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RE: When Heroes Fail

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2/12/2016 20:17:35   
Caststarter
Member

Not too long after the seafarer called out to the others that the Saints are coming, the masked one came by and began to move the tables to block the entrance… without even touching them. Impressive. Yet this means that we are trying to find a back entrance. An obvious plan. Anyone should know better. Also, did I hear that I have to barricade the entrance as well? This is all pathetic. That voice belonged to Cendra too. Acting like we are just mere Saints. She was definitely a commander. But of what rank? Can not dwell… have to follow “orders”. I swiftly drew out my szabla and grasped the blue gem before it gave a faint soft hue. Near the entrance, I plunged the szabla into the ground, causing the floor to freeze over. Repeated with the door, yet only slightly in order to freeze it shut. “You can rest now,” I called out to the masked woman. This should be more efficient really. Have to find Cendra to teach her that she is thinking too small however. No. It would be no use to complain. We can not just find a back entrance though. Instead. We need to find a potential underground passageway. This is the Southern Quarter. A place of thieves and this is an inn. Surely there were smugglers that used an underground passage here. As such, these beverages would have came from there. A hidden storage area.

Hurried to the counter and then lined up several drinks on top of it. My grimoire should help me reveal the way. If only faintly. As I opened the page with the proper spell, the items in display began to shake slightly. I raised my hand over them and closed my eyes. Cringed, wheezed, grimaced at it all. The power… still barely used to it. With a bright flash, my eyes were filled with the associated location. A… trap door that will most likely just lead into a cellar. Folly. I overthought this. As I looked down at the counter, all I could see is the wasted effort where smoke and melted glass was the result. Yet that trap door was in the backroom. If we are blocked… Plan noted! It will be a win-win situation in this instance!

I returned to the backroom to where the trapdoor was. Again, I stuck my szabla to freeze the floor but only just out of bounds of the trapdoor. This will fool them! “Cendra!” She had to be in here regardless, though I called out to her anyways. “If we get blocked, we have to scatter them in here and make them think we went down there. Perhaps even shutting them inside. The chance of them going through the backdoor is too high to take lightly." I shook my head to remind myself that I can not try to usurp her. She has too much influence over me right now. Maybe later, where I prove everyone that I am the better leader. "In any case, what do we have to do once we get out?" This was important. We can not simply head to the temple right now.


< Message edited by Caststarter -- 2/12/2016 20:26:09 >
DF  Post #: 51
2/13/2016 23:25:49   
Apocalypse
Member

Hendrik cocked an eyebrow at the witch's remark. Either she was attempting to antagonize the pirate in a very deliberate manner, or her thought process was so convoluted it walked the edge of insanity. Insane. Of course they would be insane. Only those not sound of mind would join this venture. The elf rubbed his eyes as he contemplated the merits of making a run for it now versus throwing his lot in with the largest loonies the Magister could find. Neither thought was appealing.

That is, until the one touched by violet defended him to the witch. And then turned to Hendrik with that mischievous smile he knew all too well. As she spoke, Hendrik let his eyes wander across the tight clothing that more than hinted at her form and left little to the imagination...and to one particular aspect of her chest that left none. It was not the gawking of some lonesome scholar, but the gaze an artist gives to a work he admires. For what greater art is there than that of the mortal body in its prime? Its beauty should be shared, not stowed away like some taboo treasure. Something this lass knew well. "You're speaking madness, love", the scourge replied with a wicked grin. "But yours is a madness I could follow."

During this, the atmosphere had changed around them. The dyed one was on her feet and barking orders with all the authority of one who has had years of practice. Ah, our captain, Hendrik thought as he gave a nod in affirmation. He turned back to his masterpiece of a companion, noticing for the first time the splash of lavender in her eyes. "We'll continue this later, lilac." With that, the elf turned on his heel and left to execute his charge.

While the crowds of the Third Burning would have made it difficult to keep in mind who had asked for the Magister, there was no doubt that both the barkeep and the screaming patron would remember Songblade's appearance. Escaping would be of little benefit if every good wife and errand boy could holler for the Saints from a mile away. With that thought in mind, Hendrik pulled off his many rings and stuffed them in his pockets, singing in a low voice to himself as he did so.

"They hunt us cross mountain, field and sea
through caverns and where else we may flee"

He removed his bandana and slid that into his vest before moving his fingers to undo his braid.

"To punish us for the sins
we had scattered to the winds"

The bar came into view as he fluffed his hair to cover his damning ears. His boots clicked as he rounded the counter.

"Of wild eyes and idle hands
naught but trouble for these lands"

On the floor, the barkeep made pitiful groaning noises as he stirred, smearing his own blood across his face in the process. Another sharp crack to the temple from Hendrik's heel knocked him out cold once more. The pirate bent down and removed the poor wretch's shirt.

"A liar, killer, and thief am I"

The elf took a pause as he pulled the shirt over his head. A bit too long for his torso, a bit too tight in the arms and chest, but it served the purpose of covering his distinguishing tattoos. Satisfied with his transformation, Hendrik tossed the barkeep over his shoulder and made to return to the room.

"Top to bottom, low and high
but don't dare to give a cuss
for who can judge amongst us?"

Hendrik whistled the tune for the remainder of his walk to the others. A solid kick sufficed to open the door. "All right, captain. What's your next order?"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 52
2/15/2016 0:51:47   
Draycos777
Member

“I don’t think our little elf can be accused of treachery, Recluse. It could merely be a matter of peering out the streets, and staring upon the searching heads of one Saint or another. Perhaps a bar patron loosed a key word or two.”

Selene turned her attention to the sound of the voice. It would seem as though the scared one has since recovered from their corner in the room. Clicking her tongue and turning her head, Selene half watched the Magister laugh and disappear.

"Ever the helpful one isn't he?"

Selene listened closely has Cendra's tone changed from timid to commanding. Almost has if it was second nature, and they were the saints she had said she once lead.

“We make for the Temple. Jana, get the old man on his feet. Hendrick, you made this mess, so you will help clean it up; get the bartender. We’ll dump him somewhere after we leave. Nilch’i, Recluse, help Marisa barricade the door. We need to delay them as long a possible.”

Selene wanted to speak, but decided against it. They would have time to ask questions later. Right now, Cendra was right, delaying the saints was more important to their survival. After Kendrick came back into the backroom with a passed out barkeep over his shoulders, Selene went to work. Flowing her magic through the spider thread that she was leaning on, making it very-much-so visible. The magic worked it's way up and spread throughout the webs that covered most of the ceiling. Focusing on the ones near the door, they fell down and became ridged. Covering the front of the door, and making it hard for one to fulling open the door.

"If we are lucky, we might be able to show them the strength of your magic."

"Maybe..."

"Hehe, See? We the same after all."

"Can it."

"Ehhe..."

"The idea," Selene whispered under her breathe; "of crushing some saints, isn't all that bad though."

"Heh." A snap, that became a point to the door, signaled her spiders to work. "If you'd please."

The spiders that were once resting on the ceiling, all in unison raced towards the door, swarming it and beginning to warp the door's hinges in silk so that it would become nearly impossible to open.
Selene had to wonder why those two young magic users went outside to barricade the door. Seemed unnecessary, unless they wanted to act as a vanguard against the saints. If that was the case, more power to them as long as they didn't get themselves killed in the process. Grabbing one of the bags hanging from the right side of her head, she opened in up and grabbed a vial. Looking at the color, she confirmed that it was the type she wanted. She placed it on the ground near her feet.


< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 2/15/2016 0:52:01 >
AQ  Post #: 53
2/15/2016 20:43:11   
Vanir
Member

He did it. He must have, the blind man thought as he watched the Magister giggle, throw back his head, and laugh. The image was like watching a child get away with a prank on his friends, but the tone of that laugh was not childish. It was diabolical. I doubt any of these number – except that pompous witch – would turn out to be a rat. He did it. We are fools to follow him. Who can straighten what Baan has made crooked? Then the blind man was watching nothing. The Magister had disappeared, did he leave just now or a few minutes ago? Flannagon could not remember the Magister leaving, and so he silently cursed the Magister.

The “Cendra” answered Flannagon’s question with authority, “We make for the Temple.” And then barked orders, “get the old man on his feet.” This was the flint for his steel: a spark. Flannagon wanted to yell and cry out, I will not be taking orders from you, Quisling! But he realized that for his own sake, and only his own sake, he could not assert his authority. The scum were not ready to accept his dominant leadership. Recognizing he truly was an old man, he knew that he would only get away from the Saints if they cooperated, and while Strasna’s identity was hidden, they probably would. But it pained him to submit to her, and he could not hold back a few anguished, indistinguishable whines while the rest of the company flew into action.

The tall woman, whom the Quisling had just identified as Jana, approached him. Blast. She is taller than me. She smiled, put out her hand, and said, “You heard the lady, I’m sure.” Indeed, for Flannagon was already on his feet. “Let’s get you out of here.” Her patronizing tone was excusable because of the quandary of the extended hand. What is the meaning of this? Flannagon could not understand the way it shook him. No one had extended a hand to him since the accident. Even before he was cast out by his brothers at the Temple they did not give him their hands. Even the priests of Illyra who treated the wounds of the destitute would not extend their hands. But this woman extended her hand. What had Flannagon done to invoke this act of kindness? Surely, he was undeserving. He knew himself to be the most pitiful of men, and yet this hand. This immaculate hand reaching out to him. What did it want, this hand, in exchange for being so kind? Who asked this hand to extend, and reach for the old man? Flannagon surely did not want this hand, he had not asked to receive any hands. For nearly a decade he had not asked for any hands. He had never once considered it. Grace was inaccessible. If he was going to rise up from the pits to which he’d fallen he was not going to be pulled up. He was going to climb all the way to those pearly gates on his own crippled legs. Who was this Jana to offer such a hand? He looked to see who she was, but he did not see Jana’s face. Instead, he saw the face of his mother. A smile glittering where a grimace should have been. Love shining where only condemnation should have been. So he took the hand against his will, for an otherworldly force commanded his arm to move. And he said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

And then he realized what he had done, and bit his tongue. He released the hand. No, I am no one’s servant. And he cursed himself in his heart for accepting the hand.

With his hand now free from the other’s, he pointed to the door where the witch’s pests were mummifying it in spider silk and said, “I’d certainly like to get out of here, but the ninny over there just sealed our tomb.”
MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 54
2/16/2016 1:30:01   
Draycos777
Member

“I’d certainly like to get out of here, but the ninny over there just sealed our tomb.”

Sighing, Selene walked towards the room's window.

"There's always one. It never fails. Always one to open their fat mouth without thinking ahead. Doesn't ever get old? Being full of one's self? Well I guess not for them, since they feel like they're the best thing that ever happened."

"oh I'm sorry, but if you'd like to use the front door, where all the saints will be swarming in from, be my guest. I'd gladly tell them to reverse the process so that you can go meet them." Selene pointed her broom's wooden end towards the window and turned her head to face the "blind man".

"They might just put something quaint on your tombstone if you ask really nicely. Like here lays 'whatever-your-name-is'. His best quantities were being cranky and feeling pity for himself."

Selene then bashed open apart of the window with her broom. Striking the window once more, Selene grunted as another part of the window came down.

"Now, if y-you'd excuse me. I've got more important things to do. Like escaping out of here. So unless you've got something help to do, please just wait nice and quietly like the elderly are suppose to do."

Once the window had been removed to where once could freely move around, Selene wrapped a safety belt of silk around her waist and tied it to the remains of the window. She looked at the others in the room.

"You're all free to join me if you'd like. I'm going around the side to break one of the other windows and help the other two would decided to go outside of the room. If anyone would like to come feel free."

With that, Selene climbed up on to the window, and hopped out, using her silk as a safety line.

"So far, this is going without a catch. So where's the trouble? Or should I not even ask?"

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 2/17/2016 0:50:13 >
AQ  Post #: 55
2/16/2016 2:54:32   
Remaint
Member

If her very freedom, even life wasn’t at stake, Seiserna would have assuredly display some form of disobedience against the arrogant, impromptu leader that is Cendra. But as it is, her commands were reasonable, and the manner in which she had issued them was professional. The situation rather reminded the Lost Witch of her time in the Saintly institution. She wondered with a smirk, that if Cendra’s suspicious description of herself was true, did the range of Seiserna’s pranks encompass the so-called former Saint? Aah, those were the days...burning down the women’s equipping rooms, dumping dead frogs in their armour, hiding worms in their beds...

The sorceress was about to leap in action, until the proper witch commanded a horde of spiders to seal away the backroom’s door in an unnatural assembly of cobwebs. So alarmed that Seiserna became, that she could not halt her momentum, and she tripped herself onto the floorboards. Quite misfortunate was her position then, for it allowed a much more detailed view of the thousand-sticky-brown-black-slimey-legs scrabbling this way and that. Again, Seiserna yelped and she frantically log-rolled backwards into the wall. Ew Ew EW ew EWwwww…!

The actions of Recluse made Seiserna feel, alongside horrendously startled and embarrassed, as though she was missing crucial information yet again. For why would the spiderwitch knowingly seal the entry of the backroom knowing two of their members will be trapped outside? Maybe she knew that Marisa and Nilch’i could teleport.

“I’d certainly like to get out of here, but the ninny over there just sealed our tomb.”

...And now the Lost Witch was juuust a slight more lost. The old guy probably knew a bunch of things...if this is his conclusion, then Recluse may have put us in an actual fix. Well, maybe I can amend to that.

Standing in a flash, Seiserna wrapped her cloak into her arms, head, and smashed her sword’s pommel into the backroom’s window. Glass was sent flying in all directions, but the sorceress’s precaution was used to full effect, and she beamed at Cendra.

“Backdoor found, captain!”

Yet looking back towards the limping old man, the sorceress hesitated in her otherwise peppy demeanor.

“Oh, right. You’re kind of…” Lame? Crippled? Broken? “...immobile. Well, I’m sure if we get a person to the other side...we can haul you over sideways or something...yeah, I’ll try to make this more...accommodating…”

Her drawl of thoughts over, Seiserna turned once more to the window, carefully bashing away remnants of sharp glass with either cross or pommel.

< Message edited by Remaint -- 2/16/2016 3:07:55 >
AQW  Post #: 56
2/16/2016 22:37:36   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 The best commanders, Cendra had learned a long time ago, gave orders and then got out of the way as their subordinates carried them out. Then again, the exile was fairly certain that no officer had ever had to deal with such a collection of rogues and miscreants as this. Still, she would give them this chance at least.

For a long moment Jana seemed to hesitate, and then the woman snapped out a reply and went to assist the old man. Cendra released a breath she was almost unaware she had been holding. There would be a storm at some point; the exile could feel it forming, but for now Jana seemed willing enough to let matters lie. Thank Illyra for small miracles.


Here, at last, was something to relieve the tedium of his night. A man had rushed into the Saint’s checkpoint howling bloody murder, which was particularly apt given how the man was bleeding. He had been babbling some nonsense about the Blighted and the Magister, and his ravings had been dutifully noted down and dispatched in a missive to the Southern Quarter’s watch command.

“Alright troopers, let’s go find this cabal.”

“Yes, Captain Logre!” The Saints coursed in unison, and the party marched into the night.


Nilch’i slipped out the door, heading into the common room to assist Marisa. Hendrik was only moments after her, humming something and then breaking into a low song that came to Cendra’s ears in distant snatches. Sea shanty. What else from a privateer? The exile turned her attention to the grate, lifting the poker from its rack and stoking the flame carefully higher. By now, the stoppered chimney had back-filled the room with a haze of smoke, a pall that was growing more suffocating as the moments passed. Good, just a bit more.

Behind her the door banged open in announcement of Hendrik’s return, the elf bearing the burden of the unconscious bartender. Cendra spared the man a glance, a smirk of some amusement tugging at her lips momentarily at the sight of his quick change of appearance. Not a bad notion. Perhaps he has some sense. But if the elf showed sense, that was quickly remedied by a lack elsewhere.

Recluse’s spiders, it was now abundantly clear who was responsible for the state of the ceiling, swarmed over the door, festooning it with webbing and sealing the portal. The process itself was actually fascinating to watch. Cendra had no fear of the creatures, but she had to admit that there was something a touch unsettling about watching such solitary creatures working with quick and efficient teamwork. The exile sighed, her eyes going up to the rafters in a silent prayer for strength. “I might have hoped we could use the actual back door.” Cendra comment tartly to no one in particular.


They made good time to the Third Burning, Logre glancing up and down the street as his troops spread out behind him. The captain rested a hand on the hilt of the falchion at his waist, leaning his spear against the wall nearby as he reached out and tried the door.

The door rattled slightly, banging against some kind of block behind it and clicking closed again. Logre frowned, shoving the door forcefully but netting the same result. “Kits, Sondre, turn this door into kindling.” He lifted his spear, backing away from the door as two troopers moved up. “Breck, take half the platoon and circle around the back.”


No plan survives enemy contact. The exile wished, for a moment, that the enemy had been the Saints, rather than another of those here. She banished that thought quickly. Foolishness could be dealt with; the Saints finding them would mean, at best, a running battle all the way to the Heart of the City. Still, she rather wished that Recluse hadn’t just effectively split the group. Nilch’i seemed sensible enough at least; she and Marisa could find the back door and hopefully link up with them again.

Seiserna cried out after a second tinkling of shattered glass, drawing Cendra’s attention back to the task at hand. “Good work,” she nodded. A little praise might not go amiss, and from what the exile had seen Seiserna was… volatile. “Seiserna, Jana, get the old man out and help Hendrik with the bartender. The Spearforge is under the Temple of Baan. Head there, we’ll catch up.”

For her part, Cendra followed Recluse out the window. “Recluse-”

“Halt and identify yourselves!” The exile was interrupted by a cry from the end of the alley. Cendra’s head snapped up, spotting a quartet of Saints advancing on them.

The exile swore, a half-dozen plans forming and being discarded within a moment before she ripped her blade from its sheath, free hand flashing through a series of gestures. Between Recluse and Cendra rose up a wall of choking soot. “Recluse, down!”

Taking her own advice, the exile flattened herself against the wall of the tavern as a pair of quarrels buzzed malignantly through cloud of ash.

< Message edited by Kellehendros -- 2/16/2016 23:22:04 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 57
2/19/2016 15:17:07   
Caststarter
Member

No response. At all. “Cendra?” Silence. Wheezes. Where is everyone? This is not the same room. Nevermind then killing my lungs then. My breath lessened and calmed to mitigate irritation. Suddenly, the sound of glass briefly filled the air. Are they escaping through the window now? Might as well meet them. I dashed towards the backroom to meet back with the group. “Come, we are leaving from the back.” Can not leave her behind though. As I placed my hand on the cold handle of the door back to the group and caused the door to click to know it opened, I shoved where the door recoiled back, banging shut. “Umm…” What is her name again? Nilch’i! “Nilch’i. We have a problem here.” My pupil shrunk with surprise and fear as the front door banged as well. “They are here…” whispered silently. This is a problem, we have no known place to go, what we are going to do, what, what?!

Calm down. Calm down. Think think think. What can I use to buy possible time? The trapdoor. Shook my head at the absurd thought. Alone it might not work. It needs a better chance. Huffed at the problem until I remembered Nilch'i and her powers. Yes. That is it! I dashed and shrugged Nilch’i by the shoulder as I revealed the location of the trapdoor. On the way, I peered into the window to catch a glimpse of where the backdoor was. “Nilch’i. Can you use your mind powers to distract them? It is simple. I assure you. As soon as they break in. Shut the door to the cellar to fool them that we are hiding there. We would need more possible time.” Avoiding the ice path, I swiftly opened the way and pointed her to the way outside. “We will wait there!” Wheezes. “Stay silent though.” How are the others though?

“Halt-!” a voice roared. That command alone revealed everything. The window into the alley revealed nothing but smoke though. Just filled with nothing but smoke. However. That was distinctively a Saint. How predictable though. I knew they were going to likely find the group via that method. Yet. It still felt like it was because of a capable mind. Could it be him?

Wood then cracked and crumbled around the front door. “Go outside now. You go first. I will watch over you.” whispered to Nilch’i. Need to survive. Yet ax met wood where more of it cracked. Stay calm. We will get out of this. Bit my lip to ignore the deathly thoughts. We will get through.
DF  Post #: 58
2/19/2016 15:55:46   
Apocalypse
Member

The situation escalated all around the elf. Smoke billowed forth from the fireplace and hung in the air, obscuring vision. Clever. What was not so clever was the sealing of the door behind him. Not only did it block an avenue of escape, but it split the group in two when the enemies were on their tail. Hendrik clicked his tongue as the spiders scurried across the frame to spin their ill-thought web in place. His disappointment in the witch stemmed not from her having the gall to lie to his face about her association with the little crawlers but in her total lack of skill in doing it. Bad liars were more trouble than they were worth.

After Recluse shattered the window and made her exit, the captain voiced her apparent irritation. Hendrik gestured to the broken panes with his free hand. "Idiot or traitor? Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets." As the violet one made to clear the remaining fragments of glass, the elf plopped the unconscious barkeep on the table. Fallen drinks dyed it as the scourge relieved the poor bloke of his trousers in a single fluid motion. It was an action in which the seaman had had plenty of practice. He turned around to place the cloth on the bottom windowsill. The captain had already slipped out the window, but the blind man and his guide had greater need of it anyways. No reason to invite unnecessary injury when surrounded by fools and saints.

Speaking of the latter, a commotion had already ignited in the alley outside. There had been a shout followed by an explosion of smoke and the sound of crossbows in action. A plan began to form in the pirate's mind as he picked up the barkeep's limp body. With a heave, the rag doll mess of a man was defenestrated. Hendrik was halfway out the window before he stopped and turned to face his fellow dregs of society. "Lilac, jump right through and I'll catch you. You two, best wait for us to deal with our invited guests first."

"Drop me and you can be assured I'm going to run your ship aground!" The violet's ones words were strong, but the elf thought he caught a sense of playfulness in them.

"Is that a promise?" The reply was accompanied with one of the elf's trademark grins. Then, he was gone.

The smoke filled his nostrils as the elf landed on his feet. It stung his eyes and tasted repulsive on his tongue. The haze provided good cover, but was a royal pain in the arse to be in. Still preferable to being made into a pin cushion for quarrels but a pain all the same. Hendrik gave a whistle and, recognizing it as a signal, the lass tossed herself through the makeshift portal. The scourge caught her in his arms. Almost as if dancing, he placed Lilac on her feet and pressed her against the tavern wall to avoid the next round of bolts. Had the situation been different, a passerby might have viewed them as a couple caught in the throes of passion. Her skin burned warmed against his where they touched. He tilted his head and have a smile.

"Don't act surprised - a pirate knows how to handle booty with care."

Without warning the scourge fell backwards and rolled to the still form of Palora's most unfortunate barkeep. With a lot less grace than had been granted to the woman, he jerked the wretch onto his feet. A cutlass appeared at his throat. "Drop your weapons!" Hendrik called out as he emerged from the haze. At the sight of the hostage, the quarrels stopped flying. They were four of them altogether, though only two held crossbows. One lowered his point to the ground while the other kept his poised to fire. Neither relinquished their grip. They were caught in an awkward predicament, even when not counting the mostly nude barkeep. Here the Saints had a chance to purge some of the darkest stains of Palora, but doing so would snuff out the little light that was an innocent man. How much was his light worth? How much was their demise?

Hendrik had no thought for these matters. While the Saints hesitated, the scourge had loosed one of the bandages on his arm. He held it in a clutched fist behind the hostage's back. "Ethne di veran koni peser levo finek...", he spoke in a whisper. Rays of light broke through his clenched fingers. "...VETAL!". He extended his palm and oil, slick and black, burst forth in a tumultuous torrent. It struck the on-guard crossbowman, knocking him to the ground and splattering the dark liquid in all directions.

< Message edited by Apocalypse -- 2/19/2016 15:56:29 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 59
2/21/2016 3:21:02   
Remaint
Member

A gasped escaped the lips of the Lost Witch as the scourge braced her into the wall. Whether the flutter of breath was caused by the rapid evasion of bolts, or caused by the pirate’s firm movements, she wouldn’t be able to tell in her dire-paced situation. There was a tinge of glazed-eye red among her features, induced by either the lung-grinding smoke, or the provocative touch with the pirate. The sorceress had urges to dwell upon the putrid feeling of smog or to ponder the odd sensation of warmth, but smooth as the nimblest sea vessels, Songblade had switched from defensive maneuvers into offensive tactics, and Seiserna had to think quickly to capitalise upon his actions.

“Speaking of ground, let’s see how these heavenly Saints like the taste of earthly dirt!”

An arm flung outwards, and swift tendrils of darkness channeled into the floor beneath the four Saints. A thick hand of soil protruded from the earth, grasping the crossbow of the formerly hesitant Saint marksman; a second hand emerged close to his feet, clutching his two standing limbs.

Several more appendages of terrestrial element erupted from the ground with aims to bind the remaining Saints. The other crossbowman, struck down and dazed by Songblade’s assault, could hold not even a sense of struggle as two browned palms wrapped about his body. The two other Saints, now completely alert, evaded the rest of the Lost Witch’s offense seemingly without much trouble, yet Seiserna grinned. She circled her arm upwards, and the surface below the sword-wielding Saints that was so reliably firm before collapsed into an unstable muck screaming to stick hapless individuals within.

So committed to dodging the Lost Witch’s initial wave of bindings, that the swordsmen could not arrest their momentum, and found themselves entirely grounded, up to their waists, in liquidesque soil. Simply swordsmen were they, and though armed and still potent were their very arms, their range of attack was completely limited and not an inch could they budge.

Seeing as the immediate danger had been averted, the sorceress loosed a smiling quip toward the scourge before running to the broken window and beckoned to Flanagon.

"Clean technique, Songblade, too bad the results are a fair bit messy. If you ever swabbed decks using those powers, you probably don't do so now."

Shiny and slick was a bound Saint. A black, slimy film sloppered about the mud, that was likely quite grimy even before being doused by Blighted water. So icky.

“Alley clear, Old Man! You don’t have alot of time, so don’t waste anymore!”

A minor victory was achieved, yet Seiserna had to grimace. I'm going to have to handle his cancerous arse out of the window? Uuuggh, so, bloody, icky.

...

Wait. I'm a sorceress.

Epiphany gained, Seiserna pointed her longsword towards the base of the Third Burning, just below the shattered window, and once more the mundane floor linked into arcane darkness as solid dirt unmolded into relenting mire.

"Just...jump, Old Man! The ground's a tad squishier now, so don't worry about breaking another leg!"

< Message edited by Remaint -- 2/21/2016 4:06:01 >
AQW  Post #: 60
2/21/2016 15:21:48   
Vanir
Member

The witch volleyed back a slew of mockery ending with, “please just wait nice and quietly like the elderly are suppose to do.” Fine. I shall. Then, she and the Quisling leaped through the window. Then, after a deep, saintly voice echoed across the alley, a great flurry of ashes rose out of the fireplace, filled the room, and spilled out into the alley protecting the two from the sight of the Saints. Seiserna and the elf went out next, leaving only Flannagon and Jana in the room. Voices and the sounds of crossbows wafted through the thick smoke from outside.

The ashes hanging in the air did not trouble Flannagon. His vision was not nearly as obscured from the soot as it would be if he relied on light for his eyes. The light for his eyes came from within him, and shown out at the world around him. Nor did the haze adversely affect his lungs, on the contrary, he felt strength within his chest as the smoke in his lungs was able to meet air as polluted as his own.

Flannagon inclined his eyes to meet Jana, and the smoke seemed to have scared away his mother’s visage. He spoke, “Jana, is it? My name is Flannagon.”

Then a call in through the window, “Alley clear, Old Man! You don’t have alot of time, so don’t waste anymore! Just...jump, Old Man! The ground's a tad squishier now, so don't worry about breaking another leg!”

The range of possibilities that could have resulted in “tad squishier” ground terrified the old man for a moment before he tossed his staff and backpack through the window. “I’d better not regret this,” he shouted back.

Flannagon firmly grasped the windowsill, thankful for the pants the elf laid down to give some protection from the sharp glass. He jumped and groaned as he pulled himself up and into the window, deftly lost his balance, and had not a chance to look where he was going before tumbling out on the other side and slamming into the sludge under the window. He laid in the grime for a few seconds to recover from the fall. “Augh. What the hell is this?” he growled as he assessed his condition and crawled to where his staff had fallen. He would probably bruise on his hip, but that was not what he was concerned about. The mud soaked his tunic and bandages. He tore at the dressing around his face, discarded it in the dirt, and took a deep breath, still on the ground. He hoped that his fall splashed the vile mud onto the woman who had him jump into it. Finding his staff, he stood up, quivered briefly, and then surveyed the condition of the alley muttering, “Fecal matter…”

The ground at several loci had been aggressively swamped, and one of the Saints was coated in a despicable oil. Three others trudged towards them in goo deeper than that he had fallen in. He considered using his magic to fire a bolt of flame at them, but reasoned it out. So long as the smoke hung in the air around them, he could not risk introducing so much as a spark, should it ignite the soot and cook them all.

He took a few steps back, snapping up his backpack and slinging it on his shoulder, and then waited for his party’s next move.
MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 61
2/22/2016 22:18:55   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 Cendra pressed close to the wall, molded her body to the wooden surface as if it was a lover, as if it was her only salvation. Quarrels buzzed down the alley like giant malign wasps, sparking off cobbles, slamming into dirt, or hammering into barrels with high horrible vibrating whines. Considering the rate at which the pair of Saints were firing despite the ash obscuring their sight, the sentiment was likely warranted.

Behind her something came sailing out the window of the tavern. The unfortunate barkeep’s body crashed to the dirt, rolled a time or two, then skidded to a stop. Hendrik emerged from the window a moment later, turning back to catch Seiserna as the woman leapt into his arms. The elf pressed them both against the wall in rather the same manner Cendra herself was, and another pair of bolts clove the air to spend their fury impotently in the wall of the building across the alley. Hendrik darted to the fallen bartender, hauling the man up, placing a blade to his throat, and shouting at the Saints to lay down their weapons. In the moment of hesitation the privateer loosed some manner of spell, striking through the clearing haze and blasting one of the crossbowmen from his feet.

Seiserna sprang into action next. Hands of earth clawed up from the packed dirt to grasp at the remaining crossbowman. The swordsmen evaded the trap, only to find themselves mired in a murk of sticky clinging mud. A second noisome bog formed below the window as the witch called back inside for the old man to come out.

Cendra abandoned the wall, stepping into the middle of the alley. If the others were to get out they would need cover. The wall of ash had been good concealment, but it simply could not last. Already the soot and cinders were falling from the air, sifting down to form ashen drifts and eddies on the ground.

Her hand came up and the exile reached for the light. It was hard. Cendra’s gloved hand cupped around a gesture learned half a lifetime ago, perfected by nearly two decades of practice, honed by years of combat. She willed the light to come; her entire being coalesced around the desire, the need for the light to bloom into being.

But it would not. The light was there, a shining symbol dancing behind a veil, just beyond her reach but tantalizingly close. Cendra grimaced, her stance twisting fractionally as she bore down on the sigil. It felt as if chips of ice were being driven into her right arm as she clawed for the light.

But it would not come.

What came instead was a quarrel. At the end of the alley the oil drenched Saint had recovered his crossbow. The bolt came winging down the narrow lane, fired hastily from the reclaimed weapon, but still scoring a bloody line across Cendra’s right side and ripping a hole through the back of her cloak.

The exile cried out in reflexive surprise and time seemed to slow. Hard on the heels of shock came a moment of startling clarity. Flesh wound. Grazing. Missed the ribs. In that crystalline moment it seemed she had all the time in the world to move. Her eyes meet the Saint’s in a moment of silent communication. But the clarity shattered as pain seared itself across her awareness like a second quarrel.

And it was answered by rage. A vast black leviathan of anger reared up, shattering the dam of restraint the exile had been at such pains to build. Cendra’s lips twisted into a snarl as her fingers crooked around a new gesture. Light had not come to her call, but in that moment of flashing fury fire found form. A lance of flame wide as a pair of the exile’s fingers took flight, hammering into the oil drenched crossbowman. The Saint toppled backwards, screaming as his clothes took light. There was only a fraction of a second to appreciate the sight of the man being consumed by fire before the remainder of the ash cloud flared up as well, detonating in a wash of heat and pressure that threw Cendra backwards and drew a cry of pain as she fell on her injured side.

< Message edited by Kellehendros -- 2/22/2016 23:28:06 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 62
2/22/2016 23:01:46   
Draycos777
Member

Yup, she was right; spoke too soon. Not soon after she had left the room, and the warrior had followed, did she here the sound of a saint yelling down the alleyway.

“Recluse, down!”

No need to tell her twice. Holding her hat, Selene dropped. A wall of ash rose up to stand between the saints and the two blighted. using the cover of the ashwall, Hendrik and Seiserna dropped down from the window.

Acting quickly, Hendrik said some sort of phase, a magic incantation no doubt, and stuck the Saints with some sort of liquid. Seiserna then used her magic to imprison two of the saints within the earth. The old man then came jumping out of the ground and into the mud. Making his usual grunts and complains.

"Ah, too bad he survived that fall. Was hoping he'd trip and land in face first. Also, what is this black stuff on the ground it looks like....oil. No, he wouldn't do something that risky, right?"

Selene turned to see Cendra standing in some weird position. She was gonna say something when an arrow stuck her. Selene quickly turned around. It would seem that hendrik's assault wasn't enough to stop all of the Saints. Selene raised her staff to return fire, when she felt heat next to her. Lot's of it. In front of her the Saint, with the crossbow, burst into flames.

"Oh no...."

Landing on the ground, The flames began moving from the burning Saint, to the ground and the other saints as well. Selene turned her head to Hendrik.

"Nice one. I'm gonna help the others, you and Seiserna help our indisposed of Captain."

Selene pointed to Cendra who had fallen to the ground. Not waiting for the elf's answer, Selene took off. Now was not the time for sly remarks, or dealing with them. With their own alleyway blocked off, Selene went around to the other side of the tavern. Finding a window, Selene started to break it down.

"Hey. Are you two in there? This place might go up at any moment. Coming out through this window is probably the safest bet of living. Up to you though."

< Message edited by Draycos777 -- 2/22/2016 23:02:28 >
AQ  Post #: 63
2/24/2016 22:15:30   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

The world seemed to turn upon its very head; where once there was calm, all had been overtaken by madness and mayhem. A door barricaded here, a window shattered there, a series of shouts struggling to rise above the tumult and restore order to this menagerie of miscreants. It appeared almost impossible to sew a sense of unity between a set of individuals who had not a handcount earlier been opposed in virtually every respect. Were it anyone else, Jana would have certainly considered it to be impossible, but such conventional rules simply did not apply to someone like her cousin. The woman was a traitor, but she was also born to lead. Strasna brought the bumptious bunch under control and refocused them around a singular desire – one which none of them could protest: to escape the Saints.

This significance was not lost upon Jana, but registered only on a cursory level, the girl’s attention otherwise occupied as she felt the old man grasp at her hand. The tug was gentle and lasted for all of a moment, yet it drew her away from their current tribulations just long enough for his hushed murmurings to reach her ears. Jana froze. Stock still, her eyes as unseeing as the seemingly blind figure before her. Though she was sure that the smile had dropped from her face, she simultaneously found herself unable to muster the will to care. In that moment, all that the young woman could comprehend was the familiar settling of a weight across her broad shoulders and the faint trepidation of fear that came with it.

You can do it this time; it’s what you’ve always wanted isn’t it? The girl’s chest rose sharply, then slowly deflated, the faint hiss of escaping air issuing from between her pursed lips. She repeated the act more slowly; slow enough that she actually remembered not to thrust her already buxom chest forward any further. Good. You’re calm now. You’ve got this. Sound returned, the hustle and bustle of her allies stilling the beat of her heart that much further. This. This she was familiar with.

Just don’t let them down.

Jana blinked, everything around her appearing to flash forward; apparently the clock inside her head wasn’t going to give her a break this time. The old man was gone, as was everyone else, though she managed to catch sight of his legs as he tumbled through the shattered window at the back of the room. The young woman eyed the aperture and frowned, giving herself a critical look. It was going to be a tight fit, but she might just make it. Not with her cargo though.

The girl hefted the bag resting against her right shoulder, flipping it forward into her arms. Luckily, there were none left to protest as she hurled the bundle right through the open casement, the faint yet audible sound of impact greeting her ears scarcely a moment later. Jana retreated a few steps and took a final deep breath, glaring at the window as though it was her mortal enemy.

“You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.” The well-built woman muttered before she charged resolutely forward, attempting to launch herself through the window just as she had her things. Unfortunately for Jana, the passage was not without cost; several stray splinters tracked thin lines of blood along her shoulders, the first of what was sure to be many tolls on this road to escape eternal damnation. Yet pulchritude was the last thing on the girl’s mind as she pulled herself to her feet, holding fast to the wooden wall behind her and glancing around to gather her bearings. She succeeded just in time to watch Strasna incinerate the enemy soldier, the ash cloud around him bursting outward and knocking the exile from her feet. Before she could stop herself, Jana had dashed to her cousin’s side and was on her knees, struggling to make sure that nothing was broken.

“Are you alright… Cendra?”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 64
2/26/2016 11:12:53   
Bastet
Member

The one Nilch’i could only define as “the girl clad in poverty” rushed to her aid, utilizing some kind of magic to freeze over the objects that the priestess had used to blockade the tavern’s front door. A drip of sweat left her forehead as she muttered a soft “thank you” to the one who had helped her: what was then left was simply to open the back door again and return to the main group. Hopefully, the Saints would only try the main way to enter the tavern, but that was only if Greva would be merciful enough to blind them to more efficient tactics. Nilch’i knew that she couldn’t count her luck to do her such a favor, but a glimmer of hope was present nonetheless.

That glimmer of hope was immediately smashed when the one who had helped her walked back to the door they had both walked in from, and realized it was locked. Nilch’i’s heart sank as a thousand thoughts flooded through her mind: had one of the Blighted betrayed them? Had they been left behind as a whole? She couldn’t blame them for using the two at the front door as a distraction to ensure that the main group reached the temple, but she would’ve rather not have been part of the sacrifices that they had apparently chosen to make to the Saints. Giving her allies the benefit of the doubt because of the possibility that they might have not intended the actions that led to the secondary blockade in the tavern, Nilch’i began scanning for the closest exit when Poverty put a hand on her shoulders and shook her softly.

After being enlightened to the girl’s plans, and being given the honour of escaping first, Nilch’i was a bit more well-disposed to the group. Perhaps not all of the Blighted were out there for themselves and themselves only, but she wished that the one who had helped her so readily wouldn’t have to risk her life. What if the trapdoor plan failed? It would’ve been a waste of time to try and convince them that they had run into the cellar if they could still see one of the Blighted in the main room, plain as day. Time was ticking, and the temple girl intended to make full use of what little was left to her. Nilch’i immediately began moving towards the window, blasting off the consumed hinges long before she reached her exit. When she did, she lifted the cellar’s trapdoor and spoke to her would-be saviour.

“Come on then, we need to be out of here before the Saints see us leaving or your little trick won’t be worth it.”

As she said that, the soldiers that had been sent to capture the Blighted became ever-so-close to actually bursting through the makeshift barricade that had been put in place to stop them. Soon enough, they’d either be arresting their targets or confusedly searching for them. That was, assuming arrest was an option they would choose instead of summary execution, a thought that urged the Grevan priestess to ensure that the Saints wouldn’t reach her.

< Message edited by Bastet -- 2/26/2016 11:13:01 >
Post #: 65
2/26/2016 21:32:13   
Remaint
Member

A thrown bag and a thrown staff, the latter nearly striking Seiserna, clued the sorceress that the old leper was about to make his heighty exit. Though Flannagon wasn’t hesitant, his hampered capability to walk did cause the moments to stretch, and Seiserna found herself standing about in a rather idle manner. The time did come when the old man jumped, however, and the Lost Witch expressed a wide-eyed realisation of inattentiveness as the tall figure plummeted downwards.

Wait, why am I still standing here! I should have-

SPLAT.

...backed off. eewwww…

The cost of reducing the impact upon her ally’s aging legs came in the form of an exceptionally malleable surface, and the sorceress then found pieces of said surface clinging throughout her very attire and face.

Yet it would not be soon when she would lament her absentmindedness, for a blood-riddled bolt flew past her, and Seiserna turned to find the de-facto Blightly leader bleeding in the flank.

Wretched Baan! I thought I took care of those damned pseudobows!
Wait, how’d that guy even pull himself together!? He was bound with two rocky hands!
Shove it all, I’m losing my edge!

Consternated complaints flew about the sorceress’s head as she observed Cendra’s carnation of consuming flame; if Seiserna wasn’t so appalled by her own incompetence, she would have cringed at the coming fate of the poor oil drenched Saint. Yet regardless of emotion, the sorceress hadn’t any idea of the following expansive, combustive result. Though one could hardly blame her, for who would have expected mere ash to act as such an explosive catalyst? Hardly after the tall swordsman felt the fury of her own spell, the Lost Witch was blown off her feet as well.

As she laid on her rear in the mucky ground, Seiserna grumbled about the pains of wearing 4-inch heels. Her posture wasn’t exactly unbalanced upon the shock of Flannagon’s splatter-ey exit, but the very form of her footwear had worked against her, just enough to rid her of stability even in face of a minor shockwave. With the ground being so soggy, the dampness from the soil had almost instantly soaked through the clothing around the Lost Witch’s hips, and she was quite uncomfortable on top of being humiliated.

Yet still, her lesson in humility didn’t finish, for soon the Amazon joined in showering Seiserna with a tidal wave of wet dirt before dashing off to their fallen commander. Two arms had been raised in wince of the coming filth, but such a gesture met mere futility as Seiserna still found herself bathing in browning grime. The disgraced sorceress could only loose a lip-sealed groan of frustration as she beheld her soiled situation.

The sorceress may have been soiled, but she still strove for productivity. Subsequent to Recluse’s directions, Seiserna plunged hands and crossguard into muddy mire, pushing herself off the quite-proper swamp and pacing over to the to the downed Cendra. A gentle arm from the sorceress wrapped about the taller woman’s torso, opposite to her bleeding flank and under her arm. Seiserna may not have the ideal mass or ideal footwear to support the frame of the heighty swordsman, but her form was excellent, and so should at least bare a good portion of weight without too much trouble.

“Time to up yourself, Smokey Sword. You’ve got some impressive fireworks, but it looks like you haven’t gotten them to stop backfiring.”


< Message edited by Remaint -- 2/27/2016 20:09:18 >
AQW  Post #: 66
2/28/2016 9:46:49   
Apocalypse
Member

Despite all previous misgivings, Hendrik was given some small comfort in knowing that his comrades answered when opportunity came knocking at their door. The very earth turned against the Saints, trapping them with hands of stone and quicksand. One of the crossbowman – the one struck down by Hendrik – recovered his weapon and loosed a bolt. A cry of pain erupted behind him, and the scourge glanced back just in time to catch the Blighted’s beloved captain regain her posture. There was a heartbeat where the captain stood tall with wrath etched across her face, the embodiment of war. Then light flashed within her grasp and a spear of fire was unleashed. Heat flashed across his exposed skin as the burning missile passed by him. The flames splashed over the crossbowman, turning the man into a living pyre as the oil fed the blaze. Hendrik opened his mouth to give another one of his idiotic quips when the inferno turned to the air for sustenance and ignited the lingering soot and ash. The wildfire bloomed with enough violent force to knock the pirate and his hostage off their feet. Fortune smiled twice upon the elf as the barkeep’s body protected him from most of the blaze and cushioned his fall as Hendrik pulled him beneath him as they fell.

The elf rolled off of the rather naked man. “Thank you for your service,” Songblade said as he climbed to his feet. The barkeep remained silent in his unmoving mess of limbs. In a previous life, Hendrik avoided collateral damage when he could; its short-term benefits were often offset by the additional charges and aggression from the forces of the law. But what was a little battery and assault when one already held the crime of being Blighted?

The witch known as Recluse offered something which could have been a compliment or insult in equal measure before barking off an order and running off. The scourge replied by making a rude gesture to her back, moreso for his own amusement than serious misgivings. He took a heartbeat to survey the situation. The Saints were in a bad way with the drenched one dead and one of the sunken ones beating his arm in an attempt to quench the flames that engulfed it. The seaman’s tarnished abilities had served him well today. Behind him, the other Blighted were flocking together in their varied states of distress with Lilac helping the captain to her feet. Hendrik pulled his boarding axe loose in his free hand and gave it a small twirl. “Still have a couple of our own trapped, right? Time to make amends for that.”

With that, the scourge dashed off and down the valley. One of the trapped Saints, the one not on fire, slashed at him as he passed. A rather feeble attempt not because of lack of skill but due to such a low vantage point and limited body movement. A parry with the cutlass and a blow to the neck with the axe was enough to silence that Saint. From the first spray of blood, Songblade knew that his cut had not been a clean one. His death would be a grisly business, what with the Saint’s life flowing from the wound and the Saint himself unable to muster anything more than gurgles and whimpers. It would take some time for the man to die but he would die lest his comrades find him and priortize saving his light over the cleansing of the Blighteds’ shadows.


Turning the corner, Hendrik was met with the site of four additional Saints at the front entrance of the Third Burning. Half of that number was breaking through the door by force. The elf took a couple casual steps towards the peacekeepers with his weapons in clear display on either side. Scarlet drops dripped from the axe and sullied the ground. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is a private affair set by the Magister himself. Might I see your invitation?”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 67
2/29/2016 19:58:18   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 It had been a stupid mistake. In all honesty, the pain that flashed up Cendra’s side and echoed through her skull as her head snapped back against the ground was as much her fault as it was that of the crossbow-wielding Saint. The outcome of her rash action had been predictable and entirely avoidable. She had acted without thinking, acted on a visceral, emotional response, and was punished because of it. It was not the first time.

“Remember girl: Never in anger, never in hate.” The voice was old even if the speaker had not been at the time. Old and tired, it was a memory worn and faded, shiny at the edges from habitual handling, but still graven deep into both Cendra’s mind and her past. The exile’s blue eyes stared up at the sky; she felt suddenly displaced, as though time itself had opened beneath her and she was falling back through the years, back to where she had begun.

Perhaps she was or perhaps she had, for even Jana was there, kneeling next to her. There was concern on her cousin’s face and Cendra’s mind stumbled for a moment over a confluence of what was and what had been.

A hospital bed, her arm in a splint, a restless formless need in her heart. She felt what had to be, could intuit the pattern even if she couldn’t grasp it, couldn’t know it yet. Jana had asked her that question then too, but Cendra hadn’t been able to frame the feeling, to hang words around a sense of foreknowledge that could not really be accounted for.

The exile’s mind stumbled, stuttered, and her answer to Jana’s question was quiet and a touch disjointed. “I never had a chance to-”

Whatever Cendra had not had a chance to do would remain a mystery, for just then Seiserna arrived. The smaller woman slipped under the exile’s arm and pulled her up with business-like efficiency. A thin lance of pain stitched up Cendra’s side and drew a reflexive hiss from her. In a way the pain was welcome; it thrust itself up into her consciousness, driving off the feeling of floating disconnection and anchoring her back in the here and now.

Cendra grunted, pressing her right hand against her side reflexively as she straightened up. “I’m alright. Thank you, Seiserna. Check on Recluse, please, and convey my apologies to Nilch’i and Marisa. It was not my intention for them to be locked inside.” Cerulean eyes swept over to Jana, and the exile inclined her head slightly. “Jana, follow Hendrik. He’s going to get himself in more trouble.”

Her gaze swept the alley, taking in the two remaining Saints. One was well marred in Seiserna’s pit, attempting to reach his mortally wounded compatriot. The other was struggling in the grip of restraining stone hands. No threats. The wounded one would die. Distantly, Cendra regretted this, but the regret was faint, as if separated from the core of herself by a chasm of unfathomable depth.

In her heart was a place that was cold, a place that was sterile. It was a place that the exile herself was more than a little afraid of, but it was a place she turned to in the end. In that cold and silent space Cendra could look at the world and not care.

These men and women had families. Sons. Daughters. Husbands. Wives. They would never see them again. And Cendra did not care. She had killed a man in a fit of rage and pain, but in the cold grey light of that place in her heart a voice whispered to her that there was no choice. This man stood between her and the Spear. This man stood between her and Vermonox. And there was not a single life in this city that was worth more than seeing the wyrm dead.

“I promise, I swear. Never in anger. Never in hate.”

The exile shivered suddenly, turning away from the sight of the charred corpse of the Saint and speaking to no one in particular. “We need to get moving before more arrive.”


Logre watched Kits and Sondre hack at the door, the wooden portal coming apart under the focused effort of the pair of axes. It only took a few moments for the door to be reduced to the aforementioned kindling, at which point the larger problem became apparent. The captain frowned at the barricade of tables and chairs coated in a heavy layer of hoarfrost that hindered entrance.

At a nod from Logre, Kits rammed a shoulder against the frigid mass, only to bounce off with a grunt, rubbing his bruised arm and looking to the captain for further instructions. Shaking his head, Logre motioned the pair forward. “Break it down.” The two Saints moved in again, axes rising and falling. Progress was slower here, the blades driving chips and splinters from the frozen wood.

A tremendous bang echoed into the street from the alley, and Logre’s head snapped in that direction. “Keep working,” he instructed Kits and Sondre, motioning for the remaining Saint to follow him. The captain and the trooper moved towards the alley, only to stop as Hendrik emerged onto the street. Logre’s eyes narrowed, taking in the blood dripping from the elf’s weapons.

A murderer then, Blighted or otherwise, and not looking in the mood to back down. Logre shifted slightly, hand taking a reverse-grip on his spear. The weapon flashed up into a throwing position as the captain skipped forward. His arm snapped down, hurling the weapon at the elf. “Here is my invitation.”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 68
3/3/2016 17:58:43   
Caststarter
Member

Nice. With that done, we can leave where we have more leeway. First. The others. Softly closed the door as soon we were both outside. “Now. Check if the other alleys are safe. I will go and check the-” Boom. “...Check the idiots.” These people are going to be the death of me, where my irritation will know no bounds throughout this. Okay then. Who was the cause an entire explosion nearby? For now I want plenty of explanations after this. “If anything is wrong, call out and I will have the others come by,” I reassured Nilch’i of both the task at hand and to be wary, while, in vain, to give off a soft and calm expression. With a peek around the corner, I wheezed due to the now terrible air quality as well as saw Cendra on the ground. Wounded. Who is the leader now? Looked back at Nilch’i to see if everything was alright and checked on the others again. The others were obviously here. Yet where was Hendrik? Did the arrogant simpleton tried to become the gloryhog? Well. He might as well be a hog. Snapped my fingers a tad to catch the attention of everyone present. “We are here now.” My eyes would reveal my disposition towards the group right them, considering what happened. Someone is going to make the inn go ablaze. Wasting time for me and Nilch’i. Trapping us two inside said inn. What if we were inside for longer? We would be cooked alive!

Yet I can not dig into arguments right now. There are other matters of concern. “Take her around the corner. We are leaving now.” Cendra was already supported by enough. Yet Hendrik not being here is problematic. “I will go get the hog. Make sure we can leave properly.” Dashed straight across the alleyway, where the Saints that are here are now not a threat. One essentially trapped, two others dead, another essentially dead. Is this what they could do? Nilch’i had the power of telepathy and someone here could conjure fire, albeit uncontrollably. What can I do to help then? No matter. I am not one for a fight.

The hog though. He might as well get us killed! Then at that moment, I spotted him with a spear coming down at him. Of course he is in trouble! “You really are…” Wait. What spear was that? Falchion? Runed spear? That blue and yellow attire? Sewed right eye and grey beard? It can not be! I was paralyzed by who it is. It was Logre Ken. Devout worshipper of Vos himself, some swearing he was an avatar or incarnation of Vos himself. A man of fine integrity that it is quite surprising on how he was not corrupted by the gods. Wait. The hog is fighting him and four others. Idiot! “Hog!” Grabbed the back of his clothing around the neck to stop him from a foolish battle! “We. Are. Leaving.” Please do not resist! We have better things to do! There are better people to battle! This man is not one of those people though!
DF  Post #: 69
3/5/2016 23:33:22   
Vanir
Member

A few bolts whizzed by, missing Flannagon, but the Quisling was hit. She uttered a quick cry before releasing an impressive, although foolish, magical spear of flame. The power of the attack, and the way it was executed without speaking the ancient language, impressed Flannagon. Her skill in arcane powers were above his own, but at least he had taken consideration for his fellow Blighted even if he could not tolerate them. The Quisling had not been so careful. Flannagon expected the explosion the moment he say the spark in her hand, and firmly planted his staff and braced for the wave. As the spear ripped through the air it ignited the ashes, turning the small alley into an instantaneous inferno.

The blast threw the Quisling off her feet and stunned the others. But the flames did not bother Flannagon. The simultaneous ignition of billions of particles produced a significant pressure that pushed him back and strained his body, but the heat and raw energy of the blast did not hinder him. Rather, it fueled him, catalyzing his own reaction. He grinned with sharp teeth, taking a step forward as the other Blighted fell back to check on the Quisling. If they knew what I do, they would not be so quick to assist that snake. Perhaps the time is now – a bolt flitted by very close to his head. First these devils.

Now that the smoke had been burned away, Flannagon could see his opponents. Four Saints struggled in mud and fire. One was burning from the spear of flame launched by the Quisling, and would soon be dead. Another was trying to reach his companion who was having a very difficult time extinguishing the flames covering his body, slowly cooking like a… child. No. These men are murderers, devils. The fire is where they belong! One was fumbling with his crossbow, trying to reload but heavily restrained by stone hands reaching out of the earth. The elf ran toward them and swiftly dispatched one of the others on his way to the front of the building.

“Not a word from his mouth can be trusted;” Flannagon said.

As fast as he could with his bum leg, Flannagon hobbled to the men with fire in his eyes.

“His heart is filled with destruction.”

The one with the crossbow grappling the earthen arms was the first target. He swung the crook of his staff around the crossbow and, without much difficulty, flung it out of the Saint’s fumbling hands and away from him. He then struck the helpless Saint hard in the skull, concussing him.

“His throat is an open grave;”

Then, reaching back with his left hand he pulled an unsheathed dagger out of his backpack. The blade was of black steel, the cross guard and handle were ornately decorated with shining obsidian stones, and on the blade read the words “Dominus dedit Dominus abstulit.” Now, planting the staff in his right hand, Flannagon swung the dagger from below and upwards so that the point pierced the soft flesh behind the Saint’s chin, and drove it upwards into his skull.

“With his tongue he speaks deceit.”

Flannagon looked to other Saint crawling through the mud. It only took a few steps to close the distance. Flannagon, himself, sank into the unnatural mud, but it was necessary to reach his prey. Holding the staff in his right hand to stabilize himself, he held the dagger high and chanted quietly, “Domine, guttura ferro ad hoc infernus acribus.” The blade in his hand began to glow like hot iron. The Saint on the ground kicked Flannagon’s staff away from him and the blind man staggered but did not fall.

“Declare him guilty, O Baan!”

Now angered by the defiance of his judgement, Flannagon forcefully brought the blade down, and then up, and then down, and then up, and then down, repeatedly stabbing the Saint as he rolled and screeched in agony at both the piercing and searing of his flesh.

“Let his intrigues be his downfall.”

Behind him, the Quisling was saying something, but Flannagon did not hear her words. The cries of the Saint at his feet filled his ears like the cries of his burning brother. This was a young man, who was probably married to a pretty young woman who prayed to Baan every night to send her husband home safely, not for her sake, but for their children’s. But he ignored their cries. And he looked ahead to dark, cold air outside.

“Banish him for his many sins,”

Slamming the dagger down, and raising it up, and slamming it down. Again and again. He did not even control his own arm, but still he let it rise and fall, all the while transfixed on the passage before him.

“For he has rebelled against you.”

I must escape the fire.

Throughout all of this, the linen wraps on the blind man’s left arm had begun to come unraveled. They now hung loose and in the gaps revealed the black flesh. A swath of corruption crawling from the tips of his fingers to the edge of his elbow. Complete consumption.

Now the man at Flannagon’s feet lay still and silent. The last portion of his soul escaped quietly through the holes in his side. The other Saints had also passed away. The burnt one lay on the ground motionless but still flaming. The victim of the elf also lay still, having drowned in a pool of blood. When Flannagon surveyed the wondrous sight he suddenly felt very weak and fell to his knees in the muck. He remained crumpled on the ground for few moments. He would soon be at the Temple again. The wicked will not stand in the judgement.

Then, the blind man rose slowly and picked up his staff. He returned the dagger to his pack, it was once again black and cold.

He turned back to his fellow Blighted, sensing some companionship with these wretched souls. “Lead on, woman. The Temple awaits our judgement. There shall be much blood on the alter tonight. Will Baan find the aroma pleasing, or despicable?”
MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 70
3/5/2016 23:47:03   
Apocalypse
Member

Today had been a good day for trading quips. First there had been the flirtations of Lilac, and now the grizzled grumbles of this Saint commander. His "invitation" was of a nasty sort: a valiant spear piercing through the air. When fooling around with an amateur Hendrik would often leap over the projectile, spinning his body as momentum carried him over to his foe. More than one fool had been knocked unconscious or worse from the following blow.

Alas, the Saints were no amateurs and in this city - much like the seas - rank meant something.

The scourge vied for a different approach as the missile came whistling in. He bent his knees and moved his feet, pivoting in a full circle forward. The elf spoke his act as the spear whistledby overhead. "Suresh ethne..." Hendrik wound his cutlass arm back as a faint blue glow creeped out from beneath his cuff. "...VATOL!" He released his hold on the hilt as tendrils of sickly green water sprung forth from his cuff and bound themselves to his blade's handle. A swing from the pirate's arm sent the sword flying in a low arc. The Saint captain had been quick in re-arming himself, but his falchion had been only half-drawn when the cutlass sliced open his thigh. One could not fault him for being sluggish or ignorant, for what simple sword could strike from eight feet away? The bearded man fell with a thud to one knee, but even in his moment of weakness there was an aura of resolve surrounding him. The elf yanked his wrist back and caught his cutlass without effort. The enemy had been slowed, but not beaten.

Hands grabbed at his collar and pulled as a familiar voice filled his ear. "Little bird! You escaped!", Hendrik said with a grin. It would have been easy for him to overpower the sickly girl's hold, but his body offered no resistance as the two went barreling back down the alley from where they had come. "And to think I went to unlock your cage." He untangled himself from the little bird's grasp. As soon as they were within a respectable distance of their comrades, Hendrik gestured towards the front with his cutlass. "Four more Saints. Leader's injured but pissed."
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 71
3/6/2016 20:28:49   
Ryu Viranesh
Member

For a brief instant, the warmth that had once suffused their relationship returned in full force; no, warmth was the wrong word. There had been a mutual respect, a tacit agreement that they were cut from the same stock and should stick together. As distant as they were in age and experience, the two cousins had just enough in common that they could exchange pleasantries without the entire interaction coming off as stilted or insincere. Their worlds were different, but close enough that either would be a welcome guest in the other. Even if only for a few fleeting seconds.

For all that had changed this held true even now, their time together cut brutally short by the intrusion of the outside world. The violet-haired diabolist practically pulled Strasna from Jana’s grasp, leaving the cold claws of reality to sink straight into the amazon’s back. She remained crouched for another moment, the cool air tracing tracks of fire along her shoulders and forcing the girl to draw her top up that much more. What was I thinking? Of course she’s a traitor. The young woman still rose at the sound of her cousin’s voice, her gaze drifting to her belongings as she jettisoned the pain to the back of her mind. I shouldn’t give a coin off Greva’s scales what she has to say for herself. Jana found the sack heavier than she’d left it, but a quick adjustment would fix that. Easy as one, two, three.

The girl turned her back on the quantal dilemma that had been presented to her and instead strode toward the seaman. They had more pressing problems than her personal issues – three Saints and a “pissed” commander, for example. The corsair probably was, in no small part, responsible for that state of affairs, but that was a hand that had already been played. They would just have to win the next one decisively. Jana straightened up and put on a winning smile; at the very least, she could provide the poker face. And maybe the jack too.

“Let’s not keep them waiting then.” She paused beside the pirate, turning to stare down into his eyes, her voice still loud enough for the others to hear. “We’ll keep their attention long enough for the others to retreat, then play rearguard ourselves. Shouldn’t be a problem for us, I don’t think.” Jana was moving again before those last words left her lips, turning the corner and coming face-to-face with their pursuers. He wasn’t kidding, that guy looks like someone just weighted down his pants on the sparring pitch.

Smile still intact, Jana leaned just a little forward, eyes flicking from target-to-target before they came to rest on the rightmost soldier. “Evening, boys. I don’t suppose you’re looking for little old me, are you?” She was far from the fastest when she used to sortie with the Saints, but Jana had been told more than once that she was a good bit quicker than most expected someone her size to be. The Saint closest to the Third Burning was about to learn that the hard way as the amazon rushed him, feinting a strike from the right before she swung her cloth-covered bundle hard from the left at his head. She thought she heard the telltale crack of bone, but the sound was lost as the man crashed into the inn, wood screeching and buckling under the force of the blow.

< Message edited by Ryu Viranesh -- 3/6/2016 20:38:13 >
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 72
3/8/2016 19:18:56   
Remaint
Member

Cendra had assured the sorceress of her able condition, and tasked her to find Recluse. Seiserna was about to do so, until the old leper loomed with a very foreboding determination toward the the entrapped Saints. A building grimness of phrases accompanied his sledging steps. Flannagon seemed quite dark then, like a walking angel of death, a reaper of sorts, approaching hapless men with a tool for harvesting not mere grains, but the bleeding red flesh of humanity. Only in place of a clean-cutting scythe, Flannagon wielded a far, more messy, staff and dagger.

The old man was no angel of execution, ending lives in single cleaves; he was a thoroughly grotesque butcher, grisily hacking and chopping while his prey squirmed and screamed.

“Declare him guilty, O Baan!”

Blood streamed from a cracked skull. Blood spurted high into the air, seemingly farther than possible. A gruesome squelching noise accompanied a man driven mad as he succumbed to insanity.

“W-what is wrong with you...!”

A second knifely plunge through a poor man’s skull, and Seiserna could no longer watch. Heeding the Blightly leader’s command, the sorceress scurried about in the last known direction of the spiderwitch.

The life of the Blighted should never be a pleasant sight, Seiserna knew that, but there was a fine line between running away from the wrath of a majority, harming others only when necessary, and embracing the path of some mad murderer. The Lost Witch could not see what possibly triggered the old leper to act in such zealous frenzy.

...

Ah, cold, cold, cold cold...cold cold.

Seiserna ran at a brief pace, partly driven by a fearful disgust, partly driven by a small sense of diligence. Not really either. Rather, the sorceress was sopping wet, and she hopes that any heat built by working quickly would rid her of her current soggy condition. It was an idea backed by sound hypothesis, yet in practice, it wasn’t quite as effective as she hoped. It was indeed colder, actually, with all that air brushing past her wet and chilled skin. For all she could feel, Seiserna might as well be prancing about naked without noticing a difference.

C’mon spiderwitch, where are you...?

Oh. A pointy hat!

Soon enough, a shorter girl clad in black and a tell-tale witchy hat was spotted battering upon another glassy window. Recluse hollered into the jagged void, yet there was no response. Such a sign meant that the two witches missed some opportunity, that Marisa and Nilch’i were either dead, or away. Seiserna wasn’t sure just how resourceful were the latter two Blighted, but she was willing to believe they had found some method to abscond their predicament.

To their own part, the lost witch and the spider witch should likely regroup. The former had robbed enough caravans to know a that force divided, is a force vulnerable.

“They don’t seem to be within, let’s get back with the others, Recluse.”


< Message edited by Remaint -- 3/8/2016 22:02:44 >
AQW  Post #: 73
3/8/2016 22:11:57   
Kellehendros
Eternal Wanderer


 It was more than time to leave. Cendra looked skyward, assessing the darkening sky as she ran a hand through her short hair distractedly. That was a bad habit she had picked up during her exile, and a dangerous one. The dye she had been using was cheap, more a gritty oil solution that dulled her hair rather than truly changed its color, and the exile was perspiring. Her hand swiped a streak along her forehead relatively clean, revealing brilliantly red hair with burnished coppery undertones.

Cendra glanced at her hand upon realizing her mistake, quietly cursing and rubbing the palm of her glove against her thigh. In truth, the dye had been a poor sort of disguise, but it was the only recourse available to the exile. That, and cutting her hair short. The outlaw had always known that someone would recognize her eventually. Jana’s presence here had been a surprise, but by Illyra’s mercy her cousin had not pressed the issue, and none of the others had recognized her.

Except the ‘blind’ man. The slender swordswoman shifted her gaze to the sorry bandaged figure. This intuition had come to her suddenly, and she was not entirely certain that she trusted it. He had been a priest once, or some loyal adherent of Baan. His words as he slew the remaining muck-mired Saint made that clear. An adherent, a disillusioned fanatic, if his outpouring of rage was any indication. But did he know, really know, or was Cendra only jumping at shadows?

There was something there though, in the man’s tone, in his posture, some hidden insolence that whispered to the exile’s subconscious. Those were warnings that Cendra had learned early on, if not to trust, then at least to acknowledge. If he knew, like Jana, he had not said. So she would be careful. It would not do to be unready when one or the other decided to reveal the fugitive for who she was.


Logre grimaced, standing and whipping his falchion through a swift flashing circle. A second slender figure darted out of the alley and ran to the murderer’s side. The captain blinked in shock. He recognized that woman. Marisa. She had trained under him once, but that had ended with a choice perhaps poorly made.

A resounding crack snapped Logre from that line of thought. Here was another woman, one who had made short work of Jesse. The bloodied screamer had been right, apparently. Blighted or otherwise, there was some sort of cabal loose in the streets of Palora tonight. Kits and Sondre had abandoned the door, moving up on either side of their captain, axes ready. “Hold position.” Logre winced slightly, gingerly testing his weight on his injured leg. “There are more in the alley. Protect Jess.” Reaching into his shirt the captain drew out a whistle and loosed a high, shrill blast. Logre and his men were not the only Saints in the streets tonight by any means. Night patrols, even in the poorer Southern District, had been stepped up during the Quisling’s Paladinship. It was a practice Paladin Tahir was reluctant to end, though the Roshon conflict was nearly a decade settled. The whistle’s blast would carry, and reinforcements would converge on the streets about the Third Burning before too long.


Cendra’s head whipped to the left as the whistle pierced the air. “Hell fire.” She turned towards the tavern, her right hand coming up. Smoke was rolling out of the building’s several broken windows, and as the saying went, where there was smoke there was fire. Calling the fire had been hard since she had been Blighted, but this was not summoning, not creation. This was simply… drawing, enhancing what was already present. With the sweeping motion of a cupped hand, the exile’s magic reached through the wall of the inn, seeking the fire, fanning the flames.

There was a whooshing hiss followed by a bloom of heat as flames surged from the fireplace and chewed into the walls. Licking hungrily at the wooden chairs scattered about the room, the fire began to consume the meager feast the Blighted had been given little chance to enjoy.

Cendra sheathed her blade, sword hand slipping to her right side and pressing against her wound. The injured outlaw drew a deep breath and bellowed into the night. “To the Oryx Gate!” She turned and motioned the Blighted after her, heading for the opposite end of the alley and breaking west. Her side tweaked with pain and for a moment the fugitive’s gait was unsteady, but she forced the pain away and her pace steadied as she loped away from the scene of the short, vicious battle.

Cendra had no intention of heading for the gate out of Palora. Like the dye, the cry was little more than a cheap ruse, a bid to disguise their intention of reaching the Heart of the City and the Temple of Baan. That they might seek such a destination would probably never enter the darkest dreams of Palora’s defenders. Her shout was unlikely to sway the Saint’s search, but if it drew even a small number to the gate, it might give them a chance to win through.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 74
3/10/2016 0:40:14   
Draycos777
Member

Selene listened closely but she didn't hear a reply back from within. The chopping at the front of the Tavern had also stopped. That was either a good thing, or a bad thing. Selene was about to pull herself up and into the tavern to get a better look inside, when she heard a familiar voice coming down the alleyway.

“They don’t seem to be within, let’s get back with the others, Recluse.”

Selene turned her head about to answer in return about, finding out if the ones inside aren't passed out from the smoke within, when the sound of a whistle pierced the air. Covering her ears, Selene turned her head to the source of the sound.

"That's...not good."

Soon after the tavern shook. Fire licked out of the window briefly before dieing down again.

Frowning, Selene patted down a burn on her hat and readjusted it.

"And that's even worse. I think I'll have to agree with you. For now, whatever happened with those two, happened. I'm sure they're fine."

Selene held out her right hand and two small spiders crawled out from her sleeve and rested on her palm.

"Go find our captain, if you'd please."

Spinning out a small tread, the two spiders took flight, powered my the wind. Selene turned her head to face Seiserna.

"Let's head to the city's center. If the other's are truly after the temple, then we'll meet them soon. Plus, if all goes well and my spiders meet up with the captain, then I'll be able to track them."

Selene pointed to the tavern.

"But for now, we should get away from here as fast as possibly. Remember my vial from earlier? Well that blast probably knocked it over and broke it. Pretty soon this place is gonna be fill with highly toxic, hallucinogenic flumes. Staying around here isn't a good idea in any sense."

With that, Selene began to swiftly, but observantly towards the city's center. The goal was to regroup and head to the Temple.
AQ  Post #: 75
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