her long knife came in from the assassin’s numb side obviously looking to remove the useless extension. There hadn’t been enough time for him to fire the spell, not with the sting in his leg and the mental frustrations about the fae. He had to calm down and focus his spirit once more before Arcana would be a plausible alternative. If that were not enough his shadow gaze suddenly picked up a movement, it hadn’t been there a moment before, and he could not sense any life coming from or around it. Still yet, in the trees above the field, something large lurked in the shadows of the day.

Finally, for Alden things truly had happened in a flash, the lightning quick movements of Etana and Nimavel was awe inspiring, and in turn the onslaught of their foes was equally impressive. He had wanted a good battlefield worthy of death and it seemed his ancestors had answered the prayer. None finer had been seen in many Era.

Pyre struggled, and grunted, the assistance from Duncan would have been well met, but such was currently improbable. A smile crossed his face as his fellow barbarian lunged through the air, a renewed strength welling within him. Letting out a cry of battle he pushed with all his might to throw the foe off balance just as the Vagaran took hold of the head. It was a dangerous idea; one that would have likely got the long sword put through Alden if Pyre had not followed up, bringing the hatchet across the surprised enemy’s sword supporting wrist. The combined assault yielding a short term success as screams of pain filled the air and more blood covered the ground.

White’s move.

Pescado Branch
March 28, 2011 03:14 AM​

The saurid, a veteran at the spear, watched as his opponent shot to his feet as well. He asked him a simple question, but in Pescado's mind, he couldn't think of the answer as the next actions had to happen as quickly as possible. With the spell of Alacrity having already taken ahold of himself, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as his speed as increased tremendously from the spell working its way into Pescado's nervous system. Quickly dodging left as the spear slashed forwards towards the saurid's face, Pescado would grip his own spear tightly, parrying the blow aimed at him as he dodged, using the neck of the spear to knock the incoming blow away from him, perhaps even knocking the saurid infront of him off balance.

But he doubted he was that lucky. As he did this, he would push forwards with his spear, and downward, bringing the blade of it down towards his foe's arm, hoping to slice into them to cause the creature some pain. If he managed to do this, and his speed was still as quick as it possibly could be, he would keep the foe's spear pushed away from him, and then kick upward with his right leg towards the other saurid's stomach in an effort to push him away even further, perhaps even knock him to the ground. "I do not serve the Xetan masters as a slave might serve them, I will oppose the Xet with every bone in my body, unto my death!" he exclaimed in the saurid tongue in the midst of battle, his emerald gaze looking towards the other saurid with a fiery passion, now ready to kill him for even suggesting that he serve the Xetan overlords.

The saurid within him had finally awoken, and he was ready to kill anything to stop the Xet, if this was what the creatures had done to his race, then he wanted them dead, no matter the cost. And he was quite ready to kill anything that willingly served them, saurid or not. His anger was immense at the comment the saurid made, and for a moment, he even lost perspective on what he was fighting for... only for a moment though, and when he thrusted the kick it all came back to him. He was fighting for the saurid freedom, from a Xetan tyranny, and would give anything in the world, even his faith to the god of power to save his people. He needed to show Rak how strong he was, even being disabled by Duncan and Amber, and he would not allow that disability to show through as he continued his struggle against the Saurid he was now fighting to free from the Xetan overlords...

Amber Brightwing
March 28, 2011 10:27 AM​

OOCDidn’t we have three days to reply?

Amber muttered a curse, one that would make most Fae blush as she had picked it up a long time ago when she had been tailing an Orcish army. She had never used it so far, but now seemed to be an appropriate time. You would think that with five targets to choose from and her superior position in the sky, there was not much that could go wrong when casting a spell she had known for many eras and thought several students. She was not even sure how she had managed to hit two targets in the first place as Impotence was a spell aimed at a person, not an area. Then again, she had never cast it on an opponent that was simultaneously skewered by someone else, so it could be just that. Regardless of what lie at the source of her mistake, Nimavel should only get a glimpse of the spells effects. Casting the spell was easy, but dispelling it required even less effort. The Impotence spell would be gone before she had finished muttering and by the time the Heru was finished shouting at her there wouldn’t be a trace of it left.

When she saw the now corpse continuing to fight, she concluded that these bugs must be able to control both the living as well as the dead and that once killed the living were turned into the same kind of opponents they had met a few days earlier. Remembering the bugs latched to the spine – and noticing her side was starting to bleed – she changed tactics. She would continue to mix Ara and Vis, Focus and Channell as before, but a different Initiate spell would be shaped this. With Drain Life, health would be Abjured from the enemy and into the wounded, patching them up again. This time she would aim carefully as well, not targeting the whole body at once, but specifically aiming for the spine, the place where – if these were indeed the same kind of creatures as they had met before – the Xet spawn was located. A normal human being could survive a few Drain Life spells when fully healthy, but given these Xet bugs were a lot smaller, the simple spell should be quite a hit to them, if not kill them straight away.

Obviously, if no life sources could be located in the undead opponents, she would not waste her efforts on trying to drain life from them. Instead, she would target the living ones instead, draining them to patch up the wounded on their side. In an attempt to set straight his minor inconvenience from the Impotence mix-up, she would heal Nimavel’s leg and moving on to heal Duncan’s after that.

Duncan Sythe
March 28, 2011 01:31 PM​

Ironic and poetic. Duncan Sythe could have waxed loquacious most vehemently with many an adjective, or perhaps a descriptive metaphor, about having his leg cut after having just done the self same thing to the man who's scream had ripped through the air. It would have, equally, touched on his arrogance and his self assurance that the spell which had worked perfectly fine a few moments previously would continue to function; and the fleeting thought he had discarded about chopping the man's arms off on the basis that the figure might bleed to death and Etana had wanted one alive.

Instead, he screamed in surprise and his right leg gave out beneath him, causing his left to follow as he collapsed onto his hands and knees, the spasms of muscle torn and severed by the dagger attacking one of the few unguarded points in his armour only getting worse as they contorted when his knee bent. Expectation said that such ligaments, tendons and muscular bundles after all moved like this when the knee bent. Expectation did not take into account the damage just done to them and so they attempted to move regardless and his nerves quite helpfully took the opportunity to inform him again that there was something quite wrong.

So he screamed again but fought through it, or tried to. For through the raging redness in his mind – doubled by the sudden and brutal wrench of his concentration being disrupted from dealing with the Arcane – he was vaguely aware that stabby things that stabbed once would likely stab again if possible.

Wrenching himself around and fighting with his good foot to push against something, the thankfully longer blade he'd hopefully managed to keep hold off while falling (or else grappled for very urgently to collect) swept around in a low arc aimed – vaguely speaking as painful things like this went – to slash the wrist off the attacking figure; or at the very least ward off any attempts to pin his boot to the soil using the bloody dagger it had just cut him with.

Concepts such as 'whether or not the man could see again' (and therefore if his spell had failed), were rather distant from the Mystic's mind as he fought to ease himself up on his left arm using the guard on his forearm and put a considerably less mushy and stab-worthy sword between him and the figure that – he could only presume – had felled him; and go about hacking at it with gusto. Self-preservation overrode the formerly helpful idea he'd possessed about not damaging the possessed body so much that it stopped operating.

For it had to be said that when suddenly stabbed so properly even the Nimvael's of the world would probably be subject to at least a few seconds of retaliatory and slightly less-than-precise fumbling before they got their mind under control again; animal reaction overtaking rationality in the face of pain.

When it came to Duncan attempts to regain his self control meant gripping his left hand tight enough to dig nails into his palm and letting out a long, shuddering, pain, induced set of breaths...provided he wasn't still busy wrestling with the dagger-wielding Xetean-possessed person who'd just stabbed him. Clara? A little way off for that, he'd deal with the stab-happy Xet-puppet first and try and regain some semblence of self control where his leg was no longer constantly moving around and therefore informing him most helpfully that whenever it tried to do something, there was a problem.

After all, ironically, no-one had managed to actually hurt him in a considerable number of Eras. Certainly he'd occasionally ended up with a light cut or a slight chill from the occasional off-bar spell or sword, but when this was all over Duncan Sythe would have to think back quite a way to when he'd left something behind him capable of disabling him.

He would, therefore summarise that it was because of Etana's request that he had neglected his usual precautions.

It was a lesson that if he survived, he would not be forgetting in a hurry.

Nimavel Mynendil
March 29, 2011 12:17 AM​

She called his bluff. Retreating on the balls of his feet as the elf lunged at him like a rabid wolf, the Heru Mynendil’s arm whipped outward, releasing a stream of spinning shuriken at her. There was no way on Carmelya’s green earth that the tedious projectiles would slay the woman; in fact, it was questionable whether the maneuver would even delay her. However, desperate times and useless companions mandated desperate measures. The master assassin was not accustomed to combing the depths of his bag of tricks, but considering that he was just as likely to be accidentally rear-raped by his own comrades as he was by the Xetan abominations, Nimavel had few other options.

Consequently, when his Myriad Gaze detected the necromantic essence of a Drain Life spell approaching his vicinity, a spell that he knew by virtue of his own practice, he nearly expressed his gratitude by chucking a throwing knife at the dumb faerie’s head. Alas, his left arm, the arm that she had already rendered useless through her negligence, was not currently in the mood to do so, and his right hand was occupied elsewhere. “What the hell are you doing, bitch!?” Nimavel growled – yet another rare deviation from his ordinarily stoic disposition. Being an accomplished necromancer himself, the assassin was fortunate enough to immediately recognize the weave that approached him due to his Myriad Gaze. With precision that came only from decades of experience, the claws of his right hand cut sidelong at the strands of ara that held the possibly contaminated spell together, aiming to Dispel it before it could potentially corrupt him.

The Shadow Gaze soberly reminded him that in addition to fearing his own incompetent companion, he had to worry about a ravenous elf eager to spill his lifeblood with her oncoming dagger. Lavender eyes darted to the long knife as it sliced towards his left arm, the same arm that hung uselessly by his side because of the mindless faerie’s spell. How he wished that he had slit the little woman’s throat in her sleep! For one, that would have saved him the trouble of having to do it later, and second, oh wait, he would still be able to use his left arm to defend himself! Beginning to understand more and more why his mounting frustration had thwarted him from entering clara earlier, the assassin recognized that if he was going to survive the ordeal, he would have to do it the old fashioned way.

He was going to tear the elf’s body apart with his bare hands and feet.

With speed that defied reality, the elfin lord lurched to his right as the dagger sailed at him, clutching his left arm close to his body as he did so to prevent it from floating upwards and inadvertently aligning itself with the woman’s attack. Presuming that he evaded the assault, he kept his right side facing her. A cursory glance of the battlefield confirmed that things were not going to plan, an unsurprising revelation considering the poor excuse of company that he had. Etana was doing her best to hold her own, but there was no telling how much longer the Grandmaster of Demir Kum could endure her opponents’ relentless assaults.

After triggering the toe-blades in his boots, the assassin feinted high with a jab from his claws as he slammed his right foot at a sharp, downward angle at the shorter elf’s knee, hoping to snap it beneath her and effectively limit her mobility. Regardless of the results, he subsequently retrieved his operative arm and whipped his claws outward in a backhand slash at the woman’s throat. If the elf managed to dodge, he would flow forward, bringing his left leg to the front to deliver a sharp, blade-capped foot just above her ankle to sweep her to her feet. It was during this time that he took note of a foreign presence hiding within the trees. “We’re not alone,” He called out to his comrades, although had he been able to, he would only have voiced the warning to a few of them – such was the magnitude of his scorn for the others. “There’s something in the trees . . .

Tiarela Iceglitter
March 30, 2011 10:17 PM​

Well that didn’t go as planned. Tiarela stopped short as the enemy lizard got to its feet. She took back off to the air and got away from them as quick as possible, watching as Pescado and the crazy thing were locked back into battle. The rod was also revealed to be a javelin that was retractable. Well that was neat, and it was probably good Tiarela didn’t get a chance to try and hit it… She might have impaled Pescado’s eyeball on it!

Looking around for a moment to assess the situation, Tiarela clued in on Duncan’s bleeding leg and his disabled state. He was screaming like a madman and hacking away at his opponent like something much more feral and much more inhuman. Her eyes scanned back to Pescado, whom she desperately wish was unbound at this point. Surely it wouldn’t take long. Nimavel was screaming at the useless Amber for her myriad of mistakes she had made so far. Tiarela’s eyes flashed up at the fellow Faerie and the fellow mage

”UNBIND THE LIZARD! Don’t you see we’re going to DIE, foolish CHILD?!” It was the key. Pescado had to regain his mysticism. They needed him. Tiarela needed him… specifically she needed him to help Duncan. Attunement would be appropriate but the adept was afraid to waste all of her mana now, instead considering attempting to buff up Nimavel and Etana’s ability to beat the feth out of everything. There was also the question on whether or not Duncan would sit still long enough with his bloodrage to let her help him. Without Duncan, they needed Pescado’s vis reserves to essentially augment Nimavel and Etana… and maybe the Lizard too… so that there was actually someone left to fight the damn thing. Two Faeries, a crazy barbarian, a Katta that wasn’t doing anything and Pyre were definitely not going to be enough to bring the thing down. The Faeries were going to be useless. The Barbarian was reckless. Pyre was too occupied to help. Tiarela had no idea what to make of Sraosha and basically assumed he was going to watch the show instead. Not that she blamed him.

There was one thing Tiarela knew for sure though. If the inaction or perhaps poor action of a certain Faerie who had seemingly pissed Nimavel off and was responsible for the intense smell of rot that was filling the elder Fae’s nose was the reason they died… Tiarela was going to not give the Xet the satisfaction. She was going to kill Amber herself. Perhaps that was the one common ground Tiarela and Nimavel shared.

As Pescado went to work, attacking and the Saurid reacted, Tiarela gripped her staff tightly once more and decided to give him one more opportunity to kill the obviously possessed fellow Lizard. It was sad, really, and Tiarela could kind of understand it (except that she was also kind of a heartless crazy lunatic most of the time)… Perhaps bonds between scaled things were stronger than bonds between Faeries. This particular Faerie for example was not Carmelya’s favorite child, and neither was her Divine Mother probably very fond of her… but that didn’t change the fact that Tiarela wouldn’t think twice before strangling Amber to death under different circumstances for betraying their creator in such a manner. She knew Carmelya would be unhappy and she did it anyway. A rebellious child if the elder Fae ever saw one.

Fluttering over above Pescado and the unnamed scaled Xetan servant, Tiarela reached for the Ara about her and combined it with the Vis within her once more to create acralysis, the reaction that would put her into the Astral Plane and stop time for the instant that she was up there. From there, the Faerie focused on the Plane of Thought and channeled enough Thought Essence to herself to create an initiate level spell. Tiarela was planning on going with Enfeeblement at this point, because Regress would impede Pescado from getting answers from the creature (if such answers could be obtained). Instead, she was going to make it helpless. Maybe in doing so one of Pescado’s angry attacks would slice the damn Lizard up good and force him to bleed out. After this stint in the Astral Plane, Tiarela would judge her distance to the offending Saurid and adjust appropriately so that she was in close enough proximity to make sure the simple spell hit him appropriately.

When the sufficient mana had been obtained, Tiarela quickly altered the mana into a matrix to span the Saurid’s mind, intent on blocking his motor skills and making him weak. As she remembered from her initiate level training so many Eras past, this was intended to prevent quick motions. Hopefully he would be forced into answering… or dying, preferably.

With the matrix sufficiently altered and put into the Saurid’s head, she activated the spell by pulling the end of the mana through her own vis to release it into the Material Plane and (hopefully) Enfeeblement would soon be in effect. Eyes followed it quietly for a moment before she once again called to Pescado, ”Weakness is going to get us killed, Kri’Sri.” And, as her eyes scanned to Aslan the Second… Tiarela realized exactly what was coming. Something big, and something frightening. This was accompanied by Nimavel’s warning.

Inhaling deeply as the air burned in the base of her lungs, Tiarela felt her palms begin to sweat as the nervousness started to rile up her emotions. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head to try and regain her composure, a split second at best. As she did so, the Faerie’s voice ended coldly, ”Break all his limbs.”

For you see, it had occurred to Tiarela that she didn’t know why Etana had wanted one alive, only that she did. With Nimavel’s looking more like a piece of butchered meat and the ones the experienced woman was dealing with not faring much better, Tiarela wondered for a moment if they might need to leave the Saurid alive. There was the issue of Alden and Pyre’s predicament, but for the moment… She was more concerned with what exactly they needed to do. Oh, how she wished the Xet could feel the pain as Nimavel turned its servant into mince meat… As Duncan stabbed the Aeternia out of his opponent… and as Pescado threatened to gut the creature on the end of his spear.

Hopefully her decision to help Pescado was the right one. There was nothing Tiarela could do for Duncan at the moment. The only one who could do something was Pescado, and thanks to Duncan and Amber’s ridiculous sense of moral responsibility… He was also the only one physically blocked from helping. She really didn’t want to meet Carmelya this way… But then, they wouldn’t be mortals if they could choose their own fates.

Alden Faedryfal
March 31, 2011 03:07 AM​

Imbued by Pyre's follow through, Alden cemented his confidence in the man, feeling as if there were a synchronization between them in that instant. Pyre had been sixth-sense about many things, and Alden felt a gratitude worthy of demanding great effort. The omens were at work in their placement of fate. Pyre and him had met for a reason, though it was unclear to Alden what it might be. More so, it was an omen tested by the mechanizations of a wicked evil, and Alden feared to fail its trials. Anxiety welled in the hulking man, young, visceral and primal, and in the rivers that ran red through him blood commanded his muscles to keep a clutch as death's grip with his right hand on the cranium of the enemy, his left hand suddenly bolting between the foes legs to crush contents between, (if contents are present) as he moved to heft the body up and over his head, meaning full well to hurl it down upon Duncan's grounded foe much the same way he had compacted the earth by beating it with a tamper when they laid the foundation for the first longhouses in Boergnar. The motion was oddly familiar to him.
 

Darkmavrck
April 2, 2011 01:46 AM​

Duncan was able to roll himself over, and despite the immense amount of pain coming from his leg, the mystic’s heart thundered within his chest. The adrenaline forced through him gave strength and determination to his blows, and as his sword arched inward the felled man tried his best to block with the dagger. It was to no avail for the enraged mage had position and strength on his side. The rare metal caught the steel and harmlessly threw it aside, the sharp edge of Duncan’s sword tasting flesh and following through. He swung the blade again and again, hacking his enemy like a deranged woodsman, a thin spray of blood covering his form as screams once more filled the air. The Xet let the corpse be. Even if the puppet master could still maintain control of his toy, the body was so badly damaged it would have done him little good.

Things were turning about, that was until Alden decided to take action. The brute of the man took hold of his enemy by his manhood and head, hefting the bag of flesh into the air and moving to assist Duncan. The warrior spirit had the northerner and he apparently did not notice Duncan was finishing up his felled foe. He threw the dismembered body at the second, now fairly dead opponent of Duncan, and upon doing so managed to catch the arching blade beneath its weight, simultaneously snapping Duncan’s arm into an awkward angle and straining the muscles there in. The sword was pinned beneath at least two hundred pounds of flesh, and worse yet the body was still alive and moving to resume the assault on the master mage. The only hindrance seemed to be its apparent lack of one hand and a weapon.

The movement was no surprise for Duncan, he had already reaped the consequences of not giving these things their fair respect. The lack of weapon was mildly surprising, seeing as these men had an uncanny knack for producing them, but with a quick glance to Alden the curiosity would be put to rest. Sticking out of the brute’s left shoulder was one dagger hilt. Blood was seeping from the wound, and considering the position removal would have been a bad idea. For the Vagaran the pain was incredible, even the slightest movement of his left arm bringing about a crippling wave of agony. It was rather unfortunate, but such was a price of being so careless. However if there had been any doubt before, there could be little now, the Xet overlord had control of these foes, and could switch between them quite easily.

Weaving her spell into the mind of the Saurid was a smart move on Tiarela’s part. The idea of cutting off its connection with such a low cost action was showing that Fae anticipated their need for resources. What she did not predict was that the Xet parasite did not actually need the creatures mind to keep it functioning. As her Enfeeblement spell was released a brief pause took hold of the hulking mass of scaled flesh, luckily Pescado only needed that moment.

The speed and strength Pescado commanded thanks to his goodie bag spell met no resistance from his foe as the interchange between Saurid and Xet took place. That was the weakness, the brief moment when no one controlled the body. For the most part none would have noticed, but thanks to the mysticism spell’s benefits it was blatantly there. The spear head came across the arm of the puppet lizard, it was too fast for him to avoid, and it took the hand from him. Blood sprayed out, and with the continued force separated the javelin from its owner’s hold. The kick was precise and hit hard, knocking the golden beast to the ground where he momentarily bled and then rolled to regain its footing. Eyes narrowed as it sized up the Dri’kalos and charged again, teeth gleaming and giving accent to a face filled with murderous intent. From its arm the blood continued to drain, staining the land red, just as it was around all of his other comrades. This battle was quite literally a blood bath. Something else caught Pescado’s eye however, something he likely did not expect to see. Upon the Suarid’s face a small boil was starting to form, a little feature that reminded him of a disease, of the feeble pox.

In the case of the most active mage, Amber found herself constantly facing disappointment. It could have easily been that she was simply rushing things and needed to slow down and focus a bit more. Her last spell had been directed to an enemy that was currently in battle, of the two Nimavel and Etana were respectively engaged and only Nimavel’s had seemed open. It was the logical choice, who knew that the man was going to step directly into the line of fire. She couldn’t have been blamed for trying to help even if it could have been avoided by adding a little consideration to the attack rather than going for the first open foe. What was done was done however, and even with Nimavel’s sour attitude it was good that she continued to persevere.

As she attempted to seek out the Xet parasite in her foes, between their relatively small size and constant movement through battle it became rather aggravating to attempt locking on. For that reason and for the simple volume of life that could be collected Amber found it beneficial to move to a living target. Being a Master Mage she was able to adjust the Drain life spell to affect her companions instead of tethering it to herself for a second level spell’s worth of mana and an extra shaping of abjuration. The process created a link between Duncan’s new found foe, who was trying to pry the sword from his hand whilst lying upon it, and Nimavel. Being one of relative simplicity, the spell came together perfectly, that was until the elf lord noticed and had other intentions.

With a supernatural ability, the Heru was able to not only see the spell coming into being but use his own spirit energy to shred it apart at the precise moment of formation. The spell collapsed in an instant and while the life had been drained, and the mana used, its effects were wasted. It seemed that Nimavel had lost confidence in her abilities and was well enough on his own. It left Amber with a moment to consider if she wanted to try again with the elf, move to Duncan, or do as her scolding elder commanded and attempt an on the fly unbinding of Pescado.

Nimavel, having taken care of the Necrotic energy that had been directed toward him, was left with his lovely feminine corpse. The blade of her long knife missed him by inches as he spun about to avoid it’s edge, for most a close call but for the grandmaster it may as well been miles. He was in his mindset now, one of ultimate destruction, kill or be killed was the task at hand and the Demon of the Sylrosian Elves was not about to give Jalat that pleasure, at least not of his own accord. In a furious flash, the foot came down, giving a rewarding confirmation of tearing flesh and snapping bone as the man instantly followed through. His blades came across, their edges and the powerful strength of the blow severing the head leaving the body to crumple beneath him. The sweet taste of victory finally filled the elf’s senses, one down and a whole mess before him. On the plus side the feeling in his arm had begun to return.

Suddenly an ear piercing screech filled the air from above. It was worse than cutting glass. Tiarela and Duncan would recognize it instantly from their little intrusion, Nimavel would sense it originating from the same area as the mass, and Aslan let out a long MEEEEEEEEW of disapproval. The wicked noise ended as quickly as it had begun and was then accompanied by a heavy hum that sounded like a thousand locusts washing over the land. The air swirled and those below could barely make out one another’s words. Etana responded by yelling as loud as she could in hopes of commanding her followers. “KILL THEM ALL, IT'S HERE!” The words carried, albeit a bit broken and drowned, but it mattered not they would all understand soon enough.

The bronze skinned woman took a step back, a grandmaster of her own form and from a line of some of the greatest practitioners of Demir Kum she had a trick or two up her own sleeve. Her form seemed to echo a visual trail of her movements. To Nimavel and his sight he could pick up the expansion of her aura, it flared out in expanding waves, washing over the land and reverberating back to her as it made contact with the surroundings. The pulses were successive, flaring out in less than a flicker of a candles flame. Suddenly Etana’s body went into action, the twin blades cutting even the light as they attacked the pair of enemies at once. This was her supreme state, one that was a family secret and had taken a lifetime to perfect. She was everywhere and nowhere at once, and then, as quickly as it began, the movement stopped. She stood between them as their bodies separated and collapsed into piles that were barely recognizable as once living forms. Tears of blood ran down the woman’s cheeks as she her chest heaved. The use had an obvious toll and there was little wonder she had held back for so long.

It came none too soon however, for as she finished another flash of darkness shot down from the trees and cut through their battlefield. It circled them, and for all their brilliance and abilities none of them could accurately track the thing.

Behind Pyre the puppet master finally revealed itself. A confused look crossed the red haired man’s face as he looked down, a jagged blade erupting from his torso that most definitely shouldn’t have been there. He grunted as hands wrapped around the armored blade, and a splatter of blood bubbled forth. Fear filled his eyes as he tried desperately to draw in precious air but failed. His body slumped, and rolled off the impairment with only a dull thud signifying the man’s death.

Behind him, standing at an imposing seven feet an armored, bug like humanoid looked down at the assembled through softly glowing, golden eyes. The orbs were emotionless and it was impossible to judge exactly what it was looking at. The eyes were connected to a wide, flat, somewhat wedge shaped, triangular head that had very little neck to speak up and rested upon a broad set of shoulders that led into an unnaturally slender torso. Three pair of long silver wings flickered behind the thing in anticipation as it looked upon the prey with delight. Arms hung at its side, slender and long but covered in layers of dark green exoskeleton. At their ends long digits ended in piercing points and beneath its wrists jagged saw like blades had been affixed as extensions. Beneath it, twin sets of legs supported the hulking form and caused it to lean slightly forward. The entire form was covered in the jagged dark green, nearly black plates. Small extrusions of armor like spikes gave it a demonic appearance and as it stood not a sound came from its form. So still the creature was that it looked as if it were slowly blending into the surroundings about it.

This was their enemy; this was the Xet Etana has spoken of, that which had caused so much damage, pain and suffering. It seemed that the gods, as Nimavel had put it, wanted them dead, for just as they had begun to gain the upper hand the final fall of the hammer came thundering down.

Pescado Branch
April 2, 2011 03:05 AM​

Following through, Pescado watched as the spear he was holding sliced the hand from his opponent, and then he watched as his kick landed solidly upon the creature before him, knocking it towards the ground. Regaining his balance, the saurid's augmented speed was none to be matched at the moment, save for perhaps Etana and Nimavel. He would use this to every advantage that he had, and to him, the saurid before him was dead. Tiarela was right, he was long since dead since the Xet had gotten to him. But even as the saurid approached him again, bleeding all over the place, Pescado braced himself for the assault, holding his spear forwards with his left arm, emerald gaze gleaming towards the saurid attacking him. "I'm sorry my brother," he hissed, and then saw the boil upon the other saurid's face.

It intrigued him, but he couldn't focus on it right now. Using his augmented speed to his advantage, he dashed towards the saurid, dodging quickly to the left as the saurid approached him, his spear raised upwards aimed right towards the saurid's throat. A killing blow was what Pescado sought now, to end the poor creature's life as the Xet had already seemingly taken the saurid's mind, Pescado would now take it's body. As he closelined the blade of the spear, he would aim for the center of the neck, prepared to sever the head from the body as he passed by the creature. Once the deed was completed, if Pescado managed to accomplish it, he didn't need to hear Etana's warning to know what had come as soon as he heard the loud screech. But the warning itself was enough to prove his fear's correct.

Turning his snakelike head towards where Pyre was once standing, Pescado watched as his body slumped to the ground, dead as dead could be. His head then snapped towards Amber, as he quickly yelled towards her, "For the love of Rak, unbind me!" As he shouted towards her, he allowed his serpentine gaze to keep it's eye upon the Xet, knowing full well that to go hand to hand with it, would be the death of him, and that he could really only utilize his mysticism in an effort to save them all. His god would not save him, for he only favored the powerful, and at this moment Pescado himself was not strong at all, not nearly enough to take on a Xet.

If the fae would unbind him, they're survival odds would increase, likely, but if not, Pescado would be meeting Jalat much sooner than he had planned. Emerald gaze watching the creature, meeting it's eyes, he remembered the Xet from the stories, even the smaller ones could be a pain for the saurid to kill, and if this truly was a Xet from the stories, Pescado knew of only one thing that could ensure a Xet's swift death. It was the Spear of Kal'srak, forged from the aetherium vein in the Citadel City of Siblick. Even with it though, their chances of winning were very low, and Pescado knew this. Rak, if you ever believed in your servant, now would be a good time, the saurid thought, his emerald gaze locked upon the creature that had just ended one life before them.

Believe in yourself, and then maybe he'll notice you... the saurid's thoughts were quick, and he knew that Rak only favored the powerful, and right now, he was lacking that power. Bracing himself as he watched the Xet's movements, if it had any, he would wait briefly to see what would happen before taking any action, whether it be him becoming unbound, or Rak intevening, the latter being highly unlikely, Pescado knew it would be up to them to stop this creature, and stop it they would, or die trying...

Duncan Sythe
April 2, 2011 04:55 AM​

Duncan it seemed had more than a few things to contend with. Despite being splattered in a bloody fog and in intense amounts of pain, he not only needed to wrestle with the fact that his incredibly unhelpful ally – in a degree of unhelpness equalled only by Amber's prior achievement of immobilizing Nimavel's arm mid-fight (if only he'd noticed -that-) - had managed to throw a still living Xet-possessed soldier onto Duncan's sword arm, neatly wedging it between the dead-Xet-possessed soldier and the new one which was thankfully more interested in getting the sword than it was in clawing his face off.

Not that Duncan suspected his luck in that regard would last; and equally he had a nasty memory of Tiarela speaking of Xetean brain bugs: Duncan Sythe was on the floor, with his arm trapped between two Xet-possessed-people, once of which was dead, he was not in a hurry to test if and when the things doing the possession died in relation to the possessee. Sadly – for Duncan at least – it appeared he might get a rather urgent lesson either way.

Then there was the Xet, as Pyre died Duncan spared a barest moment's glance back in his direction he realised the thing had been watching – and waiting – all along, biding its time like a true predator and learning about it's prey while the disposal assets attacked first. Now the question was whether it would bother to try and kill the other disabled members of the group first, or move on to the bigger threats. Provided he survived the next ten seconds or so he might be able to regain some concentration and provide a useful service or two even from being half-dead on the floor.

Provided he survived.

So he turned his thoughts and attention right back to the man on his arm, who seemed intent on trying to pluck his sword from beneath it. The result was a little more organised than his former hacking had been, given that his previous response had been a combination of surprise, instinct and gut practicality; now though with the enemy not immediately possessing a blade and trying to stab the back of his neck he took advantage of his own second weapon. The Ardentium-alloy dagger on his right hip was thankfully the one in the air now, although in order to get to it he had to relinquish the arm he'd been leaning on and fight it between his body and that of the two men sandwiching his right arm. More importantly though, with the man intent on his sword – which was on the other side of the man's body – fate might finally have offered Duncan a lucky card in that the Xet-possessed soldier didn't actually have a way of seeing, or reacting, to what the Mystic was doing.

Provided he was able to free his left arm and wrest the dagger from it's sheath in a back-handed grip with his thumb on the hilt, his next move was brutally simple in it's simplicity and depended on the angle of the man trying to get to his sword. If he could get to the back of the man's head then a back-handed push of the sharp blade up into it's brain from the base of it's spine would most likely solve Duncan's immidiate sword-removal issue; that or sliding the blade over the man's neck in a similar manner and strike deeply into the exposed flesh, tugging the blade back towards him even as he twisted on his awkwardly held arm for leverage and slashed it back towards him.

Either way his priority was absolutely clear, finish off what should have been the prelude before the Xet decided it was better off walking over to stab him before it bothered about the rest of them. Were that to actually look like it had any chance of happening Duncan had other tricks at his disposal...but he was rather loathed to try even triggering enchantments until he'd managed to get his mind calmed down; and his mind was still rather occupied with one repeating term Survival.

Nimavel Mynendil
April 4, 2011 11:48 PM​

Blood splashed onto the assassin’s pallid visage as he tore the possessed elf limb from limb, transforming her into a grisly shadow of her former self. He watched the woman’s head roll from her shoulders, half-expecting a cursed bug to wiggle out of the gaping hole in her neck. Not this time, the elfin lord told himself before plunging his claws through the elf’s eye sockets and skull to guarantee that it closed its eyes permanently. He would not have any more corpses animated behind him like the last time. Once he finished, crimson-colored fluid stained the claws of his right hand, dripping down the four blades and watering the ground beneath. The elf was dead . . .

But the battle was far from over . . .

Before Nimavel could fully appraise what was happening to the others, a deafening screech filled the air and overwhelmed his eardrums. He winced and instinctively cupped the sides of his head to shield himself from the thunderous noise. It was as if all the flies on Telath had suddenly congregated around the adventurers to torment them with their incessant buzzing. The sound was so terrible that his Shadow Gaze notwithstanding, the elfin lord was unable to discern where the blasted racket had come from. It was only when he turned to Etana was Nimavel able to hear above the din, a warning that chilled even the elfin lord’s cold-blooded heart.

He had been duly aware of Etana’s breathtaking performance before the darkness had descended upon them like the night, only it was not the night. It was something infinitely worse. Crouching down in a defensive stance with his back facing Etana, the assassin felt his heart palpitating wildly in his chest, although his emotionless visage stubbornly masked his fear. The Shadow Gaze was a weapon beyond comprehension, a weapon that had given the assassin advantages that his opponents had never dreamed him to have.

But not even the Shadow Gaze could fathom what swirled around the battlefield and abruptly appeared . . . right behind Pyre.

Nimavel instinctively stepped backward as the titanic bug impaled Pyre with one of its blade-like appendages. Watching as the archer’s head slumped in death, the assassin could not take his eyes off the man’s murderer. So this is a Xet. The Heru Mynendil had seen and overcome many horrors in his life, but the six-winged insect might have been the first to ever have elicited an overwhelming sense of hopelessness in the assassin’s mind. He had slain an Archnecromancer Lich and an Archon with his bare hands . . . but he had never fought anything like this before.

They were doomed.

So this is how it ends,” the elf lord dryly said to himself as he jerked his right arm violently by his side to free it of the dead woman’s blood. It was only then that he experienced a welcomed sensation in his left arm, a sensation that he had previously been bereaved of consequent of the incompetent necromancer faerie’s spell. Flexing his gradually functioning fingers by his side, the elfin lord felt his glove stretch and tighten around his scarred hand. His recovery could not have come at a better time.

The memory of Tiarela’s earlier scream to the suddenly frozen necromancer caused him to glance daggers in her direction - that and the pleading saurid’s appeal to be unbound. Amber was fortunate that he was not throwing real daggers at her -yet. “Make yourself useful for once and unbind the blasted lizard . . . or I’ll kill you myself.” He callously petitioned on Tiarela’s behalf. The assassin bore no love for the tiny mystic, not after she had nearly botched up the previous mission and cost all the members of Group One their lives, but she had made up for it since then, an atonement that had not gone unnoticed to the ruthless elf lord. He shot Amber a glance so frigid that the Longest Winter would have felt warm in comparison, and then he turned back to the Xet without another word, wondering what it would do, but more importantly, praying that it could bleed.

With the Xet still savoring the warmth of Pyre's blood on its skewering limb, the assassin tried to enter clara for a second time to conjure the shadow wraiths from the Infernal Plane and alter them in a skin-tight covering around himself, effectively casting Spirit Armor. He would, of course, abandon all efforts if the Xet attacked before he could complete the spell. In any case, he watched their formidable opponent closely, studying its movements as if he were a Jaedaxienne alchemist examining a compound under a microscope. Etana had mentioned weaknesses in the Xet's exoskeleton. The true challenge, he knew, would be in locating those regions and hitting them . . . before the Xet killed them all.

Tiarela Iceglitter
April 5, 2011 12:24 AM​

Songstamp: Audience of One – Rise Against

Low cost was exactly what Tiarela was going for. As it paused but for a moment, Tiarela almost felt as if she had definitely failed. The Faerie cursed in that brief second as well, shaking her head and putting a hand over her forehead. It seemed though that Enfeeblement had somehow bought Pescado just enough time to lop off the arm of the puppet. A small smile hit her face and she watched idly as the superior of the two lizards kicked the golden one to the ground. It rolled and got back to its feet, something the Faerie had not entirely expected.. but was also equally not entirely surprised by.

Everything happened so quickly… and then It screamed.

Tiarela nearly froze and fell out of the sky as she turned to look in horror.

”No… NO!” The Faerie practically screamed, right next to Pescado, hands flying over her ears. The only thing that brought her back was Aslan’s cry of disapproval. The hum of what Tiarela could only expect was the buzzing of either massive or many wings washed over her as she darted for the Cabbit in fright, knowing that she had to move him and get him out of there. By the time Tiarela reached Aslan, she was unable to suppress the tears that were streaking down her pale cheeks.

”Aslan… Run! Get out of here! I don’t want it to…” Well… That sentence was supposed to finish “eat you”, but she couldn’t speak anymore as the Puppet Master reveal himself behind Pyre and proceeded to push a jagged blade directly through his stomach as if it were a knife slipping through butter. Wide-eyed, the Faerie shook as she stood there on the ground with Aslan for a moment, unable to remove her eyes from the sheer horror of watching the foreign invader destroy the scout like he was simply a bug.

What chance did she stand, then? Tiarela grabbed Aslan by the collar and tried to push him away into the nearest bout of grass or shrubbery that would cover him that she could find before wiping her tears off on his fur. ”Go!” She demanded, but the creature just looked at her in confusion. Giving up, Tiarela took to the air again and took in the unruly sight of the monster before her. If she thought what she’d experienced every darkening was a nightmare, boy, she was in for a waking one today.

Darting towards the back of the group for the moment, Tiarela watched the Xet cautiously, unsure if her movement was going to attract its attention. She didn’t want to be up front though, because for the moment, she was fairly useless. It was hard to cast against the creature when no current weakness had been exposed; it was hard to augment her allies when she didn’t know what the plan was. But that was the beauty of this group of misfits, wasn’t it? No one had thought to discuss “how exactly one should go about killing a Xet”. In fact no one had really discussed a damn thing at all.

Cluting Iallea’ryn to her chest, Tiarela tried to get as close to Etana as possible. ”If relevant, the reason one needed to be alive. Quickly! She demanded of the master of Demir Kum, hoping and praying there was a legitimate, justifiable reason behind the request other than trying to interrogate them. Tiarela couldn’t really see how she could do anything against the Xet at this moment but there was something that had occurred to the Faerie…

Now, maybe she was making this all up in her head, maybe she was just grasping desperately at straws at this point, but it seemed that perhaps… Just perhaps… the bugs in their heads were the key. The only unfortunate part Tiarela couldn’t figure out was exactly how that key had to be manipulated and oriented to fit into the damn lock. Her intention was that hopefully Etana knew something she didn’t about how the key fit into the lock and would enlighten her so that she could… Send a bomb up the pipeline. Or something like that. She might just fethin’ try it anyway, at this point. The Faerie’s eyes never left the creature that they were facing. She was terrified. Absolutely terrified.

Gods, she hoped it didn’t kill the things that mattered to her in that group, what precious little of them there were. She’d never forgive herself. She’d probably try to kill it in some furious rage… and fail, and die. But at least she’d have died for revenge. Her faux-goddess, in all her history of pain and sought-revenge, had to respect a death like that.

Amber Brightwing
April 5, 2011 03:11 PM​

Amber ground her teeth. Before, various things had stopped her from bringing her Arcane prowess to full use, but now she had been stopped by a supposed ally who should have been fully aware of what her spell would do as he clearly was a Necromancer as well. “I would have healed your wounds and fixed the damage from my earlier mishap you moron.” While Nimavel might feel like showering her with daggers, she felt like she could turn him into a pool of acid.

She was about to say just one more quick thing before ignoring him and help out Duncan when the other Fae started yelling at her. She looked at her briefly from the corner of her eye. The first Master Mystic had not amounted to much so why should she create a second and risk worsening the situation just as much as it could improve? As he had done admirably so far, she saw no reason to take the risk. Besides, if they insisted, nothing stopped the Journeymen from trying. It was not above their power.

And then, as announced by the Heru, the Xet arrived. It was an impressive being, but as soon as it had made itself noticed, the Faerie had started weaving a spell she had been thinking of during their long walk. The armour was impressive, but she had cut through rocks before so it not impenetrable. The cries for unbinding fell to deaf ears for the time being. Perhaps if things had gone different she might have unbound the Mystic first and acted second, but now she was still angry at the Elf’s dispelling and her general uselessness so far. Arguments that it was their only chance on leaving this place alive were not going to be particularly helpful right now.

The spell she had chosen was the basic Conjuration of an Acid Sphere, but cast at a Journeyman level to give a decisive punch and augmented with two weaves of Abjuration as well as Divination. The first weave of Abjuration was to guide the trajectory of the spell, just like her Guided Acid Sphere and linked specifically to the Xet. Interwoven with it were some smaller weaves of Divination, tying it both to the Xet and to herself in order to augment the targeting and give her some small control over the trajectory if needed. Finally, another weave of Abjuration was added, just like she had once done to make her Acid Sphere capable of cutting stone. It would focus the intensity of the acid and spread out the Conjuration over a longer period of time. The ball would be just a tiny speck – for human sized being at least as it would still be about as big as her head – and when it would strike the Xetian armour it would burn through it with great intensity. Again it had small strands of Divination around it to give her even better control over the spell, letting it explode into a full-fledged Journeyman sized Acid Sphere once it had entered the bugs exoskeleton.

Alden Faedryfal
April 5, 2011 07:28 PM​

Through the chaos Alden heaved, over-extendeding his throw as the body left his grasp and crashed in to a mangled heap, sprawling over Duncan and the former assailant the mage had just finished. The vagaran blanched, his jaw dropping at the sight of his error. Before he could move to correct the damage done it seemed his step slowed, his arms swinging to the gait of his stride halted in burning pain, inflamed by the action. Instinctively reaching up and over, he felt the blades hilt protruding from his muscled shoulder, and just to brush against it flared across his upper body with searing pain. He roared, falling to his knees as the feeling pulled him down just to catch his breath and reorient himself before body shock got the better of his senses. Groping over the battlefield with his tired eyes, he saw the form of Pyre mouth something incomprehensible, the mountain man's eyes filling up with emptiness, as if his spirit fled him. It was then the body jerked and from the reverse came a wicked barb exploding through the man's body. Alden tried to pull himself up, running and falling both the same as he roared out, reaching with his unwounded arm to grasp for a Pyre that was too far, and already too dead to be given succor.

His arm flared again and he had to catch himself, a grimace of agony tracing over his sharp features. From behind the warrior's body he could see the beast emerge, a chittering, strange thing herald by the insectoid soundscapes and the swirling blackness. The awesome demonstration of Etana had been lost on the barbarian, and now Pyre slumped before him in death. Aldens dark eyes mirrored hopelessness as he watched the assaults of the heroes slam into the beast, one after the other. Too dazed and tensed to immediately attack, he attempted to near Pyre's body, foolish, and yet bold enough to confirm one last look. He needed to be certain the man was dead, and with his mechanical injury, the last thing he needed to be doing was joining the others in a frontal assault of the monster. Crawling steadily, attempting little movements, both to be mindful of his injury and to keep from drawing the monsters attention, the vagaran edged for Pyre's body, needing to see for himself whether the man was beyond help.
 
Darkmavrck
April 6, 2011 01:46 AM​

The fearsome Saurid on Saurid violence raged as their blows, or rather the attacks of Pescado, were chained consecutively one after another. The lesser Saurid for that was clearly what he was, at least thanks to Tiarela, was losing blood quickly from the severed limb. Unfortunately the master mystic’s, as well as those from the others, fell on deaf ears. Amber was intent on leaving the Saurid bound, convinced that her spells were more than sufficient. It was often said that gluttony was an unforgiveable sin.

For Pescado all hope was not lost. He still had his bag of tricks and his Alacrity spell was still holding together beautifully. He knew that it would not last forever and likely not even as long as if he were to have cast it, but for now his augmented speed was an advantage. In the coming moments the Saurid would need every advantage he had, their kind were especially hated by the Xet. Servitude or death, the bug like creatures were a plague on the land conquering or killing all in their path and these were the only choices. Pescado knew this, and the Xet master knew that as well, this was a battle between species older then the very kingdom they fought to protect.

Sidestepping left, his sharp eyes locked with those of his enslaved brethren. There was a bit of sadness that lingered within them. One could only imagine what the foe thought in his dying moments, to see his own kind bringing death upon him. It was inevitable yes, but the lizard had still lived, he could have been saved with the proper tools. Even now in Kesmek they were researching how to remove and defeat the parasites. This was a life that could have been saved had Pescado held his true power, but now he had made his choice; he had forgone his blood ties to the Saurid species. The blade came up and cut through scaled flesh, it severed muscle and bone and with it the body fell. It was done, kin had been slain, and all that remained was power. It was often said that lust was an unforgivable sin.

The pain that rushed through Alden was insurmountable. Not only did his body throb and ache but so too did his soul. He had failed a brother, Pyre had saved the man and now the barbarian from the north had let him die. They were one in the same on this journey, tribe as Vagaran had thought, but that tribe was now broken, its elder slain before his time. The death had not even been honorable, brought down from behind by a foe he never saw. As Alden crawled all of this was abundantly clear, he crawled to the feet of his enemy, a monolith of destruction that could not be bothered with the pests of this world.

Agony ran through his limbs as he rolled the red haired brother over, the eyes that met the middle son were filled with fear. It was close, a slow death that was beyond painful. The chasm opened in the stocky man’s midsection was too much, only an extremely skilled mage thaumaturgist could have closed it in time. Suddenly a bloody hand grasped the arm of Alden and through short spasmed breaths Pyre pulled himself close. Blood bubbled from his lips and ran out as if the he were but a vessel for the divine liquid but between the gasps words were formed. “Only … real man… use… it.” They were his last words and with him the mountain tracker had bequeathed his most prized possession, his bow crafted with wood from the heart of the forest. Alden could not refuse the gift, he knew it in his heart, but to carry it meant that he would forever burden this failure. Alden had wanted battle and the gods had given, this was the price of war. It was often said that greed was an unforgivable sin.

None had bothered with the last of the three scouts, it had been allowed time to move away from Etana and Nimavel toward the pinned Duncan Sythe. It was as if the man had simply vanished from their sights, each more consumed with their own immediate survival. Duncan caught sight of if the figure lurking toward him with scimitar in hand from the corner of his eye. The dagger the mystic had pulled sunk into the flesh of his foe just below the neck, severing all that was importantly housed there. His luck seemed to be stabilizing for as he killed one another came, but he was being overrun either.

With his killing blow the body that had been thrown upon him fell dead, its full weight laying upon the mage but at the very least not forcing itself upon him like a lecherous man. With a bit of work and pressure from his free arm or foot the mage would be able to pull his blade free from its constraints once more. Immediately after which he would be dealing with his newest foe, a perfectly healthy undead scout with a four foot arching blade that had seen significant time on a sharpening wheel. The undead held the blade above its head ready to bring it down as an executioner of the famed follower of peace. The situation was oddly familiar, a similar stance being his own downfall not moments ago. In his mind the world was starting to fog, the pain in his leg numbing due to the loss of blood. It wasn’t enough to drown it out just yet but it was close, Duncan could taste it. At Jalat’s door he felt more alive than he had in patterns. His fate was teetering precariously on a wire because of his previous overconfidence, live anew or face the gods he so often shunned. It was often said that pride was an unforgivable sin.

Aslan had no intention of leaving the massacre, never in his short life had he seen something so chaotic. Fear was rampant in the hearts of these people and all caused but one single figure. The brown furred cabbit watched with intent as his pet pleaded with him, but what kind of master would he be to abandon her. As she flew away he gave a few hops to position himself better for the coming storm, the creature had no intention of dying but he was also not about to miss what was coming.

Tiarela was a mess, her mind swarming with ideas, with a need for help. She was terrified of what they faced, having not the slightest idea of how to attack it. There it stood with its appearance placid and stoic like a great stone before the coming storm. It had no fear, it had no emotion at all, the only thing it knew had rang so clearly in the faes mind just days before. KILL! it had commanded and kill it intended to do. Before the squads of section eight none had stood before its power, with their death none would stand before it again. Death was the only fitting fate for this land, death to them all. Even as Tiarela spoke her demand to Etana, the Nairu woman watched their foe through bloody tears. Lips slowly parted and words rolled forth in awe of its power. “Without our scouts we needed one alive to find… it.” The information was of no use to the fae, she had wasted precious time fluttering about. . It was often said that sloth was an unforgivable sin.

In her mind Etana belittled herself. She was not powerful enough, she was never strong enough. First she had lost her beloved father, now her people suffered in Arakmat, Nimavel had bested her martial form and before her stood the most powerful foe she had ever seen. Why did she live, what good was a warrior if they forever failed. Besting a weaker opponent was not victory, nor was leading strong men to their deaths. It was enough to break her, the entire weight of her existence bearing down at once. Slowly her focus faltered and her technique faded. Within her hands the daggers became slightly loose, not enough to fall, but not held in the supreme hands to which they belonged. All these era she had practiced to become strong like those that had come before her. Now she was going to die in the middle of a fog filled and bloody forest. It was often said that envy was an unforgivable sin.

Moments burned by as the K’tesh grandmaster tried to gain clara. His arm’s cooperation gave him a semblance of calm for the briefest of moments, his focus coming back into alignment as he stood before the creature of nightmares. It was unnerving as it seemed to stare at him, at them all, still unwavering in its resolve. The assassin was used to stress, to the rigors and danger of battle but even as he had thought not long ago, it was not common for him to interweave the physical and arcane skills at his disposal. As his eyes searched out the creature, he could see the slender joints where a man’s would usually be. The knees seemed to have overlapping plates on their front the same for the rears of the elbows. The longer segments seemed to be covered in solid plates however. Perhaps the joints would be the essential key? The issue with that idea was getting close enough to strike one accurately; already they had seen how quickly the demon moved. Then just as the man was reaching Clara, Amber decided to retort. Moron. The little faerie had the gall to insult his ability. It was beyond irritating, the words struck like a sculpture’s chisel on his concentration, threatening to fracture it at any moment. The hatred held within the elf fed into his spell as the ara was combined with vis to create the summoning. Dark shadows slowly wrapped around him, casting an eternal darkness about his form. It was not perfect though, thin gaps existed everywhere. Her words had been enough distract him. Still less they were hit directly the armor would serve its function. It was often said that wrath was an unforgivable sin.

Amber’s spell came together; it went forth aimed for the Xet’s armored chest. Her creation and care to send the ball forth were excellent; the idea was a good one. It struck the creature square, and then something rather unexplainable happened. Something Etana had warned of earlier in regard to the Xet and Magi. The spell struck its target and had absolutely no effect, not even the slightest puffs of smoke came forth from the strike. In fact, as it hit, still in clara thanks to her staff, the fae mage actually watched the weave of her spell disintegrate as it tried in vain to interact with her enemy.

The response came at once, a slight tilt of the creatures head and something more, something dark beyond imagination. Had Fidelis Merideus been amongst them he would have likely compared the sound to something he had once heard in the depths of Aeternia. It was laughter, laughter so coarse on the ear that it cut to the very soul. And so here they were, the assembled seven who still lived, each indicative of an unforgivable sin. Here they stood, in a bloody field covered in fog in the depth of Arakmat. Here they stood before their reaper.

Here they stood, and here they would die less a miracle saved them.

Pescado Branch
April 6, 2011 06:04 AM​

The saurid would never forgoe his blood ties to the saurid species. But he would forgoe those who would betray their kind, who would become slaves to the Xet. In essense, the saurid was freeing the creature from his bondage, but that wouldn't matter in minutes, as his emerald gaze stared towards the creature that stood before them, the reaper of their doom. Watching the aciding ball speeding towards the creature, Pescado wondered for a moment if it would work, he wondered just one time if the Xet could be harmed by such a construct, something their shamans had not practiced at all, save for the Dark Ones amongst them. And then his brief hopes were lost and his fear was induced.

The spell had failed, and the aeternian born laughter that came from the Xet was enough to chill even the saurid's bones. Not for fear of death, but for fear of the memories that would be lost to his race, precious memories and the further enslavement of his people. It was ones said that someone had told the saurid race they were protectors of the planet, and now, Pescado knew deep down inside what he had to do, what he was. He was a symbol. To all of the saurid people, now, he was a leader amongst them, and to defeat their foes, to protect the planet from this menace, was his duty.

His emerald gaze stared the creature down, and when Amber had not unbound him, the saurid turned his eyes upon another creature. Kill her, a voice within the saurid's head spoke to him. She is preventing you from your duty, protecting the planet, protecting the saurid race and all other races that deserve equality. She is no better than the Xet... Allowing his snakelike head to turn back towards the Xet, Pescado didn't say anymore words. There were none to say, Amber Brightwing had doomed them all to die.

"Kill her..." the saurid said towards Nimavel, his icy cold gaze turning back towards the Xet. "Sssssshe hassssss proven her allegiancssssse to the Xssssset asssss ssssshe'd doom ussss all to die..." His voice was harsh, cold, and deadly, to the point deadly. He did not care for the foolish fae that seemed to think she was better than anyone, that couldn't work as a team. He did not care for anything she had to say that might save her life in that instance. The only thing he cared about was that Nimavel would kill her, and prevent her from furthering the Xet's cause. Pescado Branch was not insane at this moment, but merely taking a calculated risk. Her blunders were more than enough to stop them from winning, and the metallic tailed saurid saw this without a shadow of a doubt.

As his eyes roved the Xet, he quickly thought about the spells within his little bag of tricks that he had. Grand Animation he thought, the thought triggering a spell within his bag of tricks, to summon forth an adept level animation. As the creature was summoned, it would appear beside the saurid, it's body a hulking seven feet tall, with two massive arms, a very small head, and rough green skin all over it. Pescado watched as the Psion formed into the animation, and watched as it would do his bidding. Hopefully Nimavel would take care of Amber Brightwing, the fool of a fae, while Pescado took care of the Xet menace, since Duncan was dealing with his own problems, and the saurid expected that the man could take care of them himself, unknowing of his injury, even though he could smell the human's blood.

As his emerald gaze stared towards the huge claws that the Animation bore upon it's large hands, he pointed towards the Xet, and said in the saurian language, hissing the command out, "Protect the planet, Destroy the Xet, He is our enemy, Protect us, and attack him..." Psions summoned by mystics, even if they happened to be summoned via an imbuement happened to have a distinct linkage to their summoners, and would obey most, if not all commands given to them, even the higher intelligence ones seemed to want to protect their creators at all costs, and thus, Pescado would watch, and hope the Animation would rush forward, and dig it's claws into the Xet's armor, taking on the buglike creature, while Pescado would plant his spear butt end down into the ground, and watch to see how the Animation would fare against the Xet, and if he even needed to fight it himself. It was said that Xet were immune to magic, well, an animation taking a physical fight towards the Xet was different than a magically casted Acid Ball, the fight would be a physical one, and not an arcanic battle. One might hope that it would work, but at the moment Pescado's hopes were pretty low, and his expectations not high at all. He merely prayed to Rak as he began his approach to death, knowing full well that was where he was heading if the Animation was defeated...

Nimavel Mynendil
April 7, 2011 01:27 AM​

The assassin’s pallid countenance revealed little by way of visible expression. The sound of his grinding teeth, however, could almost be heard above the uproar. For a moment he wondered if his ears had deceived him, if they had somehow mistranslated Amber’s retort and registered something entirely different, something bordering on insolent. Nimavel Mynendil and insolence were not a happily married couple, at least, not when said insolence spawned from a useless faerie who had, unsurprisingly, proved useless yet again. His lavender eyes widened in disbelief as he examined the porous and defective Spirit Armor that enveloped his slender figure like a second skin, only partially so consequent of the earlier distraction. It was almost as if she were making more conspicuous efforts now to sabotage the operation.

She had actually called him a moron. It took him a second to finally realize that.

The Heru Mynendil was not a reasonable man – people who murdered seldom were. If there was one thing that the master assassin did not tolerate, it was offensive language directed at him. Of course, it was a standard that he did not personally abide by himself as the faerie bitch could well affirm, but he was far from a saint. His dead wife and children could attest to that as well. Nimavel had killed for lesser offenses. He had slain a man named Corran Bethager in Nexus Prime merely for questioning the competency of his plan. Had the dumb faerie known this, she might have reconsidered her language and tone immediately. He had given her time to recompense for her affront by unbinding the saurid as he had commanded, but that, too, had been rejected. And then she had had the audacity to prove her worthlessness again by waving her little finger at the Xet and sending an ineffective ball of acid its way.

Nimavel was already gone before the saurid’s suggestion reached his long, tapered ears.

Less than fifteen yards away from the previously casting faerie with only Duncan in between them, the assassin seemingly winked out of sight, much as he had done when he had left a trail of illusions in his wake against the undead elf. Lightning Stealth was a phenomenon that few had witnessed mainly because it was the pinnacle of the elf lord’s assassination maneuvers. Integrating his mastery of stealth and his supersonic speed, the Lord of House Mynendil simply did not exist to the naked eye. His path carried him toward Duncan and the back of the lumbering undead soldier as if to help the bleeding mystic . . . but he vaulted right past them and towards the only person foolish enough to ever have called him a moron.

The saurid had been right. She had proven her allegiance to the Xet by becoming a liability. Perhaps the bug-men had already possessed her. That would have explained why she had “inadvertently” targeted him with her spell, refused to unbind the saurid, and used magic against the Xet even when Etana had advised against its usefulness. Or, perhaps, she had been that stupid. Nimavel subscribed to the latter theory. Had her acid spell been effective against the Xet, he would have left her alive long enough to make use of her contributions, although even then, it was doubtful that she would have made any given her current track record. Unfortunately for her, he had already entertained stimulating images of cutting the fae’s throat out if he had survived long enough to do so. He had given her one final chance to make amends for her incompetence. He had even informed her of the price of disobedience . . .

It was over for her.

He led with his right hand, a heavily scarred vision of its former self. It was the same hand that had pierced the weave of an Archnecromancer Lich’s spell and caused it to implode upon its caster. It was the same hand that had survived Amber’s incompetence merely because of the fact that it had been his right hand and not his left. A single thrust. That was all it would take. That was all the Lord of House Mynendil and Grandmaster of K’Tesh needed. No spell, no shield, and no retreat would save the big-mouthed wench from her fate, not when the man who had repeatedly outrun the reaper himself glided toward her like lightning slashing the night sky.

With horribly callused fingers leading the way and his ears attuning to the sound of her tiny beating heart, the elf lord unleashed the pinnacle of his one-hit thrusts, the Shadow’s Edge, at her throat to slice her head off with a single attack. His shoulder leaned forward at the proper moment, shooting his arm at her with surgical precision and terrifying velocity. Barring an Archmage’s shield, which even then, Nimavel had learned to cut through, the fae’s fate was sealed.

She had doomed herself.

In the event that some “otherworldly” power somehow alerted Amber to the assassin’s feigned attempt to aid Duncan and allowed her to react despite her prior attention being invested on the outcome of her earlier spell, the elf lord would use his Shadow’s Edge to cut through any spells that she managed to hurl at him, if she could do so. He would follow through with another flesh-rendering thrust from his left hand, which was more than eager to repay her for what she had done to it with her Impotent Spell. And if she somehow flew, the assassin was not short on throwing knives, and he would pluck a pair from his belt and target them in split timing towards her head and her chest.

Duncan Sythe
April 7, 2011 02:31 PM​

Dealing with his own problems... yes, somehow Duncan had spent the past several minutes dealing with his own problems and having more caused to him by others who were supposed to be on his side. Had he possessed a chance to see the overview of the situation and how Amber's acid ball had failed to do a thing, and how it had possessed Nimavel to attack Amber, he would have been utterly and totally confused.

As it was, he was still too busy with his own problems as the only involvement the rest of the group seemed to want to have with him was causing more of them. It was all told rather infuriating, or would have been if he'd possessed enough time to think about it in a coherent manner.

Instead Duncan Sythe was beginning to feel light-headed, and there was something about the situation that was bordering on the ludicrous even without the hulking zombie that had suddenly appeared above him and the sounds of the battle against the Xet coming from somewhere beyond, somewhere else other than on the sandy ground. For ever since he'd done the stupidly co-operative thing of trying to leave one of the Xet alive he'd blundered from one movement to the next as blood slowly soaked the ground beneath him and his clothes, the strange soft pain pulsing like a heartbeat...and now he was being forced to concentrate – again – without having time to actually focus enough for trying to resolve his wound. No, to have time to sort the wound out would have been too easy, instead something else wanted to kill him.

Something flashed past him, almost a shadow...it was like the world was laughing at him for having bothered to do as he was told for once. If he survived this, doing as he was asked was not a habit Duncan suspected he'd repeat, as it was he'd managed to pull his sword free and now had a fractional amount of time to decide how to deal with the sword that was now plunging down at him in a high chop.

In other circumstances, virtually – any – other circumstance, Duncan Sythe would not rely upon a shield to protect him from what was about to happen. Indeed he would rather think it was insurance in this case but something told him it wouldn't be. A hastily constructed plan to lever himself up and try to stab the undead through the throat with the point of his sword into its brain was discard and...amended as it loomed over him, because it was unlikely from the position it was in that it would make the mistake of, well, not hacking his arm off in the process.

Instead of chancing with sword-deflection, he put his life in the hands of good – albeit desperate – reflexes and the Enchanted master-level Force Shield in a ring on his right hand. Shield. Duncan took an inward breath and sprang into motion as the blade came down. The first action was unseen, merely mental, calling to the shield as his left hand shot up to grab the undead looming over him, the mental shield command being what Activated the Enchanted Force Shield to wrap around his form and protect it from harm – well, more harm in this case.

Preferably he'd grab a handful of shirt or a leather belt, anything of that nature would suit his left hand – which had released the dagger still in the back of the undead body next to it – but anything would do really. He was relying preferably on adrenaline fuelled desperation to drag himself so close to the undead that it couldn't hack at him properly; but the shield was the fallback if it somehow managed not only to hack him but also hack at an unarmed part.

A force shield would have been good against one stroke in any event, one of this power ought to be good for several...at least that was the theory now being tested.

It was a theory combined with action however, Duncan's sword arm arcing up in a long thrust as his left arm bent and tugged himself up the Xet-possessed man...or alternatively tugged the Xet-possessed man down onto hischest. His goal was still roughly the same whichever result occurred, to stab or slash the undead, xet-possessed soldier in the head and so in the brain using the terribly sharp Aetherium Fallax blade, but instead of relying on dodging the sword – an act he judged to be moderately impossible with only one good leg – he was trying to drag the undead down to him in order to finish it...and hopefully give himself a chance to sort his leg out, albeit after hefting yet another corpse off himself.




Amber Brightwing
April 7, 2011 03:22 PM​

Amber opened her mouth... and closed it again. That was not supposed to happen. With a cold chill running through her spine, she started raising further in the air without thinking. She had already been flying high enough that a Human would have needed a spear to stab her, a default tactic that was probably one of the reasons she had survived the Vortex streets before her magic had made her strong enough to face its thugs. Now she raised even further in the air, well out of reach of the seven feet monster. As irrational as it might be against a winged enemy, it provided some mental comfort at least. Her focus was on the strange beast in front of here that seemingly seemed to be invulnerable to even a Journeyman spell and her mind lay an Arcane finger on the spells encapsulated in one of her rings. The Spirit Minion that surrounded here was from an enchanted Master level spell, but as she had favoured duration over protection it only provided the shielding capacity of a Journeyman spell... just like her Acid Sphere had been a Journeyman spell. At the first sign of trouble, she would activate the Shadow Walk spell immediately and move out of harm very speedily.

Not paying much attention to Nimavel – not that there was much chance that it would have saved her from his assault – her ability of flight would perhaps be the only thing that would save her of meeting Jalat today. If he would have to revert to his throwing daggers, those should be easily stopped by the shielding Spirit Minion after all, unless her carefully crafted enchantment would suddenly decide to stop working properly. With the luck she had had in this blasted desert, she might not even be surprised when that happened.

In the event she survived the Heru’s unexpected assault, she would use her Shadow Walk immediately, moving away from the little group. She would be shocked at the way the events went and even more confused with what had just happened than she had been with Arcana not working. She had allegiance to the Xet? How did that make sense. She did not even know what Nimavel’s problem was exactly. She had made a minor mistake, fixed it immediately and then tried to heal the harm it had caused. Was their hatred against Necromancers rooted that deeply? But how did it explain the Elf’s actions, a Necromancer himself.

Sure, she had not unbound the Saurid, but unbinding was a Journeyman technique and there was nothing that had stopped the other mages from making an attempt. She saw no reason why she had to be the one. Granted, she had been best positioned when the beast appeared, but trying to kill it was something that she could do a lot faster than unbinding the other mage and letting him make an attempt. Not that he would have had any better chance at succeeding. Arcana clearly did not work and the Mystics themselves had said their magic would have trouble with their alien minds. From the way she was looking at it, she had been the groups best chance Arcanically speaking.

If she could stay within a suitable distance without the Heru going after her – rather than the huge bug that threatened to kill them all – and if she was certain she could briefly dispel the Shadow Walk spell, she would humour them for one last moment and quickly unbind the Saurid. If they thought that having two Master Mystics would suddenly solve everything, they could have it and rot in Aeternia for all she cared. She would be heading home as fast as a Shadow Walk could carry her.

Alden Faedryfal
April 8, 2011 11:26 PM​

Alden was held thrall by the geas laid upon him through Pyre. The temple seemed to be collapsing around them, one of the structural columns of most import fallen by the enemies blow. The barbarian nodded, even if he knew he might be lying, and took the man's hand, clasping it firmly to see him on his way to the ancient lands. The mountain man's other hand appeared to thrust the weapon at him, and Alden dutifully took up the bow with his wounded arm. He was no archer, and as he moved to rise he had to put the bow down, his left arm incapable of offering support and his body dizzy and weakening from the wound. It's pain numbing him and offering only the cruelest of short-burst pains that spasmed unexpectedly.

The beast seemed engaged, though its whimsical and effortless motions told Alden the monster was at play, unaffected or such was its endurance that spells seemed to wash off it like water against the shoreline rocks. The beast moved with a methodical, reptilian grace that was exacting and precise, glowering over the saurid warrior while the spell from the faerie at the rear flank seemed to do no more than encourage the thing. Its body was a magnificent and well-armored thing, chitinous plates like a scarab or beetle offering it layers of protection much like the saurid called tri-ankilos. Magic seemed to amuse it, and despite their proximity, even if Alden could rally himself for a charge, he suspected he would be casting his body to the Great Hall prematurely.

It was the first time he considered dying any other way but standing on his own two feet. But the foot was the key. While the beast turned its menace upon the immediate threats, moving as only a Xet could move, the hunter's sense activated. Alden watched it as he had watched a hundred deer, and twice that in small birds or quick-moving game. He watched it the way a hunter watches it with blurred eyes, no longer in need of distinguishing details or precise shadows, but rather the contour of subtle movement being enough to alert that predatory eye for aim.

Groping over Pyre's body, his hands roving to where he had seen Pyre draw an arrow from, the barbarian hoped their mountain-borne guide would have ammunition enough left to spare.

If the fine bow were to be armed, Alden would draw up his right leg and position the grip at the center of his bare foot, toes curled to form a brace, while heel arced to offer a counter-slope. With the arch of his foot acting like a cup, Alden drew back on the string with his right arm -- his good arm, finding the brace of his foot to provide a great deal more leverage for pulling. The drawback would be tested, string drawn absolutely taut while he moved his right leg to test it a moment for grip, mobility, and steadiness. Locking his right knee and bracing taut for the first volley, Alden waited, watching the beast move and assess its radius of kill.

Loathe to rush a shot, Alden held his breath, inexperienced with the weapon, and would not fire until it appeared something of an excessive target might afford him one of those open pockets unguarded by its natural body armor. Searching its wicked form, Alden could but wait till that opportunity of weakness presented itself, then oath the gods his firstborn, just to pray he had any decent shot with a weapon used maybe but once or twice in his life, for the purpose of play, at that.

Tiarela Iceglitter
April 9, 2011 05:54 PM​

There were absolutely no words for what transpired next.

Amber Dullwing had decided to call Nimavel a moron. The Heru. A moron. If Tiarela Iceglitter wasn’t so frozen in fear she probably would have buried her head in her hands at that point. Sure, let’s call the guy who had thrown a knife across a field to nail a Zombie in the skull in their first mission together a moron. The guy who was holding his own and turning his opponent into a piece of chewed up dog meat. Tiarela was afraid to so much as look Nimavel in the eye, and here the Master Fail of a Necromancer had the audacity to call him a moron. Wow. Just wow.

And then she refused to unbind Pescado. The larger of the two Fae grit her teeth angrily and her fist clenched together. If they weren’t facing their Reaper right now, she might have tackled that insolent little child right out of the sky and into the dirt. She would have shoved Iallea’ryn right through her wings, wrapped her hands right around her neck, knocked her upside the head with the blunt end of the twisted staff. Oh, if Iallea’ryn could ever find her thread in the darkening… Amber was going to get it good. And if they were about to die here, well, Tiarela was going to go down beating the living Aeternia out of that little snot-nosed brat.

Nothing could be done right that moment, though, and so as Etana returned that there was no specific, fantastic, awesome reason as to why they needed one of them, the Faerie gave a small sigh. Etana’s dagger’s loosened in her hand and though the Faerie didn’t really take notice. Amber’s spell had fizzled against the armor, no, it had completely disintegrated as it touched it. This was important. Doubly important because moments before Tiarela’s nose had also smelt the rot of Nimavel casting something from that same sphere. She wasn’t sure what it was, but as the shadows enveloped him, she figured it was protective. Somehow.

Her plan, initially, was to go after Nimavel, provide him with a stick she had made previously for a shell of illusion, and then proceed to spout off a suggested plan wherein Tiarela, the Heru and Etana all made their way around the back of the Xet while Pescado attempted to distract it from the front and looked for weaknesses. Etana had mentioned previously that joints were usually the best shot given their inability to be completely covered. It was there Tiarela would attempt to look for an opening to perform something very heroic and very stupid all in the same breath. Then again, which heroic actions weren’t also stupid as Aeternia when you looked back on them?

She never reached Nimavel, though. By the time Tiarela had even begun the thought that would lead her wings to change direction and propel her towards Nimavel… He was gone. Confused, the Faerie paused in midair, only having achieved turning half way around so that she now looked for the Elf and was able to still see Etana. The only remnant of the Heru of Mynendil was the stench of his spell that enveloped him… and even then the Faerie could not place him. It all happened so deathly fast.

Unable to focus on Nimavel and not seeing the need to stare at where he had been or at the ridiculously unintelligent Dullwing, Tiarela turned back to the companion she had been helping previously: Pescado Branch. Darting back in his direction, Tiarela had an idea. His bag was on fire with packed spells. Imbuements. Yes. That's how the animation had sprung for a bound master. Well, she needed to borrow a few things.

Upon reaching Pescado, assuming she got there unhindered, Tiarela shot past his ear and calmly said, ”Terribly sorry about this, I need to borrow a few imbuements. Keep its attention as long as you can. Trust me.” And then quickly divebombed into the sack of gems he was carrying, silently hoping that her previous display of willingness to help Pescado would stay his anger from her essentially taking a few charges of his plethora of imbued spells. She was, however, going to use them to help the group.

In Clara, for Tiarela was quick to adjust Iallea’ryn to a vertical position as she dropped into Pescado’s bag, Tiarela carefully examined the gems inside for spells she recognized. Specifically, the Faerie was looking for Animation, and Alacrity.

Assuming Tiarela found them, for Pescado’s Greater Animation probably looked very similar in weaves to a typical Animation. However, she searched the bag for the gem containing Alacrity first, and promptly activated it, releasing one charge of the spell inside, directed at herself. While she wasn’t aware of how Pescado had imbued them and what the key for activation was, Tiarela had the ability of knowing the actual technique activate, which hopefully would allow her access to the spell without any complications.

After finding Alacrity and hopefully successfully activating it on herself, Tiarela quickly searched for the Grand Animation gem. Fluttering up out of the bag, the Faerie would show it to Pescado before activating it too. If everything went as planned, Tiarela directed the spell to appear in front of them: the summoned psions of thought from the Plane of Thought would be conjured into a shell that was replicated to look exactly like a drake. While the creature would probably not be as tall as the Xet nor the animation that Pescado summoned, its purpose was to be faster, to have longer claws, and to be a distraction to something so tall. Tiarela figured that bigger wasn’t necessarily better. She gave it a color similar to the ground, or as well of one as she could, so that it would have the advantage of camouflage when the Xet was looking down on it. She also imagined that it had long and thick claws on its hands and feet, but not so long they impeded walking. Obviously, because drakes were carnivores, it had sharp teeth as well, and a tail that was flipping around behind it. The tops of its wings also had singular hook-like claws.

Via divination, the Faerie commanded, ”Protect the humanoids behind you. The large bug in front of you is the enemy. Be defensive first, let the other animation lead with offense first.” … That way she could see if it attacking was going to have really bad consequences, like the acid sphere had.

As long as everything went according to plan, Tiarela made her way back over to Etana and, reaching into her bag, offered her one of the invisibility sticks. ”This will create a field of invisibility. It will not be mobile, so be careful. When the Heru calms down, help me convince him that we need to find the weak spots. Get behind it with me.” And regardless of whether or not Etana took it, for Tiarela could break them just as easily herself if Etana and Nimavel came to the back of the bug with her, Tiarela took off around the outer edge of the group and tried to get behind the Xet to look for weaknesses: specifically, Tiarela planned to observe the back of its knees, the place where the wings connected, and the back of its neck for any openings that were not covered by plates. She kept a fairly large distance between her and the bug, ready to dart away if it decided to go for her instead of the animations for any reason.

 
Darkmavrck
April 10, 2011 11:36 PM​

They were quick to judge the smallest of the group, half drawing assumptions on her abilities faster than one could drop a hat. The perspective of the battle was skewed perhaps, the need to cooperate faded from their minds. Perhaps it was simply the stress of the situation, or perhaps the group of loners simply felt overcrowded and needed a scapegoat. It didn’t help that the tiny Fae was at odds with many of them and that her chosen sphere was one spat upon throughout the realm. Amber had made it her life’s work to prove that the skill set had merit, but here, pared with frustration and misconception she failed miserably to do such. It was not completely her fault, she had simply been the first to try, nothing lost and nothing gained, so the saying went. Her heart and mind were in the right place, had she felled the beast before her they would have been singing praise rather than scorn. Such was the fickle mistress known as luck. Sadly it was a chance that would cost her life.

Pescado sanctioned the Faerie’s death, only adding fuel to the brilliantly burning flame that was Nimavel’s temper. Behind the Saurid the Elf lord was already in motion but that was neither here nor there, the Dri’Kalos had his own problems to worry with. His grand animation came into being, the summoned psions twisting about to form the hulking mass of his imagination. The brutish figure shared numerous similarities to its opponent. The Xet simply stared at the arcane creation with what could have only been disinterest. It seemed unaffected that such a thing literally had just materialized from thin air. There was a downfall to the spell, Pescado had summoned it and given verbal orders. While these were clear they could not be as specific as a divined thought. Thereby the creature was left to its own imagination in the theory of attack.

As Tiarela dove into Pescado’s bag of tricks, the climax of ally versus ally came into formation. The elf lord had moved like the very darkness that surrounded him, offering the faintest bit of hope to Duncan Sythe. He abandoned the man however, filled with his on insatiable lust for revenge. His pride had been scorned and he would have vengeance in the payment of blood. His lavender eyes were stared with cold desire, locked on the hovering Fae. She may have thought herself safe being so high but he had trained with masters of Shasskah, known for their ability to leap high into the air. He was perfection in form, and with ease he leapt upward, hand sweeping in to kill the valuable asset.

Locked in a state of clara her mind reacted on instinct as it sensed the combined spell and vis pool of the assassin. It triggered her Shadow Walk spell, her form being engulfed by the darkness and transforming into something incorporeal. The combination of spells would have worked, could have saved her against any opponent other then the grandmaster. His leap brought him to her, his Myriad Gaze saw the weaves for what they were, and his Shadow’s Edge cut through them with ease. The blade that was his hand penetrated the Spirit Minion breaking it apart, it cut through her cloud of darkness and slammed into her translucent form. The elf lord felt the resistance of the strike, the wet blood flowing over his hand, he had made his kill even if he could not see it.

The spell, interrupted by such a force, caused something very odd to happen. The Faerie had been shifted just slightly by the coming force of the grandmaster’s blow. When one was only six inches in height slightly made a world of difference however. There was no pain as Amber watched her arm drift through the air, the three silver rings she had placed on her hand that morning included with it. It was gone, her arm was missing, yet she felt no pain… at first. Then it slammed into her as if a mule had kicked the woman out of mid air, it caused her to black out and when her eyes fluttered open she was back in Vortex. The broken arcane reaction had caused another ring to activate, one that allowed her quick travel between Nexus and Vortex. It had seen that she was not in the dark city and pulled her back to it. Her mind ached as if it had been split, and she felt the seeping drain of her natural energies being drawn to her arm. HER ARM! Eyes cast to it revealed that while the remainder of her form was flesh and blood that which had been taken remained as a shadow. It was semi solid, in other words she could grasp items with if she focused, but in passing things drifted through it freely. The wound which ended just beyond her shoulder did not bleed, not in the sense of blood but it seemed to drain her natural energies devoid of her will. She bled vis, not the crimson substance of life, and speaking of life she still had hers, if only by a soft caress of the lady who had avoided her thus far. Amber Brightwing had received a single shot of luck and sympathy that had saved her life.

Back where the battle raged however, she was gone, her aura, her spells, her body, all of it had vanished. The only thing which remained was a spear of blood upon a Sylrosian’s hand, a tattered arm, and three small silver rings that stank of necrotic essence. For all intents and purposes the members who now faced the darkest foe of their lives thought they had just witnessed the death of Amber Brightwing.

Simultaneously Duncan was making his move, reaching up and grasping the belt of his foe. For all the thought that he put into the move, his ideas were showing the rambles of a mind suffering from blood loss. The plan, hasty as it was, showed his experience with the blade. He knew instinctively how to defeat his foe, not giving it massive amounts of contemplation but rather relying on his gut instincts. The golden blade shimmered as it shot upward, his left hand pulling down as the executioner’s edge rolled forth. He watched as the rare metal met skin just below the chin, he felt the heavy sword blow ricochet off his back. Motito had saved his life yet again, and with that saving grace his royal blade brought death to his third enemy, placing him in a firm lead for kills. As expected however, with the kill came the dead weight of a body rolling forward and across the chest of the wounded mage, pinning him to the ground under a minimum of two hundred unflinching pounds.

There was something more that came with the kill. Something unbelievably familiar, like an old confidant entering the hallowed corridors of his mind flooded the mages senses. Clara, sweet, sweet clara. It washed over his slightly skewed and deranged thought process like a flood of rain in the Arakmatan sands. It relieved him of all pain and suffering, it pulled the harsh edge of battle from his bitter sentiments, and it was there in full, unwavering force. The former archmage once again had his favorite toy and woe to the fool that stood in his way.

Meanwhile, back in Pescado’s goodie bag, the overgrown Fae known as Tiarela was feverishly searching for spells to steal from a man who was working with a limited supply. Quickly spotting Alacrity she activated it before the mage could offer protest. Instantly she felt the wash of energy fill her limbs and supercharge the already fluttery Fae. Her heart pounded nearly a speed comparable to the rate of psionics in her mind. Her body twitched with energy already more than zippy from her many nightmare experiences. Once she had the gem containing Grand Animation, and Pescado allowed it she summoned her own beast into existence, just as the first was about to engage its foe. For now the creation would hold back, watching as instructed, and about to get a very real lesson on what a Xet was capable of.

Etana watched all of this play out, and while she had her moment of weakness as the woman came over and offered her the stick, it was met with a very sour expression. A slender hand snatched the object from her and placed it between pearly teeth. Dark eyes then cast a look to the fluttering creature, the very sound of its rapidly beating wings an annoyance in that moment. “Little Faerie I am not quite sure who you think you are, but you should think very carefully about giving orders to myself or that elf. Less you wish to end up like your sister. That creature is not big enough for two of us to attack from the rear, and now that his grudge is settled I am quite sure that man’s focus will be on the right target. I highly suggest you steer clear of him.” Internally her composure was returning, the Fae’s idea wasn’t a horrible one but as she had said, it was too small for them all to crowd in behind. She imagined that Nimavel would strike from the side he was on, the animation was to the things front Etana could take the other side. “You take the rear, we will strike from all directions at once, just as the great desert scorpions kill their prey.” God’s be damned if she planned to die today, too much was left undone.

In a flash that was only slightly slower than her Elfin equal (if not superior) the dark skinned woman was gone from her previous position, and then standing in the stance of the falcon at a similar distance from the Xet as the Heru Mynendil. Her eyes looked to the Elf, knowing his Shadow Gaze would have picked her up, and planning to give a combined assault. Tiarela would be hard pressed to join the rear in time, but if she moved as fast as her tiny wings would take her she would make it.

In that moment it seemed the Xet was ready to begin, for as the Nairu woman took up her form, Nimavel landed from his strike, Duncan found clara, Pescado urged his behemoth forth, and Amber faded into the darkness, it rushed forward. Alden, with bow drawn, was not afforded a full shot to the rear, but only a strike to the side as the bug like creature raised its arms to impale the exposed chest of the Grand Animation. Pescado’s creation’s arms came in with its furious claws, even as it was lifted from the ground by the powerful upward thrust of its Xetian foe. For the barbarian it was likely his only chance, for as he released the Arakmatan warrior would spring into action going for the exposed side.

It was perhaps an all or nothing moment, the question would be if Amber had used up all of their luck, or if a sliver remained.

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Awards for Amber Brightwing

Amber is awarded 1XP to Necromancy for her proficient use and demonstration of the skill.

Amber has lost her arm due to a strike from Nimavel that broke the weave of her spells and severed her flesh. Luckily she was transported back to Vortex and the remaining members of the Kesmek Squad believe her to be dead. Because of this she now has a shadow arm which, with deliberate focus can grasp objects, otherwise it is incorporeal. If the arm is severed it simply reconnects itself when the two pieces are adjoined. This however comes at the cost of a reduction of one Master Level casting per brightening due to a ‘bleed out’ of Vis. In other words she can cast one less level four, 9 less level three etc. spells per brightening. This effect will increase to the Archmage level if she becomes promoted as Vis reserves are higher and as such bleed out becomes more severe. Thus a reduction of one Archmage, 9 Master, etc. etc.

This can be fixed if she has the limb removed at the shoulder, and a new arm grafted in its place. However, as a bonus to this, with extensive practice she will be able to shape the arm into new forms solidifying it at will.

Finally, she has also lost the three silver rings upon the hand containing 12 imbuements of Guided Acid Spheres (9 Apprentice and 3 Journeyman level Necromancy spells) 2 imbuments of Shadow Walk spell (Master level Necromancy spell) and 1 enchantment of a Master level Spirit Minion that can be put ‘on and off’ as desired. Which if the spell is destroyed while active, cannot be resummoned until the next brightening.

This information has also been added to her SoF and all FT locks are removed.

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Pescado Branch
April 11, 2011 02:42 PM​

[nomedia="[MEDIA=youtube]dhJAO_MNlB0[/MEDIA]"]YouTube - Music Remaster - Final Fantasy Mystic Quest - Doom Castle[/nomedia]


As the saurid looked onward towards his grand animation, he watched it be impaled with better results than he could have imagined. The animation didn't dissipate on sight, which meant one thing. The armor wouldn't tear apart Psionic magics. As his emerald gaze viewed his animation get skewered, he quickly moved forwards, ignoring Tiarela for the most part, allowing her to take what she needed to help them out in the long run, knowing full well that she would be capable of using the imbuements she took. Just hopefully she didn't take the one he was about to use.

As his emerald eyes scanned the Xet, he quickly gave a simple thought, Paralyze, activating the Paralysis imbuement, which he aimed directly towards the Xet, hoping his assumption was correct, and that the imbuement's accuracy could send it no where but the Xet, targetting each and every one of his nerves, shutting them down in some way, shape, or form. If successful, it would allow Etana and Nimavel the chances they needed to assail their foe. Pescado would continue his assault from the front, and even as the Grand Animation was lifted into the air, he would begin his own assault.

Looking for any breaks in the armor, as he released the Paralysis spell, he quickly would thrust his spear towards a break in the armor that he could finde, hopefully one at the joints. As he did, he would attempt to sink the spear into the armor break, his emerald eyes aglow with a fiery passion and rage as he ducked underneath the raised animation to do so. Thousands of years of captivity, and finally the saurid would have thier revenge, starting with this Xet alone. All of the anger in the world that Pescado possessed at the moment would be nothing compared to the sweet feelings he'd taste when this creature met it's doom at the hands of the small group.

Etana was right, they needed to strike at all sides, and just maybe if they could work together now, they might actually succeed in winning this. Pescado had stopped praying to Rak quite a bit ago, knowing that it wouldn't help, and he knew they were on their own, entirely. Amber had messed up majorly, and had paid with her life for it, the saurid would not make the same mistakes. Then again, they were up against an entirely new foe now, and mistakes were sure to be made, but hopefully not any deadly ones. As the Xet was distracted by the flailing animation, Pescado would go so far as to even give his life to distract the thing, so that Etana and Nimavel could find it's weak points.

Death did not sway his motives as he assaulted without mercy, and without any kind of remorse for the other fae's death. She had chosen her path, and now Pescado had chosen his. He would risk his life for the betterment of their fight, assaulting underneath the lifted up animation, hoping that while the Xet was busy with the flailing animation Pescado could find a weak point to stick his spear into, and hopefully his paralyze imbuement would do some good in slowing down the Xet that he was about to skewer...

Duncan Sythe
April 11, 2011 06:10 PM​

YouTube - Lisa Gerrard – Come Tenderness

Weight, the thud of the sword against his back, the smooth resistance of his own blade as it slid cleanly through flesh, cartilage, muscle, bone and brain-matter. One moment he held something that resisted, that pulled and tugged against him like an animal, the next the dead weight was falling as he was...but the ground beneath was not where it should be. Sensation, conscious feeling, the gritty, coarse nature of reality smoothed itself out and petered away like so much sand smoothed on a beach; the action of water on stone accelerated a thousand times to drive away the edges and leave only something effortless.

Clara, his mind awakened and seemed to whisper to him as the Aetherium blade slid free of the dead-soldier's jaw and Duncan rested his arms over the body, a long breath leaving him as his senses took in the world in infinite detail. He saw Amber fading, leaving as Nimavel's strike hit home, he saw Tiarela zip over to Pescado and Etana move with the Heru Mynendil to face off with the being.

All of them were moving, thinking, acting...he was alone; probably thought dead; yet dead he was not and his mind had found peace – albeit blood-loss induced and slightly delirious peace. I am not yet done.

Despite everything he was alive and he could think and he could feel the touch of the Ara about him, a movement of his mind and he knew he could still feel his own Vis around and within; with his mind scanning back to the beast that was the focus of the rest of the group that now lived he also noted it rising the Vis of the Grand Animation, as it was raised...and the strange absence that was the Xet.

Oh... In his lucid insanity Duncan noted how the Vis seemed only to be visible through the joints between the plates and even that was...fuzzy, it was like the Xet's body, well, it's shell was a void...

Time to experiment... to begin small, Initiate level Psionic orbs, two, three, a half dozen, floated up from the lucid Mystic as he drew fragmentary amounts of Vis; his calm hopefully allowing an infinitesimal amount of time in turn between Meditation for each as he was needing to spend so little conscious effort to shape them – leaving more for his concentration on his state of mind... Each soared along and down in a low plane along the floor, his lucid mind guiding them. Evoked, yet subtly focused with the former Archmage's Vis, they passed lightening fast along the floor of the desert towards the feet of the Xet, waiting, watching for an opening and then thrust up with the power of Vis-guiding thought. Breath in... breath out.

Weak points...but did they work before he tried anything more significant? More than that, did he learn anything from his attempts... provided his initial fast probes worked – and most importantly proved that he could get spells through the Xet's armour with enough care, it would be time to act.

For then would come the lucidly insane move. It was not that he could be prepared for what he was about to try but then at least this time he was twice-forewarned, both from the Reveal that he had pushed too hard and from his previous encounters with a Xet. Therefore the highly modified Astral Transcendence he formed and guided as an abjured, altered and divined cord of his mind – as a Silver Cord was far more controlled than the crude Reveal he had used before. Connected back to himself Duncan would hopefully be able to draw his mind away if he needed to.

As he attempted to inject his sense of self into the fringe's of the Xet's body, Psionic energies searching for Psionic energies and seeking connection with the being's Vis. Not necessarily it's mind, no, he did not want to touch his mind; he simply wanted a conduit to it's Psionic centres instead.

And if that didn't work? If the subtle would not sneak through the cracks then it was time for the insanely strong and powerful. Having witnessed Pescado's own Animation it was Duncan's turn. Thought stuff was malleable, manipulatable, the concept of an Animation in Duncan's experience; he'd made Animation Hands and even Animation fingers alone, now came...Animation in the truly malleable sense.

A large, Master's level of energy was what Duncan would be after if it became clear that he was not able to squeeze spells through the armoured plates. Altered, Abjured, but most of all Conjured, the touch of divination would be light. Drawing the Ara around him to his Vis Duncan's mind would hopefully pass to the Planes and draw back the energy; conjuring it around the Xet's feet in a wide arc – the shaping free of the legs as it swam into being and then pulled tight. The divination was there for that alone as Duncan would pit the strength of thought – an Adept's level in size but using the extra strength to lend to its corporeality, what Pescado would call a Grand Animation (Not that Duncan had a name for it) - against the strength of a Xet – at the very least Pescado's was being physical, all Duncan wanted was not for it to stab or have any effectiveness in that department...just to tighten around the beast's legs like a noose, tugging them together and inhibiting its freedom of rotation and movement.

With people like Etana and Nimavel that was all they'd need, if it worked.

Nimavel Mynendil
April 13, 2011 02:19 AM​

His scarred fingers pierced the faerie’s magical defenses and bit into flesh, slicing through skin and bone like a sword through a leaf. The elf lord had easily discerned the weaves that had begun to gather around the useless necromancer – a futile attempt to save what had already been her worthless life. Having proved to be as careless with her spells as she had been with her words, it came as no surprise to the Lord of House Mynendil that her last ditch effort to save herself from his wrath had been in vain. He had marked her for death the moment that she had insulted him, an affront that she would never live to make again – literally.

Even with the altruistic Shadow Minion absorbing the brunt of his lethal thrust, the master assassin could not be stopped. He felt the faerie’s warm fluids trickling down his fingers in crimson rivulets, staining hands that had bathed in the blood of countless men and women time and again. The pallid-skinned elf’s hand had penetrated something else, though, something that he could only presume had been the faerie’s desperate attempt to cast another spell at him. Unfortunately for her, it did not matter. Whatever had been her plan had been foiled the moment that his fingers had reached her and torn off her tiny arm. He suspected that his aim for her heart had been disrupted consequent of his leap and the strange magic that he had suddenly sensed prior to impaling her, but his Shadow’s Edge seemed to have decimated even that weave.

And then she was gone.

The elf lord blinked as he returned to the earth, his feet falling silently atop the bloodied grass. Where Amber Brightwing had once been, there was instead nothing more than her small arm. For a moment the assassin wondered if the faerie had somehow evaded his killing blow, but in his haughtiness he dismissed that absurd possibility. There was no way on Carmelya’s green earth that the incompetent mage would have been capable of such a feat, not when she had demonstrated her incapability so many times already. There was also the fact that his ears no longer attuned to the sound of her beating heart. Perhaps she had imploded when he had deconstructed her last spell, whatever it had been.

Either way, Amber Brightwing was no longer among the living.

With his pride restored, the assassin knelt down and snatched the faerie’s dismembered arm, removing the three rings that radiated obvious magical power. After tucking the rings into his pocket, he flung the mutilated limb aside as if it were a used cigar. He would allow the feasting crows to decide where to bury what little remained of her corpse.

There was only one more corpse to make this brightening. He turned his sinister gaze upon the group’s remaining opponent in the field.

His Shadow Gaze conveniently alerted him to Etana’s position on the Xet’s opposite side. Nimavel did not know what in Aeternia was standing in front of the colossal bug or when it had even come into existence, but the fact that the heavily armored Xet was not attacking him or his companions because of it meant that it was on their side. Besides, the Xet had its multiple eyes set upon what Nimavel eventually perceived to be one of the mystic’s spells, and it raced towards it with murderous intent.

The time to destroy the Xet was now.

Teamwork was not a foreign concept to the Lord of House Mynendil. Contrary to what his actions had evidenced so far, he was quite accustomed to collaborating with others to accomplish an objective. Of course, his collaborations tended to be only with those proven members of his notorious Conclave of Shadows, but that did not render him incapable of working alongside people nonetheless. If truth be told, the assassin was quite approving of the group’s tactics thus far, even if everything had only inadvertently fallen into place. It was apparent what the others were attempting, but more importantly, what his role was destined to be.

And now, it seemed, the time had come for him to enter the heart of darkness.

He needed no signal to tell him when to strike -when to throw himself into the most dangerous part of the battlefield. His was not a gesture of self-sacrifice, however. It was purely an act of survival. His feet were already carrying him across the grass like an arrow in flight when Etana commenced her attack from the Xet’s opposite side. Their only chance to pierce the Xet’s plated armor was to approach it from multiple angles and hope for good fortune, something that they had lacked in abundance ever since first setting out together. But they had their plan, and they had their prayers. They would need much of the latter to win their battle.

His lavender-colored eyes sought out the weak points in the attacking Xet’s exterior as he approached from an angle, little more than a blur gliding across the grass. As he neared, his hands raised in preparation to strike, and he used his Shadow Gaze to track Etana’s movements to avoid hitting her accidentally. He opened the melee with a fatal thrust of his Shadow’s Edge at the first opening that he saw in the Xet’s natural armor. Knowing that his covert attack would announce his arrival and likely elicit a defensive reaction, he would follow through with another finger-leading punch into the next opening that appeared when the fiend adjusted to deal with him, his digits hopefully drilling through the bug’s skin, juices, or whatever vital organs the creature possessed, if any. With any bit of luck, he would be able to use the others' distractions to land several more devastating blows if the openings revealed themselves. The demon of Silrosia was no fool either though. He had seen what the Xet's blade-like appendages had done to poor Pyre, and thus, in light of his incomplete Spirit Armor, Nimavel opted to continuously dance from side to side, not only to reposition himself for additional attacks, but also to dodge if need be.

In the event that he failed or the abomination proved too quick and counterattacked, the elf lord would pivot evasively to the side or withdraw from his charge. He would immediately transition into a blinding, circular rotation around the Xet with his Phantasm technique, leaving a host of images in his wake to distract the creature long enough to find another opening, or to purchase time for his companions to figure out what the hell to do next.

Tiarela Iceglitter
April 13, 2011 09:38 PM​

In an instant, Amber was gone. Tiarela had avoided the spectacle by aptly diving into Pescado’s bag as the moment showed itself and the smaller Fae’s worthless existence was annihilated. A confused expression crossed the alacrity-enhanced older winged creature’s face as she stared blankly for a moment and Nimavel landed on the ground once more. He had killed her. Just like that. Tiarela was almost absently saddened that she had not been able to assist. Useless child.

Etana’s quick return of annoyance with what she had offered or said was not entirely unexpected. Tiarela didn’t really mind at that moment, at least it had spurred the Grandmaster into doing something and offered a slight bit of coordination. While she was a little miffed that Etana would suggest that Tiarela would also be destroyed completely, well… It was neither here nor there. There were worse things that could happen that brightening than being completely annihilated. Amber probably didn’t even feel it as Nimavel disintegrated her before their very eyes. She was little more than Faerie dust. Tiarela made a mental note to perhaps retrieve the deceased one’s arm and return her to Gell’crea’s arms. Despite their differences and how much Tiarela knew the Mother would not approve, it served well that ashes of her children would go to nurture her creations. Amber would serve her purpose – the betterment and protection of all things She created… in the little Fae’s favorite pastime: death.

There was little time to dwell on the proper destruction of the remainder of Amber’s body though, as Tiarela lost track of it just as quickly as the arm had been severed and she had caught up mentally with what had happened. Her concern for retrieving Amber’s items that had been left behind were also put on reserve – there was no way she was going to try and grab them with Nimavel so close. So, forgetting about it for the moment, Tiarela gave a nod to Etana and was barely able to respond at all as she disappeared from sight.

Immediately the little Fae took off as fast as her wings would carry her, attempting a circle just wide enough to avoid the serrated reach of the deadly creature. Her intent was to reach the rear of the Xet as efficiently as possible, and once there, search for the weakness she needed to desperately find. Blowing off its leg would not offer the exact effect she was hoping to achieve and might put Etana or Nimavel in a very dangerous situation. No, instead the Faerie was intent on making sure the explosion was a little higher, in an area that wouldn’t sever a limb completely or put her companions in danger from falling overgrown exoskeletal blades.

Fluttering high into the air behind the seven foot creature, as it rushed forward she spurred off after it as fast as her wings would carry her. As it raised its arms to impale the Grand Animation, if there was enough space between its arm and its body cavity, Tiarela would make the most daring move she had ever undertaken in her life and quite possible the most gross in conventional terms. Tiarela was going for its armpit… As long as it wasn’t about to lower its arm again, anyway.

As she flew, clutching her staff to her chest, Tiarela grasped at the Ara about her and mixed it with the Vis within her to create Arcalysis. From there, she would pause but for a moment in the place where time stopped, the Astral Plane, to channel an adept’s amount of mana from the Plane of Thought to herself and then create mana that she would momentarily not be shaping until she reached the creature’s armpit.

Now, assuming there was an exposed, uncovered area at this joint, Tiarela would quickly reach out and put a hand lightly against the real portion of the body that was not completely plate, and abjure the mana she had created into the creature’s body, directing it as far centralized as she could manage without devoting an excessive amount of time to it. She wasn’t about to devote an extra shaping technique to it, so it only mattered that it got as far centralized as possible. Worst case scenario, it impacted the arm above her, best case scenario, nerve connections to the rest of the body from the brain would be less responsive. For some reason the Faerie seriously doubted that this was going to be that easy, but it was worth a shot.

After abjuring the mana as far into the body as possible from a straight line at where she was positioned, Tiarela evoked the mana to complete the casting of Psionic Overload (also affectionately dubbed “Flashbang”) when it was released from her Vis.

When this was complete, Tiarela hoped that two things would be accomplished: One, that she would be able to effectively reach the creature’s spinal column with it, and thus disable a large portion of the psionic connections that invariably led to the rest of the body, or, failing that, she would disable the creature’s left arm. There was absolutely no time spent contemplating this though, as Tiarela darted down and back as fast as her little wings would carry her to put distance between herself and the creature that would probably not be thrilled with her once it realized that she had done what she hoped had worked.

Now, if the armpit was not attainable, or at any point Tiarela appeared to be in danger of being crushed by the creature’s arm, she would of course dart out of the way, preferably behind the creature. She would then either attempt this again if the creature’s arm was once more in the air, or move back to quickly assess and change direction. Preferentially, she would look for exposed areas in the connection the wings made with the back, if there were any… and barring that, Tiarela would move back to the back of the knee. If the armpit was out of the question and she was able to reach a portion of open space in the wing, she would perform Flashbang as before, but without the necessity to abjure the mana very far. If the back of the knee was her only option, Tiarela would abjure the mana as high through the creature’s leg as possible, hoping to reach the base of the spine and thus disable both legs at once.

Obviously, her highest priority was to not get squished or eaten. When the spell was complete, wherever it had to be enacted, Tiarela divined to the conceptualized Drake animation, ”Attempt to disable the creature’s arms at the elbow hinge. Assist the other animation.” in hopes that it would be able to cause some sort of momentary damage to the arms at the exposed side of the elbow joints, if there was any exposed areas there… and barring that simply assist Pescado’s animation in freeing itself from the Xet.

All that was left to do was to hope and pray that Gell’crea was feeling particularly benevolent that brightening and not particularly willing to let two of her children meet Jalat at once.

 
Darkmavrck
April 16, 2011 12:49 AM​

[nomedia="[MEDIA=youtube]Em42XjJKSX8[/MEDIA]"]YouTube - Two Steps From Hell-Dragon Rider[/nomedia]



As quickly as the tiny Fae had disappeared the accumulated rage of the group went from one target to another. Without hesitation they moved to strike down the Xet, Pescado having set the stage for the others to close in. It was risky business, but the alternatives were not acceptable. The combined force of perhaps half the most powerful people in the kingdom was being unveiled on this stage. Of their original twelve members less than half remained. The faint of heart had moved on in one form or another. The assault came from all directions at once, while the bug creature was occupied with the mystic’s creation each of them moved, without a word, to fill a needed role.

The Saurid took the lead, his Paralysis spell a strong one, and a wise move against any great foe such as this. Pescando had no clara however, he could not see that the weave which was directed at the great beast fell apart as it hit the armor of the deadly insect knight. No his only warning came as he thrust the sword forward below the abdomen where the body met its third section supported by the legs. There the plates overlapped but as the great behemoth was lifted a thin section just long enough for the Saurid’s spear was exposed. The blade of his weapon lashed out as above him the psions were torn in two and dissipated back to their plane of existence. His eyes caught the faint fading outlines as the blade met resistance and pushed deeper. Pescado knew this could have been his only chance, and already he had decided to forfeit his life if it meant the destruction of this thing. Driving the blade of his weapon deep a terrifying screech erupted from the things mouth. The saurid had the ideal view, its lower jaw tightly tucked beneath the low slung triangular face split at the center and opened in it either direction revealing row upon row of jagged black teeth dripping with acidic green saliva. That was however the least of his worries, for above him also lingered the bladed arms which now descended to end the Dri’Kalos’s life. This would be his end it seemed, a martyr for the Kingdom of Men.

Meanwhile Duncan was lying about, enjoying a blissful state of blood loss that held a certain fogged clearness. His mind was on high drifting about as the remainder of his form went numb. Luckily his mind was all the master mage needed. As his head tilted back and his eyes rolled down he got a rather bemusing view of the Saurid’s phallus, a sight that was not at all right nor one that he likely wanted to observe. The interesting part was that, much like a battlefield massacre, the man could not force himself to look away. There it was, hanging out freely and for all intents and purposes the only thing that the mage could focus on in his deranged state, his eyes slowly drifting back each time he tried to look away.

However, the sudden ear cutting siren of pain brought his attention back to the task at hand, and with it he released his initiate spell. His mind guided the orbs, commanding them to assault the joints, and he watched as they struck and faded with no effect. They simply were not powerful enough, even at the weak points. That said, the man had been able to observe something that was effective. The animations seemed to have an ability to engage their foe once properly formed. And so the third mystic joined the game with a creation of his own. The loss of blood was daftly apparent in his complete lack of creativity yet simple effectiveness. The pool of animation weaved its way about the bedtime monster and took tight hold of its legs, trying to force them inward and keep the thing from escaping. All they needed was a moment, Pescado had distracted it, and Duncan bound it, now it was time for the killing blows.

And in flew the cavalry, rushing in as foolhardy as her lizard friend in an attempt to save him, or that is at least what it would have looked like. The wings of Tiarela Iceglitter fluttered wildly and a brisk wind followed her, seemingly driving the ultra light frame of the overgrown Fae forward. Her eyes narrowed as she clutched tight her staff and spied the thin hazy lines of light just as Duncan had. They were thin spots in the seemingly invincible armor, and at the arm joint there was a large one. It was necessary for the thing to move as freely as it did, and here would be the ideal place to strike just as Etana had said.

As her hand touched she felt the incredible smoothness of its exoskeleton, akin to a piece of polished obsidian. It was cold as well, like the flames of Jorel it sent a shiver down her spine. The entire experience was as if she were running her hand across Jalat himself as the woman forced the energy of her spell into the thing and charged the cable with the offensive evocation. In an instant the creature snapped up, just as its hands were to strike down the lizard man. The bold of Psionic energy locked the musculature around every joint at once and gave the moment her drake needed to strike. The winged beast was already in the air, moving to protect those that its master had commanded. When the joints locked it wrapped it’s great talons about the arms and squeezed, trying to strike with its own jagged teeth while the Xet fought futilely beneath.

Screams filled the air as the prideful beast fought through the pain. It has seen how they battled, how they moved. None of this made sense; it had studied them and used their independence against them. Now however, these creatures, these soft disgusting bags of flesh had changed their tactics without a word to rise up against him. They struck at him as one, at once, together as if it had been their plan all along. For the Xet’s superior and calculating mind this variable was wrong. Simply put, this should not have been happening, they should have all been dead.

But it was happening, something had triggered in the group to draw them together. It was what some would call the mortal spirit, others courage. The name of it did not matter, the only thing that meant anything was that they were doing it, they were working as one.

For Nimavel there was little time, he fetched the arm and went for the tiny rings. The hand of a six inch Fae was smaller than the pad his thumb however. Trying to retrieve them was impossible for a man of his size and as he pulled the finger ripped free and in the bloody mess they three silver bobbles fell to the ground below. He could have spent a good portion of his eternity trying to fetch them, but even if he had, they were so small that he would only end up losing them again. The she force of his hand grasping them could be enough to bend the metal and cause the spells within to explode. As such, he was best to leave them for smaller allies. That realization, along with the shriek of pain signaled the elf lord that there was no time left to dally.

Closing the gap his narrow eyes spied the ideal strike. It was the same place that Tiarela had injected her spell on Etana’s side. Just below the shoulder, beneath the arm. An area that was soft tissue for all opponents and thanks to the Fae’s animation very much exposed. The Shadow Gaze traced Etana, she glided in with the fluid grace of her cat like demeanor. Her hand slashed out as something, it was small but contained a fair amount of arcane energy. The stick exploded in a transparent flash of energy that masked her from sight. She had vanished just as his hand connected with the underarm. His fingers bit, the crush of brittle flesh collapsing beneath their strength. His arm entered and he could feel the pulse. A PULSE! Pushing his arm deeper the Elf lord could reach the things thundering hearts. Two of them, side by side and they were both his.

And then his Nairu counterpart phased back into existence, gliding through the air with her daggers leading the way. She landed upon its back slashing down to take its wings just as the Heru of house Mynendil struck home. Then her hands came up and across in a scissoring overlap to take the thing’s head. The shrieks stopped and the cranium rolled forward to hit the Saurid and remind him that he still lived. The beast slumped and collapsed. With no head, and no hearts there was little left to drive the thing. Victory was earned.

But things were rarely as simple as that. In the fringe of Nimavel’s Shadow gaze he sensed a horde moving at them quickly. A dozen or more figures, all large and moving like the wind. The sound came next, it rolled in like thunder, hooves pounding into the ground as a charge of energy took form in the fog. “Kri'Sssssri!” came a voice as they entered weapon’s range.

From the fog emerged five Saurid warriors geared for battle, followed closely by ten human men dawning cloaks and riding mighty war steeds. Two of them bore the triangular figure of the Church of faith while the others were marked with the Arakmatan Sun. The group’s reinforcements had arrived a flicker too late to join the fray, but with them came supplies and help. The Church Healers immediately went to the wounded Duncan and Nimavel, dropping bags and offering to patch their wounds while the soldiers looked to Etana. Pescado was greeted by his friend and companion who looked on at awe at his spear still protruding from the insect’s gullet.

“Collect the bodies, while the church tends to them. We need to be gone from here quickly for I fear this battle has only just begun.” Etana commanded, her underlings following their orders without hesitation. Looking about at those that remained she left off a sigh. It was a hard fought battle; death had whispered in all their ears that brightening. Now was a moment to breath and collect their thoughts and move back to camp. They had won the battle but in doing so the war had officially begun.

OOC Victory... Congrats. Giving you all a post to express thoughts and concerns, I will reply and post rewards for this thread, then I ask that you all post in the outpost thread one last time giving your return to camp so that I can give you final rewards and crowns!

Pescado Branch
April 16, 2011 05:32 PM​

[nomedia="[MEDIA=youtube]XV30-5E6Png[/MEDIA]"]YouTube - This Is War - 30 Seconds to Mars - Final Fantasy Music Video[/nomedia]


The leader of the Ki'Ssss'kk was well ready to give his life to the cause that they were after. He had no fear of death for it wa apart of life, and he was able to watch it come so close to him as his spear sunk deep into the creature's flesh, and the bladed arms came swooping down towards him. But then, she saved him, again, the little fae that Pescado could honestly call an ally now saved his life once more. As her psionic energy pulsated through the Xet, his arms snapped upwards right as they were about to strike him down. Then Etana slashed her daggers downwards and upwards again taking of the head of the creature, and Pescado felt it smack him right in the face. It was painful, but in a good way, as it did remind him that he was indeed still alive.

Backing away from the creature, he heard his friend Ra'Ssss'ni call out to him, and upon turning his head, saw him and four other saurids all geared for battle approaching. When he personally greeted him, Pescado nodded his snakelike head, and then said, "Well met friend, I see you gained the assistance of the Sss'Rak'kk tribe?" He spoke in the saurid tongue, so that it was easier to speak to the comrade that had been Pescado's childhood friend, and was now the captain of his elite guard, that protected the Dri'Kaloss at all costs.

Turning back towards the Xet, Pescado pulled forth the spear from it's body and examined it to see what sort of damage the spear had sustained and if he'd have to get a new one. Who knew what the Xet were made of, and how they could damage a metallic spear like the one Pescado generally used. Allowing his tail to rest on the ground for a brief respite, he then motioned for Ra'Ssss'ni to follow him, and made his way over to the decapitated Saurid. "I had no other choice than to kill him, he was attacking our party without cause or explanation, but something happened before I killed him... a boil appeared upon his face, perhaps a sign of the contagion that we might spread to the rest of the saurid if we come into contact with them..." Pescado explained to Ra'Ssss'ni as he looked down towards the corpse of the saurid he had slain. Carefully picking up the head, he looked towards the boil upon it's face to see if the disease had spread any right before the creature had died.

"He may have been in the service of the Xet, but he still deserves a proper buriel, and to be left to the planet to come back to us again..." finished the Dri'Kaloss, his orders for the saurid's buriel to be proper and permanent after the examination was done for this contagion that they might be capable of spreading. Turning his snakelike head towards Ra'Ssss'ni, he then said, "I want you to go back to Sssss'lik'lia, my mate, and deliver her a message. Tell her i'll be staying in the Arakmatian province until this is sorted out. I'll need to speak with the Sultan about assistance in moving the Ssss'Rak'kk tribe further east away from the western borders, as well as what to do about the Xetan threat... This very well might turn into the war we've been fearing and waiting for..." Turning his head back towards the downed saurid, he then had a single thought, that this was war, and they'd have to use any means to stop the Xet from their rampage... any way possible...

Duncan Sythe
April 16, 2011 07:20 PM​

Duncan sensed...and saw, and acted as best he could. Granted, out of the group he was definitely the least mobile component, but hopefully he had contributed some good by limiting the beast's movement as suddenly everything, finally, came together. What would have happened if the disastrously inept Necromantic fairy had stayed around? When Duncan recovered he'd definitely be wondering, but for now as he saw the cavalry – so to speak – rush in, well? He was just grateful that his concentration was not needed for much longer, he wasn't sure how much of it there was left.

Lolling his head back and being possessed to look at what amounted to a metallic phallus didn't help either; but that was thankfully short-lived in his state of near-madness... he was able to act and the Xet? The Xet dead, slowly, but inexorably.

The other figures appeared as if out of a dream though, Etana commandeering them... which at least proved they were not a dream. Between his own delusion and hopefully one or two of the church healers, Duncan was able to offload the body from his and move at least into a sitting position, probably leaning back on his left arm as the wound on the back of his leg was tended to between the leather straps for the greave that should have protected it, but happened, well, not to guard the back.

Leather was only good for so much, sadly.

Between ministrations, some herbal stimulants, bandages and possibly an impromptu splint however Duncan probably eventually managed to acquire both his sword and dagger back again, clean them and re-sheath them. That done he could not resist one last gratuitous examination of the Xet that had so deftly controlled the dead and the living. Possibly – most likely – held up by one of the healers he heard Pescado speak to his fellow Saurid. White faced, he turned to the large lizard.

“Waiting? For ten of these? A hundred? Your people are in the state they are because of them... I would say that fearing is a far more appropriate description.” The Mystic's voice was weak and his face was white, but there was certainty about his words now that he was beginning to recover his wits.

Hopefully, though, they wouldn't force him to hop back to camp. He could handle the indignity of a stretcher, happily in this case.
 
Nimavel Mynendil
April 16, 2011 07:31 PM​

The Reaper had caught him at last - at least, that was Nimavel Mynendil’s final thought as his knife-hand pierced the soft tissue between the Xet’s shoulder and arm. Time seemed to move in slow motion as the elf lord’s fingers traveled further into the alien’s succulent form, affording the master assassin ample opportunity to recognize the precarious position that he was in. His arm had passed to the elbow into the Xet’s body, effectively trapping him against the insect and within range of its blade-like appendages. Even he could not escape at such a close range, not when the Xet could fly, twist, or kneel to lock the elf lord’s hand in place, and thus, subvert his chances of escape.

Strangely, the prospect of death did not alarm him. There was something overwhelmingly serene about knowing that his life would finally end and that Jalat had captured him at last. His sins in life had been unforgivable. He had always known that his soul would be condemned for the countless atrocities that he had committed, the murders of his wife, adopted children, and unborn child among the most egregious. For a split second the master assassin wondered if his slain family was staring down upon him from the stars, cheering for his demise. He would not have blamed them. The indescribable pain that he had suffered in his heart since that fateful brightening in New Coldmoon had eaten him alive every day. He saw refuge in the Xet’s killing blow. Perhaps his guilt would end at last.

It was just then that his scarred fingers jabbed through something soft and pulsating: a heart! The velocity of his Shadow’s Edge exploded the Xet’s throbbing organ, only to encounter a second one a blink later. Gritting his teeth and bracing for death, the Lord of House Mynendil threw his body into the punch to bolster his attack as his Shadow Gaze discerned similar assaults by his saurid, fae, and Nairu companions. The Xet’s reaction, or lack thereof, was startling as Nimavel had expected death in return, but he did not question his newfound luck. His fingers ripped forward with abandon, and with no resistance to stop him, he ended the Xet’s life pulse forever.

The elf lord’s arm was a kabob of sticky goo when he withdrew it from the bug’s insides. The fresh juices that soiled his cloak and stained his scarred fingers elicited a frown upon the assassin’s pallid visage, but he merely shook it off with the wave of his hand. Before he could appraise the others’ conditions, he spotted the contingent of riders galloping towards them. His lavender eyes narrowed as the claws of his right glove sprang forward on instinct. They retracted, though, when he realized that his saurid comrade recognized them. For the first time since the group had left the campfire in the Frontierlands the other brightening, the elf lord granted himself a breath of relief.

Unlike Amber, Nimavel made no effort to deny the clergymen from tending to his wounds. His stubbornness ordinarily would have been more than enough for him to reject their offers of healing, but he was exhausted. As the men of the faith bandaged him where needed, his lavender eyes traveled to none other than Tiarela Iceglitter. Surprisingly, there was no disdain in the assassin’s gaze - well, none comparable to that with which he had previously regarded her after she had flash-banged Group One and nearly destroyed them all.

Little faerie,” the elf lord stoically called out to rivet her attention. His gaze drifted to the area where he had left Amber Brightwing’s severed arm, the only remaining evidence of her miniscule corpse. “The bitch left a few rings in her death. They might be of value to you if you can find them in the grass.” He nodded his head in the direction where he had slain the useless faerie. Indeed, he had detected noteworthy power in those tiny pieces of jewelry. Whether or not the rings would be of any use to Tiarela was beyond Nimavel's awareness as they hadn't done anything to save Amber's life, but Tiarela had earned the spoils. She had made amends for her earlier errors. In any case, Amber's memory alone soured the elf lord’s altruistic mood, and he scowled when one of the clergymen began to bandage his leg wound, the same wound that he would not have sustained but for Amber’s incompetence.

Hardly caring to socialize with the others, the Lord of House Mynendil rose to his feet, adjusted the talon-shaped clasp that held his cloak together, and moved in the direction of the outpost. Etana’s words lingered ominously in his mind as he walked silently, alone. Had the battle really just begun? The thought nearly drew a snicker from the assassin’s lips. Indeed, it was as he had suspected since the beginning. The gods still wanted him dead.

Tiarela Iceglitter
April 18, 2011 10:28 PM​

There was the opening in the impenetrable armor. Her heart nearly skipped a beat. She had found it: this was going to work.

A delicate hand gently touched the smoothness of the exoskeleton, the freezing heart of the beast itself filling her palm and she shuddered involuntarily even as she forced the spell through the creature and ruptured its spinal column with an array of caustic psionic essence. She didn’t know what to do… what to say… what to feel. At that moment, she knew that they would be successful. Tiarela felt important, felt useful… Felt victorious. Even the greatest of nightmares eventually met their end. Either the sleeper was lost to the darkness or a greater darkness overtook it. In that instant, the greater darkness – the combined force of the delirious Duncan Sythe, the livid Pescado Branch, the fury that was the Heru, the vicious precision of Etana… It all culminated at that very moment.

The drake gnashed at the creature in a bout of flurry, Tiarela’s hand slipped away and she sped herself out of its path, worried that she would be sensed, noticed, and pursued. Nothing of the sort happened, though, and as the little creature buzzed around the tall bug, she watched in a sickening sense of satisfaction as it realized that they were capable of working together and overpowering him. Tiarela’s nose had filled with the lavender scent of her own Mysticism but for a moment as Etana masked herself from sight. She lost track of her for a moment, or perhaps the entire time honestly – Etana was quite fast…

It didn’t matter though because just as soon as she was gone, the head dropped to the ground and the creature collapsed. Tiarela fluttered up above it and peered down to make sure, but with a missing head and no hearts left to beat inside its chest, the assessment that it was dead was easy to make.

The roll of thunder hit her ears and the Faerie’s heart skipped a beat. They were back. There were more. It wasn’t alone! … And then another Saurid voice called out and Tiarela gave a huge sigh of relief. A little late weren’t they?

It didn’t matter though. The reinforcements showed up, went about healing and collecting things. Nimavel’s voice made her wince. She braced herself despite the stoic nature of his voice. But then he offered a morsel of information. Tiarela could have the trinkets Amber left behind.

Fantastic!

The little Faerie nodded to the Elven Lord and gave a simple, ”Thank you,” before speeding herself back towards the place that Amber had died. She landed in the grass, Iallea’ryn in hand, and occasionally breathing in deep in hopes that she would smell their rot, if such a smell existed. Hopefully Tiarela would be able to find the missing rings, and if so, she slipped them on to her pinky fingers – Amber’s hand was likely much smaller than Tiarela’s own since she was almost twice her height. The third of the ring would find its way into Tiarela’s satchel for the time being. When all of the valuables were secured, she would speed off towards Aslan and give him a bear hug around the neck.

”Good job staying out of the line of fire, Sir Aslan. You really are quite brave. Most cabbit would have ran, or perhaps turned into a rock.” She chided him, and then gave a giggle. ”Let’s get back to the Outpost.”

Finding little need to check on Duncan – he was getting patched up – and figuring that Pescado would rather talk with his friend, Tiarela saw little need to remain in the area where the Xet was killed. She couldn’t very well help them pick it up, and Amber’s decapitated arm would be of little use… But if it wound up in camp perhaps she would invent a Faerie burial ritual and turn it into ashes in a fire to spread them back to Gell’crea, in some sort of penance towards the mother they had both likely offended. Amber more than Tiarela of course.

Aslan in tow, Tiarela took off after Nimavel, sure to keep her distance and not exacerbate any foul mood he was already in, her one desire to get back to the camp and rest. It had been one long brightening.

Darkmavrck
April 19, 2011 10:46 PM​

So the battle had come to a conclusion for the mighty warriors. The three wounded carefully had their battle scars cleaned and wrapped and were apologized to for the little more that could be done currently. Once things settled down at the camp they were assured to be looked at again and given time with the few remaining thaumaturgists that had survived the brutal saying from nights prior. Not long after this a set of wagons arrived, the corpses being loaded into one while the other was reserved for those that wished to ride instead of walk.

Pescado found that his spear had been slightly damaged, the metal of twisted about at an angle that was just slightly off. Still functional, but skewed, the weapon had a curve that would remind a tavern patron of your standard house stick for billiards. Still it was not a complete loss, he had helped kill a Xet with the weapon making it a treasured artifact for his people, and there was the spear like thing his fallen brother had used. The javelin was interesting; if the Saurid looked closely he would find two slightly indented buttons. The first had a small arrow cut into it while the second had a cross engraved. Pushing the arrow he found that by putting pressure on an end the thing would collapse back in, and then once pressed again would spring out. The cross had a similar effect only it release a set of blades from the end most pieces that made the point resemble a spear head. Looking to the saurid he found no other spread of the pox beyond the typical signs. It seemed to have set in fast, working at a rate many times the speed of the original virus but still nothing beyond the sing boil. If asked Etana would give him permission to lay the creature to rest in a proper form, knowing the importance of tradition.

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Congratulations – Thread Complete
XP Awards​
Nimavel is awarded 1XP to the Combat skill of his choice, due to his use of multiple skills and his mastery of physical weapons.

Duncan is awarded 1XP to Sword as he hacked relentlessly with his blade while lying about and did not stab himself or any others of his group. Further he now walks with a limp and cannot run until the leg has been properly healed by a Thaumaturgist or skilled doctor.

Tiarela is awarded 1XP to Mysticism for her proficient use and demonstration of the skill. Also she has gained the three silver rings Amber Brightwing lost containing 12 imbuements of Guided Acid Spheres (9 Apprentice and 3 Journeyman level Necromancy spells) 2 imbuments of Shadow Walk spell (Master level Necromancy spell) and 1 enchantment of a Master level Spirit Minion that can be put ‘on and off’ as desired. Which if the spell is destroyed while active, cannot be re-summoned until the next brightening

Pescado is awarded 1XP to Mysticisim for his proficient use of imbuments throughout the thread. Also he has acquired an incredibly well crafted gadget spear from a fallen Saurid who was a Xet slave. For further information on the item he will need to seek out either a mid level Gadgeteer or high level Weaponsmith.

Alden is awarded 1XP to Brawling for his dramatic use of grapples and throws through the thread. Also he has gained the Bow of Pyre, an unrivaled craftsman in the mountain clan from which he hails. The bow is supposedly made from an ancient tree in the Sylrosian Forrests, and can only be drawn and shot by an incredibly strong man.

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