Have you heard the story of Mogul Khan?
A man who sought to rise above his rank,
So far that he took his axe to the field of war?
With an axe to grind upon his enemy's head,
and a battle hunger which culled his superior's,
friend or foe he swung his axe around and around,
Into the call of the berserker whirling a cry of death.
And when the bloody mist cleared only Mogul Khan remained.
His skin stained crimson in the baptism of a thousand men,
and still his challenge called out for the dead to rise.
And from time to time... They do.

Memories of a hundreds of magical beasts studied under his apprenticeship. Long hours poured over learning of ancient dungeons and their dragons, races from elves to demons, and all sorts of magical creatures found in monstrous compendiums. There were over Fifteen volumes of such publication, circulated with the seekers of adventurous knowledge. Consultant scholars more than willing to give a few pointers out to would-be knight on how to best prepare to slay a dragon dwelling in ancient dungeon, or what to do to get rid of pesky cubes of jelly from sliming up the dungeons. The reverse was true as well, for should an adventurer have any particular tips on dealing with any monster, they could submit their fieldwork to the publishers. After all it is rather difficult to experiment on a willing test subject.

All that being said, Thomas' memory of all the monsters was faint a best, but just as a physician ought to remember some vital clues, or a monk some sacred scripture, under observation the boy had formulated as decent guess as to what they were dealing with. It was a misty entity, which reduced the range of monsters quite a bit. It could be some sort of air-elemental, yet necromancers preferred to dabble in undead minions, rather than elementals. Another guess would have been a mist-formed vampire, or at least something similar. However it was when Keystone decided to take one for their popsicle bard, did Thomas have his hypothesis down to about a 70% probability. Assuming Lerraina's arrow was a mundane variety, and Keystone's fists were more than jus barehanded strikes.

"It's a Crimson Mist!" If anyone knew what those were, hopefully it was enough for the party to understand what Thomas thought it was. Then again the uninspired scholars who named these things were not very keen on calling it something less confusing when trying to identify it. Yes, the creature was a crimson mist now, and they were referred to as a Crimson Mist. Although for those who did not quite understand and thought Thomas was just pointing out the obvious, the sorcerer followed up his comments with some limited information since this is hardly time for a lecture, although his other phases may disagree.

"We need enchanted weapons!" Thomas shouted frantically watching the scene unfold with both horror and bemusement. One side was Keystone locked in combat with the suspected creature, and losing quite a bit of blood, to those tendrils and mist. The other was a Ménage à trois of women bouncing off the ice wall like some sort of billiard ball. Well, given That Keystone is out for the count, and Ntaj was charging off into combat, and there was at least one other person drawing a bow or something at the thing. And since Ntaj was charging and Keystone was for the best part out of it but seemed to be ignored by the creature, maybe it was up to Thomas to help the ladies out? After all Keystone insofar seemed to be the one to do any actual hurt on the misty entity, and Thomas was no healer. A potion might not get the fighting chef out of this one alive.

"It's fed a bit now, so it should work, but if anyone's got any sort of magical weapons... And don't walk into it! Watch out for the tentacles!" Ah yes, beware of tentacles. Especially Evan's Spiked Tentacles of Forced Intrusion. Not a very pleasant or friendly spell sometimes employed by Master Wolfgang.

So how does one stop a mass of girls from rolling away? By dashing out there trying to intercept their trajectory, careful to watch out for any orange peels or anything of that nature which would cause Thomas to join in on the penguin fun. Although perhaps having picked up his satchel and the makeshift staff Ntaj had carved him earlier to use it as a brace against the frozen floor would help the young sorcerer from slippage, while he clutch his bleeding cut. Hopefully Satilla had more healing spells for Keystone after Sana.

"Everyone alright? I have health potions. Does uh, the Orc tribe have any magical weapons? Relics maybe? Something to help us help them help us?" Attempting to access the situation while keeping a wary eye on the mist. If Thomas was the mist, he'd probably go for the Sorcerer next given that there was already a source of blood slowly dripping from his arm. The half-orc would be too much of a hassle. "Can the uh wolf pull Keystone safely away?"

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Life itself flashed before her and had stunned her body frozen. Had she actually hit the ground, she may have shattered into a million pieces. An object in motion tends to stay in motion, but just then, there was a sudden jolt through every muscle as something … someone managed to grab hold.

Everything was happening, at all once around her, and as she forced herself to focus through the screams of agony, her savior managed to pull her back up onto the tree.

”Th-thank you.”, she stammered in Kyra’s direction, her breath heavy and her voice hoarse. It had been a while since she had someone looking after her. This battle was like none other that she had fought before, not that she had really seen much action yet, nor had she been in the thick of it all. But had this been something she would have to face alone, she didn’t know how she would make it out. And that scared her. Though what scared her most was that she wasn’t alone, and for the first time in forever, it truly seemed as if she had people to rely on. It could like prove to be a farce somewhere down the line, but Kyra could’ve just let her fall, it wasn’t as if she knew the girl at all.

She was still catching her breath as Thomas had yelled out what the monster was called, not that the name meant anything to her, and the mention of enchanted weapons only made her grumble. ”As if I wasn't useless enough already", she mocked, "If only I had grabbed those arrows when I had the chance.”, she grunted with frustration, more or less to herself. The half orc had already launched himself in the direction of the eerie mist, weapon in hand and a heart full of bravery, or stupidity, she couldn’t tell which. But with whatever determination she could muster, she knocked another arrow. Held in place, she steadied her breath, ready to fire should an opportunity present itself.

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Coming back up onto the branch Kyra nodded towards the woman as she uttered her thanks to the ranger. She might not have known the woman but they were on the same team. Granted it seemed that everyone was on pretty distinct teams - Living vs unliving at this point. So it really wasn't hard to tell who your allies were right then. Which was a good thing. Nothing worse than a whole bunch of people fighting that you could easily mistaken for the wrong side. She'd seen enough battles to watch the wrong person go down. Granted never by her but hey, some people were allowed to make mistakes.

Seemed that they had a tumbling ball of flesh made up of three people currently rolling towards the cave and one downed Arseblaster. Well wasn't this just peachy. Grabbing several silver arrows out of her quiver she drove them partially into the branch next to her. "Silver is your best bet against undead." With that she would Jump from her perch, before Tumbling and coming out of it within the confines of the ice wall. Pulling from her pouch at her side she drew the cork out between her teeth as she made a mad dash for Keystone, sliding in on her knees to come up next to him. As she stopped she would turn the vial up and drain the liquid down his throat. (Moderate Healing Potion)

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Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three

Interacting With: Bloody Smudge In The Air

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Down on the icy ground for the second time in this fight. Not stumbling, not flat-footed. On his ass. The smell and taste of blood enveloped all of Keystone's senses, even his vision as he struggled to blink his eyes clear of the stuff. He took in a shuddering breath, followed immediately by a wet, raspy cough. Aspirating blood was a painful experience, he found out. Curiously, he wondered if he could somehow make this thing choke on its own blood, too. Well, his now, as the semi-corporeal creature was now tinged with Essence of Keystone.

That kind of attack might have killed a lesser man. But let it never be said that Keystone was "less". If that monster thought that it had killed him, it was in for a rude awakening. Raggedly, painfully, Keystone pulled himself up to his feet. The thing that had fed on him had turned its attention to the rest of the group, apparently trying to pick out which morsel to try next. Nope, not on his watch.

Keystone spat loudly, the blood in his mouth splashing upon the solid ground below. "Oi! Where you goin', y'bloody nance?" He stumbled forward a single step, drawing out his great seax knife from the back of his belt. "Didn't say we was finished."

It was still very close range, so Keystone reversed his grip on the blade. It was one of the few pieces of actual magic that he owned, despite his initial reluctance to have anything to do with the stuff in the first place. The piece was amazingly functional as a tool and broadened his options in combat; useful indeed. Keystone took a broad, strong stance, and hurled the blade short feet away to the swirling mass of sanguine evil.

His other hand quickly moved up to give the beast a very rude, two-fingered gesture, terminated by the big man blowing a crimson snot rocket.

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Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night, middle of
Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
General Ambiance: Still desperate, but hopeful
Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave

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Specific Resolutions:

Satilla, Sana, and Cyneburg: Or as the public will come to know them in the future, the Tumbling Trio. After word gets around about this, the three of them will receive a slew of offers from various Carnies and Circuses, wanting to see a dramatic reproduction. But to business! Satilla is able to grab Sana's right arm and her healing spell sinks into her flesh with a warm, fuzzy feeling. This is about the time that Sana breaks away from the group, lain out flat with only a trickle of the spell working its way in. She isn't getting any colder now, but she isn't getting any warmer, either. (Half effectiveness) Satilla breaks away from Cyneburg and comes to a stop to the left of the cave, and Cyneburg, now unencumbered by the other two women, pitches headlong into the cave proper. No damage on either, but there will be a brief adjustment period while you figure out which way is up.

Calanon: Both arrows find their mark! The first one sinks into the creature, in a manner of speaking. It slows considerably before passing out of the other side of the swirling, red mist, causing noticeable disruption. The arrow drops to the ground a few feet away. The second one passes right through, unabated, as if it weren't there at all.

Ntaj: You manage to scramble back over the lower, damaged section of the otherwise huge wall of ice separating your tent from the fight, and get a glancing swing in on the Mist. It makes connection as if it were fully solid. The Mist notices this as well.

Kyra: Ever the pinnacle of multiple action, she manages to deftly deposit the arrows in the tree, make her jump, tuck, and roll, slides over to the gigantic wall of ice separating the fight from everything else, leap bodily over it, and get a potion over to Keystone, who is in process of struggling to stand. Unfortunately, due to the flips and kicks and rolls, half of that potion is elsewhere.

Keystone: The throw is successful. Which makes sense, considering it's not very far away and he knows how to hurl a bar of pointy steel. The poor footing and his present condition (until that potion kicks in) makes it very nearly a miss, but it sunk deep and prompted a howl from the creature. The very shiny and sharp knife sinks slowly down, exiting the bottom of the creature like it was descending through heavy syrup before clattering on the ground below.

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The Crimson Mist has taken damage, real damage in this exchange. Now that it has fed, it seems to be slower and squishier. A few of the group have been able to affect the monster in real ways, but it see,s to have centered it's attention on the first guy that caused it damage. That's right, the big, foul-mouthed urbanite remains the entree of choice.

It lashes out at the man with two separate tentacle attacks. Even in his less-than-ideal state, Keystone is able to duck under a wild swipe and outright block a straight attack. It makes connection to the side of his bracer with a wet splatting sound. Still making connection to the dwarven metal encircling Keystone's forearm, it manifests a bloody tentacle and begins stretching it over towards the prone form of its original target - Sana.

Anticipation of a quick meal causes the swirling bits of the Crimson Mist to pick up in speed and strength, still energized by the broad Human's blood. It's not done yet, not by a fair sight.

Location:Beside the Cave
Interacting with:Mist

The Elf had to admit he felt some satisfaction watching his arrow sink into the creature as if it had struck (albeit soft) flesh. Hopefully that had been a wound. Unfortunately, the second arrow having been shot seemed to simply fly through the creature, though his aim was as superb as usual. Still, it wasn't enough and this creature was taking far too long to die.

He desperately wished he still had his blade Stargleam. It would make short work of this creature, judging by how Thomas had categorized the beast. The blade had been made with a divine enchantment, and would have been the bane of the skeletons as well. Do not linger on what ifs, he bade himself. Calanon would love to shoot more arrows into this beast if it would work, but he knew they wouldn't.

"Brogach!" he called just as the monster was sending its tendrils towards the prone and unmoving Sana. If he couldn't harm the creature, he would make sure that no one was harmed by it as much as he could. He kicked his steed hurriedly and firmly (but not hard) into bounds and leaps toward Sana. He placed his weapons upon Brogach as he did so and did his best to lower himself to see if he could grab her. If not, he'd hop down and place her on Brogach for a quick escape.

Satilla Valen

Things had just went so odd considering they had a giant misty red and ugly foe. A for that seemed to be really in the mood to have all of them for a snack. At least the witch was sure that her spell got through to Sana to a degree at the very least. It was hard to tell under the circumstances. Satilla's head was spinning from all the rolling. Naturally her trusty cat had bailed out from her bag just before she had tried the slide and now it had returned to meow at her with a joking intonation. Almost as if it was saying -' Silly humans... Heh.'

After Sana had pulled away and the witch herself had managed to free herself from being entangled with Cyneburg, she found it hard to move. She managed to barely crawl a few feet away. Still she managed to see the mist creature once more going for Sana with one of it's tentacles.

"Sana, look out!" The witch shouted in attempt to war the bard. She also tried to run over, but legs refused to listen as she nearly wobbled a set or two before falling on her knees. Her head was still spinning like a windmill! She felt that she needed to get up and running, but she just needed a moment, a moment she didn't have. Finally she stood up with effort and started wobbling over towards Keystone as it appeared that the elf was going to Sana's rescue. Well actually she didn't really approach too close as Keystone was locked in combat with the enemy and her magic required physical contact. Instead she remained nearby to both regainn her balance nd be close and ready to provide healing to their hero/cook in this battle. If he manages to pull away from red&nasty, or in case nasty gets pulled away by someone else.

In the back of his mind Ntaj was glad he made the decision to fetch his flail. But currently on his mind was using said flail to beat this ghostly aberration into a fine red paste. He felt the slight recoil of his flail bouncing off the monster with his last swing, so Ntaj was confident he had a means to harm the creature. It still continued to fight Keystone, but also made movements towards Sana, who was still knocked out. Keystone had also received some help from Kyra, and with those two together Ntaj was almost certain that Keystone and Kyra could fend for themselves. Sana on the other hand doesn't seem like she'd be getting up any time soon, and Ntaj wasn't about to let her die. Despite whatever he thought about mages, he wasn't going to let any of them get killed.

So the naked half-orc moved towards Sana and on the path of the red mist's tentacles. When it got into range Ntaj showed no mercy and swung as hard as he could at the amorphous limb. While a slashing weapon would be better for cutting off said tendril, Ntaj was no stranger of using blunt weapons to smash flesh into a bruised and broken shape. And even if this ghost was indeed a ghost, Ntaj would still beat it to a pulp.

"Gurtha saura' fea! lle nostale uma il- belong e' sina palurin!"

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Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three

Interacting With: Bloody Smudge In The Air

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This was not something Keystone had a whole lot of experience doing, fighting the non-to-semi-corporeal. Generally, he tended to rely on the works of people of piety to handle those types of horrors, even as they had relied on him to pummel their more physical threats back into the dirt from whence they came. But he did have some experience, and it was better than most. Well, better than most who were alive still, anyway. It was an important distinction. It was also one of the reasons that Keystone trained with a Shou master who was able to barehand strike "the unnatural, the aberrant, and the enchanted" that more mundane methods could not. It was a tricky process, getting a man like him to reach the level of internal discipline and fluidity of thought necessary to incorporate his personal energies into a physical strike. But when that particular floodgate was opened, it could not be undone. No matter how much of a stubborn prick he proved himself, afterwards.

And he did.

But just now, Keystone was thankful to have unlocked that ability within himself. It gave him a chance to be able to do monumentally stupid things like what he was attempting presently. He rotated his wrist in a breakaway parry, hopeful that he could counter the hold and dig his own fingers into the there but not there form of the Mist. If he got purchase, Keystone intended to get another handful and begin walking backwards, pulling the creature away from Sana.

Then again, if he could not, hitting it as hard as he possibly could would have to suffice. It usually did.

Once again Thomas was rather unable to do much. Seeing that Ntaj, Keystone, Calanon, Kyra and practically most of their competent fighters were all planning to engage the Crimson Mist at melee. Thus in lieu of attempting to fry half-a-dozen of his own party alongside one beastie like ants beneath a focused lens, maybe it was best to just observe the beast from afar, looking for signs of weakness, or better still hidden dangers it had swirling in its phantasmic body. His skill sets after all were extremely limited in close-range combat, sure he could attempt to strike something with his makeshift staff but he wasn't really trained in the use of weapons. Nor was the piece of wood enchanted enough to probably harm the creature.

And that's when the idea occurred to Thomas. It was possible given the physical state of the creature to trap it wasn't it? An air-tight container would seal the mist. Unfortunately as Thomas rummaged about in his satchel, there was hardly a vial large enough to contain a gaseous prisoner of that volume, however the other might have had something. Keystone in particular being a chef might have some sort of storage vessel to prevent spoilage. Or even better, Master Wolfgang would have summoned a dessicator jar and starved the ravenous bloody beast until it knew better.

"Keystone! Do you have some sort of air-tight vessel? Your techniques seem to be effective!" shouting at the gastronomist, "Maybe we should capture it and find out more about who's behind the undead?"

It was just a thought, but Thomas had no Void spells due to the light. As such he was pretty much spent and unless the Mist came within proximity, he could only clutch his wound for now and hoped his body would stop the magic in his blood from leaking out.

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Lerraina was left atop the tree branch, a few arrows to spare in her own quiver, on top of the silver tipped arrows which Kyra had left her. She was no use to them dead and would only get in the way if she managed to get up close. Although she wondered if the blades she carried on her would do her better than her arrows. The silver might do well against undead, but this ... thing, this ominous abomination, it couldn't possibly be that simple. On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to try.

Despite the fact that the monstrous being didn't seem effected in the least, her allies managed to inflict damage. Lerraina inhaled deeply and held still for a moment as she drew the arrow back into place, aiming for the damaged area. She loosed, and as she allowed the held air to escape, she let out a loud whistle. Crixus would never stray too far from her side, especially when otherworldly dangers were afoot. And as the predictable thing of beauty he was, he had swooped in, trailing the arrow as it sailed through the air. He knew the game well enough and had intended to make her proud. The large bird croaked with fury as neared the red mist. His intention was clear, and if he could do any damage at all, he would make it count.

Cyneburg

Location: Orc Cave
Interacting with:N/A

One of the issues with acting on instinct is that when things go wrong, your higher brain functions aren't in the front seat to tell you what the fuck just happened. It took until she made a complete stop in the tumble to cognitively work through the situation she was currently in. She was on her back in the cave the orcs were stationed in, her head and most of her torso ached, but not in any significant way. It was probably just a few bruises from tumbling on stone.

The druid felt around for her walking stick/axe and found nothing but cold, clammy rock. Figures. She probably dropped it back when she dived to get Sana out of the way of the red mist creature. Cyne clutched her head and go up off the ground. First thing's first get back to the rest of the group. They (probably) weren't all dead, and she'd need to be there before she could figure out what way (if any) she could help. The half-orc hustled back to the mouth of the cave.

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Well, half a potion wasted meant half a potion used. It was as good as Kyra could hope for right then after the "Legolasesue" jump, tumble and slide she just pulled to get out of the tree. Too bag she hadn't had a shield to use as a surf board on her way down. Spinning around she nocked an arrow into place and took aim at the "whatever the fuck this red thing is", releasing a steadying breath before her fingers let loose the arrow towards the red mist. If she was able, she would send another right after it. It was all she could do at that moment in time from her crouched position on the ground, making careful aim to avoid any between her and the mist. There was nothing else the Ranger could do against such a creature, at least not yet. She had her sword but she would keep her distance as long as possible.

Sana groaned slightly on the ground, the healing had helped to a point. At least she wasn't unconscious right then. Looking up she saw what she thought was the mist coming at her. What was this creatures thing about her? Easy target she supposed at this point. She wasn't exactly at her best. She was cold, she was hurt, and she knew if she even tried to nock an arrow into place her fingers were still too frozen and numb in feeling to get off a good aim. She could easily screw up the shot and hit one of the people fighting on her side. All she had left was her voice, which she hated to use, and a couple of spells left for the day; none of which were attack spells.

Coughing roughly she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, focusing what little strength she had as her lips parted and she began to sing. It was quiet and hoarse but it should be enough to let the notes trigger within her the magic spell she was trying to cast. If it worked, it would heal all in her party that had moderate wounds or less to perfection once again, it would give them added courage for the fight, it would make their attacks more likely to hit and hit harder in the process for numerous rounds. A red glow would emanate from her body and soar from her to each of her allies. What would it do for Sana? Drain her even more once the song was complete. This was a dangerous line she was standing on, and with the way things were going, she was bracing herself for a magically induced coma before long.

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Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night, middle of
Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
General Ambiance: Sticky
Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave

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Specific Resolutions:

Calanon: The Elk moves in an unerring path to Sana, as a well-trained mount does. The well-trained Dire Wolf, however, does not move from Sana's side. Given the option of plowing into its natural predator or avoiding it altogether, Mr. Elk rears and cuts to the side, unceremoniously depositing Calanon on the hard earth below. When he gets his wind back, he might find his bow skidding near the entrance of the cave.

Satilla: Is confident that the situation has been observed to the best of her ability, and is able to heal when positioned.

Ntaj: The flail bashes into the tendril extending to Sana quite effectively. It recoils reflexively, as if it had touched a hot iron.

Keystone: Gets a handful of the slippery creature and yanks. The other hand can't seem to catch the wispy nature of the Mist, but his one-handed grip is strong enough to arrest the creature's movement.

Thomas: Keystone hears Thomas's query about an airtight vessel, and looks over at him like he has bats flying out of his ears. He motions his head at the creature as if to indicate that he was a little busy.

Lerraina: The arrow strikes solidly (or at least as solidly as it can, considering). It slows down considerably as it disrupts the red swirly currents inside the Mist. At this moment it begins to move sluggishly, as a person might were they suddenly becoming physically exhausted. The birdie cannot find its mark on the first pass, but neither does the creature get a piece of the bird.

Cyneburg: Has got her footing and locates her axe between her current position and the rest of the group. Free action to snatch it up on the way.

Kyra: Gets off both shots. One passes through without causing any distress, the other sticks in and flows through like it struck thick gel. Mist isn't very happy.

Sana: The spell goes off. Any injuries afflicting party begin to knit and restore. (Moderate wounds and lesser, in any case, but no one in the party has suffered a more damaging wound than that. Even Keystone.) The bad news: Between the drain of casting this one and the hypothermia, Sana is out. Not dead, but quite unconscious.

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The Crimson Mist appears to be slowing, its form a series of tiny, static disruptions. It struggles to free itself from the grip of the unarmed Keystone, but does not appear strong enough to budge the man, let alone escape his grasp. Oddly, it looks confused about the whole situation. As the various weapons tear into it, the jolting realization spreads across its face that it is, in fact, not impervious to the attacks of these people. Maybe the Orcs, but the party of smaller creatures are giving it more difficulty than for which it had bargained.

The brighter spots of its eyes search for an exit, and it attempts wildly to move upward, away from the group. Even if it has to take its captor along for the ride. It is unsuccessful in the first couple of seconds, but it is a slippery, semi-corporeal creature. It's only a matter of time before it gets free.

Outside of the ice wall, the fallen Orcs begin to twitch and shuffle ever so slightly. Slowly, the first ones to die begin to stand, slack-jawed and bloodless. Obviously fatal wounds decorate a few of them, including exploded pieces of bone from the first waves of the attack jutting from eye sockets and lungs. They do not look about with their blank, fixed eyes, but merely heave themselves to an upright position and begin walking absently away from the site of the battle.

Location:Beside the Cave
Interacting with:Mist

Usually if Calanon is flung, by a giant or some such scenario, he lands in a roll and is perfectly fine other than perhaps a scraped knee or elbow during the landing. But this was Brogach, one whom he trusted with his life. To say he was surprised that Brogach was still scared of Ash after having been at least getting along after days of adventuring was an understatement. His faithful steed skidded, and Calanon's compromising position already hanging precariously off the side sent him nearly face first into the dirt.

His bow fell out with him, perhaps fortunately. The Elf smacked into the earth and rolled, Brogach whinnying in fear and regret. The Elf coughed and lifted himself off the ground and onto his knees when he regained command of his jarred body. "It's ok friend!" he called out to the Elk, and he cleared his throat once more before his eyes fell upon the bow on the ground near the mouth of the cave. He made his way over as best he could, gritting his teeth. This mist beast was not going to get away.

"Brogach! To me!" The Elf cried, and felt himself being rejuvinated by Sana's spell. At least she was ok. Breathing in deeply, he nocked an arrow to his bowstring and held it aloft, aiming and taking his time with his next shot. This next one would go into the creature's eye. Hopefully it would work. Everyone else in the party were hurting it now, to varying degrees...

Just as Calanon's Elk companion made it over to his side, did he fire.

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Location: Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three/Morning of Day Four

Interacting With: Bloody Smudge In The Air

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Keystone had heard the expression "hold a tiger by the tail", before. It was an idiom that described having a dangerous situation in a seemingly advantageous position, only to realize too late that it is just as perilous to keep hold of it as let go. But the errant Pugilist hadn't a tiger - a creature bound by the laws of mammalian physiology; the kind of creature you could riddle with arrows or drive a blade through. Or, if you were a man of Keystone's bulk and conditioning, wrap both hands around the offending kitty's tail and beat it into a striped skin-sack of pulp and shattered bones upon a sufficiently hard object. A large rock would have sufficed. No, Keystone had a death grip on the tendril of a blood consuming, semi-corporeal undead creature. Possibly for the first time in its unlife, puny mortals had caused it harm. It was afraid now. Scared beasts were far more dangerous than merely predatory ones.

Of course, no one had to tell him this. As Keystone was very much aware, he had ahold of said creature by one of its manifested, misty tendrils. He was unsure exactly how long he could keep this up, considering the solid-but-not-solid condition of the pinkish red bastard, but as long as he could immobilize it, he was going to do just that. Maybe give enough opportunity for someone to finish the thing off. But just now, hitting the thing was immeasurably difficult without the aid of magic.

Then it dawned on him: His big, bone handled knife! It caused quick and easy damage when he threw it, if not extremely impressive in severity. And it was expelled right through the bottom of the Mist after it had made its wound. Keystone craned his neck around, locating the hurled piece of masterful steel. It was glinting coldly in the moonlight, on the ground several feet away. It would be so much more useful in someone's hands than on the icy woodland floor.

Digging his heels in as best he could, given the circumstances, Keystone begins his attempt to drag the creature back with him, his other arm outstretched to his lightly enchanted blade. His eyes darted about to the members of his group that were presently unsure or unable to do anything direct thusfar in the conflict, and he bellowed, "Hey! Rest o'you tosspots get offa your arses! Get the bloody knife and make use of it, or I'll 'ave at ya next!"

Cyneburg

Location: Cave
Interacting with: ?

Cyne picked up her axe as she ran, quickly surveying the battle to get a general idea of what was going on. However, she wasn't quite sure what she could do at the moment until Keystone shouted for somebody to grab his knife. Well, it might be magical in nature and able to affect the thing (like the cook's hands for whatever reason. No time to question it), and since she was already headed in that direction, might as well keep going.

The druid broke out into a sprint from her previously accelerated pace, lungs and cardiovascular system getting more exercise (in her base form) than they had in many months. The adrenaline flooding her body did a good job of quieting any protests her heart or thoroat had, but it still registered in the back of her head that she had been picking up weight lately and it would do her health well to not rely on shapechanging for all her physical activities in the future. Once at the knife she'd pick it up in her left hand, but probably wouldn't have any more time to do anything else in this round.

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Lerraina’s first arrow seemed to penetrate, though it wasn’t enough. The dubious form of evil was slowing down, a good sign for them all at least. No doubt it would try to make a run for it, any cornered beast would. And this thing was certainly cornered. Oh yes, they had it now and more were closing in.

Crixus wasn’t having as much luck on his end unfortunately. Though two short whistles from his companion renewed his focus, this time to be more of a distraction, flapping its broad wings within the mists line of sight.

But there was something else amiss. The orcs that were slain on the other side of the wall just got up and started walking away. She quickly fixed her eyes on the glowing red mist of death. ”This thing needs to die”, she muttered, lifting another silver tipped arrow into place. She trained her aim to another damaged area and let the arrow take flight before drawing another into place. With any luck, if they could end this monstrosity, the rest would be easy peasy. Her eyes drifted to one of the undead orcs. Something was nagging on her insides. The mindless things weren't attacking, in fact, they had paid no mind to the blood soaked battle scene behind them as they trailed away. Lerraina growled with frustration. They weren’t the target, but she couldn’t help to think that they needed to be taken out, same as the abomination of which occupied their efforts. If something as horrendous as this happened to her, she had hoped someone would do her the same courtesy.

The itch of curiosity and rage had nudged her aim to one of the undead orcs. Lined up just right for a head shot, she loosed the arrow. Breath held and tight lipped, she watched as the arrow sliced air and hoped she hadn't just wasted it.

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Kyra grunted slightly as one of her arrows went through the mist, seemingly doing nothing towards the creature. The other hit its mark and did what she hoped but it wasn't enough. It seemed like nothing was enough against this thing. Sana was obviously in trouble but she knew Epona wouldn't leave her masters side and that Ash would keep guard of the downed gypsy as long as he could unless Kyra told him otherwise. So that was something she couldn't worry about right then. Arrows were being effective to a point but this thing needed more damage quickly. It was time for the ranger to switch tactics.

Dropping her bow Kyra started to make a sprint towards the mist, leaping up9Jump) and tumbling through the air as her hands came to her thighs and drew her three silver throwing daggers. As she came out of the flip at the apex of her high jump she let them fly towards the mist, releasing the three daggers at once before she started to come towards the ground. Once near the ground, Kyra would tuck and roll, drawing her long sword and head for the mist ready to strike the foe in up close combat. She was sick of this shit.

As she was in the air she could probably be high enough to see the danger that was evolving on the other side but that wasn't the main issue right then. Right then her focus was on the mist and getting it taken care of. A bunch of undead orcs could wait. A walking dead creature just coming back was usually a lot simple to take out than whatever the hell this thing was. She hadn't ever confronted a mist like this before but she was sure she never wanted to again.