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Hope Passage@Utrax, @The Ghost Note

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"Such a fine occasion, in which we find ourselves thusly," Ziz rasped, chittered, and clicked

"Aye." Croix concurred, the remnants of a chuckle still escaping his lips. "The sun smiles down on our crew with the force of an inferno. A good omen, I reckon!"

Truthfully, part of Croix was quite fascinated with the creatures ability to speak, a skill he did not anticipate. Still, it was having a jolly good laugh mere moments ago so he really should have expected it. Croix was fascinated enough by the bug to want to probe it with numerous questions about its lifestyle and more importantly its beliefs, but that would be rude. Even bugmen require some breathing space before discussing such loaded topics as religion, and Croix did not wish to push away a potential new friend so soon, unknown creature or not.

Thankfully before his curiosity could get the best of him, the bugman's attention turned to the massive stone golem who in spite of his size sat and spoke unsure of himself, poor fellow. The missionary turned to see the bugmen's attention shift again as he walked up to and began speaking to the elderly Kaimerian excitedly. What a friendly sort!

"Enough, listen up, because the Queen wishes to see all of you in person. And she will throw you off of Exusia if you annoy her. And by that, I mean literally." "My name is Tisa Iruve and I am the Queen's representative for this quest that she has put out..." She mumbled something underneath her breath but it was next to impossible to discern. She shook her head as she said, "She wants to meet all of you in person to discuss the terms of the deal... which means that you will be teleported up into Exusia. However, when you get up there, we will relinquish any weaponry or any materials you can use to cast a spell until your time there is up."

"Is everyone okay with that? These terms cannot be negotiated."

Croix could not help but smile yet again. This woman, merely doing her job of course, struck him as deeply insecure with the greatness of her emphasis on a name. A threat too! From the Queen herself, no less. It seemed The One Truth was needed here and elsewhere more than he thought! Croix could not help but feel sorry for the redheaded woman however, whom Tisa Iruve seemed to single out in particular for her disdain. Oh well, couldn't be helped. At the very least her request was reasonable enough to Croix, he did wonder how exactly they planned to deal with the Golem should he see fit to start a rampage but such is the way of things if he did.

"More than agreeable, Fair Lady." Croix said, resting the top of his axe against the floor like a cane. He was not overly familiar in speaking to nobility, but he went out of his way to treat all to that standard regardless, hopefully Lady Iruve softened her position at seeing the eagerness of this motley crew. "Shall we proceed? I do not wish to speak for my compatriots, but I'm sure we are all eager to take in Exusia."

He wasn't exactly one for the pontificating and decorum and would rather begin their journey but politeness was important. Besides, it may be interesting to see further the reaches of The One Being and its wisdom.

---

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Traversing the bone desert was no easy feat, especially when one was a three foot tall sentient mushroom.

If Ari felt much of anything, it was out of their depth. They were lucky they had consumed as much rotting materials as they could before leaving, stored in their body and allowing them to safely make it across without needing to eat along the way. It was a sad necessity for them to venture so far out of their natural habitat in the hopes of getting a better, less boring life.

Finally, the gate was in view and they let out a sigh of relief. The two guards at the door gave them strange looks which they ignored in favour of showing the invite they had possibly stolen off of someone. It was easy enough to get in from there and find the tent were the rest were meeting.

”...to discuss the terms of the deal... which means that you will be teleported up into Exusia. However, when you get up there, we will relinquish any weaponry or any materials you can use to cast a spell until your time there is up."

Ari walked into the tent in the middle of what seemed to be an explanation of what was going on, not seeming put out or apologetic at all for how late they’d ended up. Really, set times wasn’t really something they had a concept of beyond the way the sun moved along the sky.

They glanced around the room without a change to the flat smile on their mouth. It was quite a strange look, black eyes peering up curiously from underneath their purple tinted cap at all the much taller people. Many were humans, which they had knowledge enough of. Others, they had little clue what they were. A particularly odd looking one who seemed to be made of armour, bug like with a particularly scary looking pincer, was snickering away. What even were they? Ari had never seen anything of the sort before.

Though, it was likely most of them hadn’t seen anything like Ari either. Myconid rarely socialised among their own kind, nevermind others. The mushroom themself didn’t have much experience in human society beyond a short period of time recently.

“I accept the terms,” Ari spoke up after the strange insect bowed. Their voice was soft, human words not quite properly fitting their mouth, but not lacking in any confidence. After they said that they flashed a grin at everyone else, offering up the small knife (that looked too large in their hands) up to the woman in charge, who’s name they’d missed. “I’m glad I’m not too late, unless there was a cut off, and you’re about to kick me out.” They quickly moved on from that. “Ari, by the way.”

They didn’t know if names had been exchanged, but they had been led to believe it was generally the done thing when first meeting others. They had no qualms about offering theirs easily - it didn’t mean much to them, anyway, and they’d only used it a few months.

---

---

Artur had quickly grown weary of hearing his own voice and silenced his own mumbled ballad, content to watch and listen as more entered the tent. It was difficult to discern who was stranger, the living statue, the carapaced insect with a crested horn that loosed a distorted chitter than might've passed for laughter or the cloaked axeman that laughed along with it. Then came the elf, horse and all - for that he perhaps felt a brief pang of sympathy for the mule he'd left outside, even beneath a canvas - followed by a leathery old crone hunched against a walking stick with her stomach laid bare, etched with all manner of scars.

Furrowing his brow, Artur couldn't help but find something perculiar behind her. Behind the yellowed bones, talismans and totems... a Kaimerian? In all his years of warring, Artur had never seen one of their kind so old as this, let alone a woman of their breed. But the form was too distinct to be anything but their kind, and he wagered it would only be a Kaimerian crone mad enough to venture out into a place as rabid as the Bone Sea, alone.

Or was she alone? The vigil he'd kept for raiders on the journey south came to mind. No, not even the Kaimerians would have business here - they were not the sort to hide behind crones either, as far as he knew - too bold for that. Nonetheless, Artur found himself drawn to keeping an eye on that one - if only for a time.

It seemed as though the others were steadily losing patience, if the disconcerted grimaces and furrowed brows were anything to go by - and eventually it was clear that the representative's had worn thin, snatching away the map from the would-be scribe. Shifting his weight forward, Artur listened to Tisa Iruve with a muted expression, his brow briefly arching as she warned of the Queen's willingness to cast agitators off the edge of her floating kingdom, then once more as she stated the terms of entry.

Telportation? Artur misliked that, if only on principle. Place land or sea beneath his feet and he would've traversed the breadth of Deadwood - he had, for that matter. But to have his form subjected by unknown magics - it made his back bristle ever so slightly, even knowing what he'd been walking into. But truth be told, he was more wary of relinquishing his sword - though not for sentimental reasons, as any good steel could serve the same purpose - and gave thought to the other blades on his person. He kept a dagger concealed beneath his cloak and a hunting blade on his person that had served for general use, perhaps those he could've hidden.

Except, these were sorcerers and witches, mages and spellcasters. A dangerous lot to play such games with. Giving it further thought, Artur decided he would adhere to their law - for the time being. He'd taken a gamble already in coming this far, why render that wasted?

"Aye, I'll agree to those terms."

Besides, it wasn't often that royalty could meet face-to-face.

The arrival of Ari did nothing to dampen his spirits, though Artur found something particularly uncanny about the walking mushroom's features and how they didn't quite match the words slipping loose from its form. Though, if any would have need of its kind, the Exusians would. So, with a brief grunt, Artur shrugged - he meant the creature no ill and he'd seen his share of strange folk well before he'd been a man grown to be so repulsed here. "I'd wager they'll find use for you yet, little mushroom."

Even if that use was in the cooking pot.

"The dust storms will be upon us if we don't make haste" Artur finally motioned, "Unless any of you mean to refuse the woman's terms, we should make ready." It was less a suggestion than it was a command.

Magdalene snapped out of her hateful glaring as the delegate shouted, finally calling order and attention to the room. Magdalene blinked a few times as she returned to the rest of the tent, seeing as everyone else finally simmered down and started listening. As she regained her senses, she realized the horse had walked off of her, giving her some breathing room, and their handler-- Sjalvolki, she think he said? Was holding a bag out to her. Magdalene picked up the scent of apricots and sugars coming from it. She would've politely declined or questioned his altruism, but she was focused on listening to the delegate. So she accepted his gift, taking the bag and quickly muttering out "Thanks" as she leaned to the side to get a better look at the delegate past the elf.

"She wants to meet all of you in person to discuss the terms of the deal... which means that you will be teleported up into Exusia. However, when you get up there, we will relinquish any weaponry or any materials you can use to cast a spell until your time there is up. Is everyone okay with that? These terms cannot be negotiated."

The rest of the tent muttered among themselves, mostly shrugging and nodding as they accepted their terms. But nothing sat right about this whole situation to her; Surrender your weapons, let yourself get teleported to an island leagues above the ground? Nothing about that sat right with Magdalene. Obviously Exusia wasn't quite the place people came back to talk about; What if the whole "mission" they were summoned for was a sham, and they just wanted a fresh batch of slaves to toss into chains, or worse? At the same time, she couldn't just easily up and leave either. She'd come too far out here and was hitching too much on this expedition. At the very least, she could voice her own concerns.

Struggling for some courage, Magdalene stood herself up and began clearing her throat, which sounded more like coughing.

"H-Hang on. Excuse me? 'Tisa' you said? I got a question; What evidence do we have that we can trust you, going straight into a city in the sky, unarmed, and surrounded by sorcerers?" She asked, her voice sounding unsteady and shaky at having to make a scene for herself to be properly heard.

Those not entirely distracted by the ongoing conversation could not have failed to notice the flapping of the exterior canvas, or the increased braying and groaning of the unshielded moving about outside as the wind whipped up more clouds of sand, eventually intensifying to the point that visibility beyond the flaps had been reduced to a dull brown haze and Exusia itself had been entirely hidden from view to those still in the open.

It was not an irregular occurrence, but no less cause for consternation among the guardsmen posted on watch, wary of stories of the spirits of the dead returned to swell their ranks with those of the living.

And something else stirred amidst the sands.

---

"Your trust?"

Meanwhile, Tisa Irune had offered a curt answer to the growing concerns raised by Magdalene. "Exusia has no need for slaves. If the Queen sought them, she would not waste her time seeking an audience with stray travellers from-"

"But your Queen does have need of us strays, woman." Artur sharply retorted, "Not slaves."

Growing impatient, the emissary merely reaffirmed her previous statement. "Those are the Queen's terms. You are welcome to return to wherever you came from, once the storms fade. Otherwise..."

She gestured outwards, "Prepare the displacement." The two guardsmen stationed in the tent stepped forward and began to pull aside the furniture planted across the tent, leaving a wide space beneath the high canvas ceiling for the group to stand beneath. "It is your choice, but I will waste no more time. Leave if you will, but those who wish to remain shall stand here."

Chalk powder had already been scattered about the floor, though whether it served a purpose or not remained ambiguous at best. "Send for the Captain, as well." With that command, the two guardsmen had stepped out into the sandstorm, leaving the group alone with the emissary. Those who chose to risk Exusia were eventually guided into the circle, begrudgingly or no. Stood before them, Irune seemed ready to begin the incantation - if not for a simple delay.

"Captain? We should not leave the Queen waiting any longer." She called out again, her features creasing. No answer came and it became painfully clear that any voices beyond the canvas of the emissary's tent had faded away, replaced only with the sharp lash of the desert winds. Then came what could've only passed for a shriek as a shadow lurched forward, then slumped against the exterior canvas of the tent as someone breathed their last.

Backing away, the emissary didn't immediately notice the dust spilling in behind her as a blade sliced through the canvas, not until the fabric was peeled away by a silhouette clad in bone totems and robes whose callused palms grasped at her sleeve. Startled, the woman gave a frightened chant, gesticulating wildly with a free hand, "E-El nath!" and in an instant the robed figure howled in agony, cloth and flesh rotting away from his hand as it seemed to rapidly crumble into dust. She seemed ready to follow it up, her lips moving rapidly, but before the words left her mouth another robed figure had emerged through the breach and plunged a spear through her belly.

"Fucking clansmen!" Artur rasped first, his blade already halfway out of its scabbard as more spilled in through the breach.

"Outlanders," A snarl emerged from the spearman in a harsh regional dialect, dripping with contempt. The emissary crumpled at their feet, writhing until another robed assailant clad in totems knelt down and opened her throat with a blade carved from bone, grunting as the woman's blood soaked the hard sand beneath them. "Witch." A wildebeest's bleached skull served as his helm, framing dark, hollow eyes.

With the interior of the tent exposed to the elements, all could hear the distinct clash of steel and bone, men shouting to one another and the intermittent growling and death rattles of battle. It was no secret that many of the Bone Clans regarded Exusia as an ill-omen and had taken it as a personal affront to their encampment by the Bonewater. And as it happened, they seemed fixated on the armed, fighting guests of the Exusians - though sparing less notice to the likes of Ari, the Vrxyl or the Dust Mother.

Dying here would've been premature, to say the least; Artur gestured to Nakala and Azariah, his sword at the ready. "Spearwife, and you boy - form on me!" Then to Magdalene and the others, "You want to save your skins, loose at the whoresons before they close!"

With both exits blocked and the spellcaster dead, there remained no alternative. A raid was upon them. No quarter would be offered.

---

Fourteen crouched silently as the group finished filing in and the representative began to speak. The tent swirled with the chaos of a dozen discordant voices and Fourteen strained to knit together any fragments of conversation. He turned to his right and saw the Yi-gin-sin staring at him. Its eyes, black and glistening, seemed to be glowing with the same curiosity Fourteen saw in the eyes of vultures and starved coyotes. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least, and Fourteen shifted uneasily. The red-haired woman as well, her eyes were filled with disgust as she stared out at the rest of the group. It was as if she were planning how she'd slay each of them, and Fourteen felt even further unease. This woman scared him, as much if not more than the bug-man. Something about her seemed...unstable to Fourteen.

The representative began to speak and Fourteen listened intently. Deep within, he felt a ribbon of hope weave through the darkness. Exusia. He was going to go to Exusia. Even before completing the quest, he would get the chance to see the legendary city for himself, the city that might hold answers to who he was and why every waking moment filled him with unease and dread. Surely he would be able to learn at least something while he was up there for so short a time- anything would help. When the woman finished, Fourteen nodded. He had no weapons to declare. In fact, he had almost no possessions at all, save a small rucksack thrown over his left shoulder. As the ritual began, Fourteen rose with a crunch and walked to the chalk circle drawn on the floor. He took a deep breath, the stones of his chest shifting, and closed his eyes, ready to ascend to the city in the sky.

Then the moment of peace ended with a spear through the gut. Fourteen’s eyes snapped open as the canvas tore and the bone clansmen set upon those inside. Fourteen had met these men before, the men who wore bones as clothing. In a different city of the desert, they had attacked him, swinging about hammers and crying out “Monster! Monster!” They were violent, vicious men by all accounts, and their actions here had proven this. Fourteen wheeled around as the front flaps of the tent burst open and two clansmen entered. One wore the skull of a horse and armor made of rawhide flaps. The other wore the vertebrae of a snake around his neck like a scarf and rib bones sticking out from leather pauldrons. The man with the horse skull lunged forwards, and before Fourteen could act the man plunged a spear at his stomach.

The spear collided with a dull “thunk!” and, a split second later, a snap. The clansman had struck before he had even seen what he was hitting, and as Fourteen rose to his full height the man’s eyes grew wide in the holes of his skull helmet. Fourteen grabbed the shaft of the spear. He squeezed, and it shattered in his hand.

“I do not believe violence is your best course of action,” Fourteen said as he stepped towards the two men. The other man, the one with the bone scarf, brandished a stone club. Fourteen turned to face him, and the man’s eyes turned from shock to anger. Fourteen knew then that there would be no diplomacy.

“Get out of my desert!” the man shouted. He lunged with the club. Fourteen blocked with his forearm. The man struck again, hitting the underside of the forearm with a twisting strike. The blows hurt, but Fourteen’s forearms were the thickest part of his body besides his torso- they were designed to be armor. The man with the horse skull dropped his broken spear and charged Fourteen bare-handed. He struck Fourteen with his shoulder in Fourteen’s midriff, some attempt at a shoulder bash. There was a crack, and the man released an audible groan. The man with the club swung again, this time colliding with Fourteen’s elbow. There was a small popping sound, and pain shot up Fourteen’s arm. Fourteen stepped forwards, the tackler struggling and failing to impede his movement. As the club-man wound up, Fourteen wound up a sweeping punch. The two swung one after the other, but Fourteen’s fist collided with the clansman first.

The punch of a golem is legendary throughout Deadwood. It is said they can shatter stone and knock down trees with a single blow. An old legend goes that many thousands of years ago, a mountain king used golems to carve a tunnel through a mountain using their sheer power to disintegrate the rocks. Much of this is hyperbole, but it is to say that if one finds themselves poorly-armored and in a position where they are going to take a golem’s punch, their best course of action is to begin fervently praying for a peaceful afterlife. This bone clansman had not heard this lesson, or perhaps he simply did not believe it. But, as Fourteen’s fist collided with his left shoulder, he learned it well. The impact sounded off with a meaty thwack and a crunch as the clansman’s collarbone exploded. The force of the impact traveled through his body, bursting blood vessels and twisting his body like a ragdoll. Essentially, it was as if he had been run over by a car. He screamed, and then the scream went silent as he fell face-first into the sand, though whether dazed or dead Fourteen did not know.

Fourteen stepped forwards, stepping on the fallen man’s leg as he did and hearing a crunch. Outside, he could see more silhouettes approaching, but he could not decipher them. Their silhouettes were sharp and asymmetrical, and everywhere they went the sound of stone and steel clashing could be heard. Fourteen looked down at his elbow- there was a small hairline crack where the clansman had struck him. It wasn’t a serious injury, the equivalent of a scraped knee for a golem, but it stung nonetheless. Fourteen assessed that he could continue fighting if it was necessary. He stepped to the door of the tent, his whole body blocking the entrance. He raised his head high, opened his mouth, and roared. The sound was harsh and mechanical and impossibly deep, like a rock grinder. If these men sought to stand in the way of Fourteen’s answers, then they would be obliterated.

The tent filled with more and more people joining whatever quest the queen sent invite for, and Kai hated every minute of it. They kept to the back, but even that space became cramped with three giants and a horse. All the creatures that came in where ones they'd seen in Darington. Everything could be found in Darington, except Kaimerians. How a flyer got all the way out there had to be the work of magic. No one went to New Kaimeria and lived to tell what they'd seen. Kai's heard rumors of the place, but they didn't take any stalk in any of them. There were simply too many people involved in this quest. Never have more than four people on a crew at a time, more people means more chances for shit to go wrong and less money that needs to be divided. Surely Exusia doesn't have so much wealth that it'll pad the pockets of the twelve of them for a life time? (Some life times last longer than others, but all die under the hand of Khiar-koff.)

The emissary, they didn't get the name of, proposed they all go to the castle in the sky unarmed for their mad queen. Kai didn't have much on them anyway. A dagger, sure, but they could ditch that easy. El, however, wasn't an option to be left behind, nor were they going to tell them El exists until it was necessary. Should be easy enough to have El fly to the castle and wait for them. Kai didn't bother verbally agreeing to give up everything, they would've left if it was an issue. The emissary called for a captain, but something was off. The dint of the tent wasn't louder than the casual street noise outside. Kai could hear it clearly being near a little opening, but now it was quiet. Dust kicked in near their hip, then El flew in from the dust, and rested on their shoulder.

"Oedi!" El shriked no sooner had a Bonesman attacked the emissary.

Everyone jumped into battle, but Kai wasn't equiped or skilled for this. Conman didn't fight their way out with swords, but with words and they knew Bonesman weren't the type for civil conversation. So they crawled out of the flap in the tent and left El there to keep an eye on things. Outside they nearly got blown away in the wind and had to hold on tight to a rope that kept the tent nailed to the ground. Sand would've kicked up in their eyes if they weren't closed. Around them the wailing and violence of the Bonesman didn't compare to the howling of the wind. Kai pulled off their jacket and tied it around their face for protection, then felt their way up the tent rope as they climbed to higher ground. In sandstorms they're supposed to lay low, but no visibility and the threat of getting stabbed didn't leave them with many options. Khiar-koff didn't deign that they'd die today, so they must survive. Once at the top, they found a support rod under the fabric and laid across it, then they untied their jacket, wrapped it around their waist and tied it to the rope instead. They held onto the rope for dear life while they road out the storm.

@Maxx@The Man Emperor

Equally awed and terrified, the clansman cursed in an alien tongue as Fourteen wrought havoc upon their kin with a roar of crushed stone. Weary of the golem's bulk, those who had avoided being bludgeoned by its stone fists changed tack, tugging at a section of torn canopy and throwing it over Fourteen's bulk in a desperate effort to blind the stone automaton.

Another clan warrior, distinguished by the dyed bone totems adorning his robes, gestured to Azariah and his magishell, laying the blame of stone and steel automaton alike at the Karlezek's feet.

"The little white one is their master! End him!"

In a matter of seconds, the young adventurer had made himself a target as several clansmen shifted their bloodlust towards the boy, throwing bone, stone and bronze-tipped implements alike alike from a greater distance.

One of these, a spear, sailed past the Karlezek and into Artur's path as he traded blows with an axeman, glancing off his ribs. Though his mail caught the worst of the blow, the force was enough to jar his sword loose and stagger him, giving his opponent a window to knock him off his feet.

Desperate, the bastard kicked out a boot at the clansman's exposed knee and tugged his dagger loose, then lurched forward and drove the blade into the man's belly when he fell. Overcome with bloodlust, Artur snarled as the clansman kicked and writhed, until their robes were soaked with crimson and wits overcame battle rage that he pushed the twitching body aside to clamour for his sword. It left an opening in their flank for others to close in.

---

@silvermist1116

Outside, the sandstorm raged on, reducing sound and visibility alike to a brown haze, yet it was clear others now wandered the encampment mere feet below the vantage Kai had chosen to climb. Perhaps Khiar-koff had determined that today was not to be their last, for they appeared to have gone unnoticed while a few startled pack animals brayed and galloped about, cut loose from their masters during the raid.

Acting on pure reflex, Magdalene immediately stood up as the clansmen tore into the tent and barged in, immediately cutting down the delegate, even as she unleashed impressive sorcery to inflict death and rot upon one of them. Although muffled, she could hear the sounds of carnage outside, the entire camp apparently being assaulted. The warriors in the meeting immediately retaliated, drawing steel and engaging with the desert raiders. She'd created a decent 'nest' of sorts, one where she could duck her head down and avoid any attention. Her hands shaking, she quickly drew out her crossbow. She pulled a bolt for it from her quiver, yet dropped it attempting to load it in. Not made better was her hand fidgeting and twitching, barely managing to pick it back up.

Calm down, Maggie, just calm down, she repeated to herself over and over in her head.

What the hell was she even doing here? They were already dead, there's no way this camp can fight off an entire raid. She saw another girl lift up one of the flaps and roll outside. For a moment Magdalene was tempted to follow her, then remembered that not only was the entire camp being attacked, which would've only exposed her to the rest of the clansmen, but they were right in the middle of a sandstorm. Even if she didn't get her gut cut open she'd have to survive the elements. No, her best chance was to dig in and weather it out. Who knows, maybe Exusia would've lent some aid?

Finally steeling her nerves, Magdalene picked up her arrow, managing to notch it in properly this time, and raised her crossbow. The fight in the tent was pure chaos, friend and foe alike dancing about, slashing and dodging, making it difficult for her already-shaking hands to steady a shot on one of the Clansmen.

Artur, the aged mercenary who yelled the call to arms when the battle began, yelped as they were knocked to the ground and dropped their weapon. Though they managed to knock down and gut their opponent, a few other raiders closed in, hoping for a few free kicks to him. Thankfully, Artur's own misfortune made Magdalene's own job much easier, as the congregation of clansmen gave Magdalene an easier shot; Even if the bolt missed, it could still find a home in one of the other opponents, now that they got into a large bunch together.

Magdalene took a deep breath, before letting loose her shot. Pulling the lever, her crossbow flung the arrow through the air, soaring a short distance. As her crossbow released the loud twang! sound, one of the raiders started turning their head up to look at the source. In that split second, however, the arrow landed right in his eye, or at the very least his tearduct. They screamed and clutched at their face, dropping their weapon and stumbling backwards, knocking over another Clansman behind him. Once the high of a remarkable shot wore off of Magdalene, she quickly fiddled out another bolt, and began hastily reloading her crossbow for another go.

---

---

Most of the travelers were quick to agree to Tisa’s terms, some impatiently so. Only one of the strangers had the nerve to even question the delegate. Hazel imagined the shakiness in the young woman’s voice was caused by the rattling of her spine. Of course the person plastered with protective pieces of paper that were likely meant to be some kind of ward would be the one to bring voice to caution. Hazel gave her a soft smile accompanied by a look that balanced between sympathetic and pitying. Even if Tisa had given the girl a satisfying answer and a promising word it wasn’t like any of them would know if it had been wise to trust them until the moment for betrayal had passed. In a way, it would be much like the girl’s talismans—good for the ease of mind, but ultimately nothing more than a false comfort. Hazel found it funny how quick the woman was to rush to calling for the teleportation ritual after even a single voice had questioned their intent. A good omen, surely.

However, the ritual was never completed. Hazel drew in her breath and held it as a screaming person harmonized with the howl of the wind. She did not blink as she saw the body slump against the tent, nor did she avert her eyes as the tent was torn open and sand kicked around as the Bone Clans assaulted their gathering. Hazel watched, her eyes stinging, as a spear was shoved through Tisa’s gut, her only reaction being the slightest raise of an eyebrow. Hazel had thought an Exusian mage would be harder to take down. Turns out, they fell just like everyone else. She didn’t even have time to think about healing the emissary before a robed assailant slit Tisa’s throat. Well, at least their wouldbe killers were merciful. She’d never seen an Ember Maker make it quick.

Hazel stepped back towards the middle of the tent, hand on her sword but blade undrawn. She was a master swordswoman when it came to slaying untrained fieldhands and frail old medicine women, but against actual warriors it was basically a decoration anyway. She watched as Artur began issuing commands, thankful that someone was there to rally them. It gave her a second to observe as the others sprung into action.Hazel glanced over to see one of the clansmen try to take out the Golem. She couldn’t help but snort and shake her head as the stupid idiot got what was coming for him. The short man called forth some kind of mechanical monster to come to his aid, shredding apart the clansman that had attacked its master. It only spurred the fury of more clansmen. The questioning girl raised her crosswbow while another saw to hide, crawling out from under the tent and likely being eviscerated by the enemies outside—a karmic end for fleeing like a coward.

If Hazel had the option she would’ve continued to be an outside observer to all of the carnage and bloodshed, but the warriors of the Bone Clans didn’t respect her wishes. She sighed and rolled her eyes as she drew her sword and dagger as a clasnman rushed her. There wasn’t enough time to pull out her book and even if there was it would be a bad idea. At best casting a spell would make her a priority target for the raiders; at worst it would turn the whole tent against her, or at least what was left of it. The clansman lifted his axe, howling with the wind as he brought it down to split Hazel’s skull with a powerful blow that she caught with the crossguard of her sword and dagger.

Hazel locked the weapon in place as the clansman continued to wail at her, his spittle wetting her face. The axe slid and cut her hand but it did not break free from her guard. Hazel bit her lip as the larger man struggled with her. She backed up as he pushed and pulled against her, and didn’t even blink as one hand let go of the axe to wrap around her neck. She dove her chin down into the hand, a fruitless effort to stop the man from strangling her, and glared up at him as she choked. Her eyes watered as they met his murderous gaze. She grinned. The man was probably strong enough to snap a neck in half if given the opportunity. He didn’t get the chance.

With a surge of strength Hazel kept the axe held back with just her sword as her dagger hand freed itself from the guard. In a flash the blade bit through the inner wrist of the outstretched arm and sliced towards the elbow, cutting open the man like a letter. His howls shifted their tune ever so slightly as his grip around her throat fell. She stepped forward and flicked the dagger up, silencing the sound forever as the point of the blade pushed up under his chin and deep into his skull. Hazel twisted and put her shoulder into the heavy man to keep him propped up as he began to go limp and left her dagger in him to free up her hand so that she could keep his own from falling away from the axe.

Hazel grunted as she continued to tango with the dead dance partner, hoping that the illusion of her still being engaged in battle would give her a quick respite from any other raiders. Hazel turned her attention to the others as the blood dripped down the hilt of her dagger and splattered on the side of her cheek to sense the tide of the battle. Public spells were for desperate situations only, and so far the losses had been anywhere in the range of acceptable to cathartic. There was value in a culling every now and then. Were any more of their would-be adventuring party dead yet, or had the Queen been blessed with a better stock than her own?

No time for thinking or judgment. It was time for murder, Sjalvolki thought to himself. Without much time wasted, the Sun Elf unholstered his composite bow and, in extremely quick fashion, pulled an arrow from his belt-quiver. Sjalvolki locked his sights on any clansmen nearby, which there were plenty of them for the Elf to shoot at. With strings pulled, Sjalvolki unleashed a highly accurate shot. A clansman, wearing nothing but a piece of cloth over his genitals, found himself to be “un-alive” in a few short moments. An arrow happened to be stuck inside his forehead. Said clansman, disconnected from the physical world, then fell over nearby Magdalene. Even in this mist of sand and confusion, Sjalvolki was as calm as one can be.

Analyzing the whole tent, or what tent there was, Sjalvolki noticed that the central group was struggling - never minding the chaos that was the ongoing combat among the stone golem and clansmen. Sjalvolki didn't have time to take a look at the dwarf either and anyone else. The only thing right here that matters was the murder of the clansmen. An objective that Sjalvolki plans to do and execute to its fullest.

Artur had himself overwhelmed from the looks of it, and Sjalvolki responded. The Elf focused on not allowing the clansmen to funnel into the exposed flanks of Artur and anyone near him. An arrow is taken from the belt-quiver, and an arrow is shot. Another clansman is dead with the symptoms being an arrow lodged in the throat. A steady flow of blood slips from said wound, where it likely will stain the ground and Artur himself as the body falls near the bastard. Sjalvolki appears to be not letting up on his rate of fire, preparing another arrow in just a few seconds.

---

---

Hope Passage

---

Croix watched as the previously dignified and haughty Tisa Irune, was ran through the stomach with a spear and killed almost immediately. She'd taken one with her prior at least, though Croix imagined she did not take much comfort in that, or wouldn't have anyway. The bone clan yelled and hollered like beasts along with the frantic yells from the guardsmen and Croix's fellow travellers, all set alongside the ever familiar sounds of metal clashing against metal and flesh being torn. Croix chuckled to himself as Artur yelled commands that sounded as hollow humming to the Missionary.

Clutching his axe in both hands and gripping it tight enough to turn his knuckles white, Croix began to walk out of the tent to join the fray. He noticed some of the other travellers from the tent firing out towards the Clansmen. The elf and the wiry girl. His pace quickened as the heat of the desert bathed his skin and boiled his blood, he could make out the Golem decimating the Clansmen, as well as the red haired woman quarrelling with an opponent who dwarfed her in size. Indeed, his companions would not be routed so easily, the thought made his smile turn into a manic grin as the carnage surrounded him brightened and intensified to his senses.

Like a man possessed, Croix strode over to the Clansmen surrounding Artur, while their ranks had been broken from the arrow and crossbow fires and Artur seemed to be in slightly less immediate danger (Or no more than the rest of the group) Croix charged in as though the warrior was on the brink of death. With his massive frame and yells of ecstatic maniacal glee, Croix all but crashed into the warriors, dividing their ranks further as his blood lust confused and disoriented their ranks while his frame kicked up dust and sand.

Croix felt the arrows of the elf whizz past him as he engaged one of the Clan members, though their ferocity made them feared opponents in spite of the crudeness of their tactics and equipment, the one in front of Croix was clearly unprepared for his savagery. Wielding a cobbled together looking spear, the Bone Clan Warrior thrust forward, intending to stick the sharpened end between Croix's ribs. His intended target would not be met however as instead of strafing out of the way, Croix merely used his free hand to grab the side of the spear and pull it off to the side, taking the man off balance before removing him from his feet entirely with a kick to his heel causing him to fall on his back.

"DON-" The Clan Warrior was barely able to get out before the end of Croix's axe crashed violently onto his skull, splitting the man's head in half with a sickening crunch as the steel slammed clean through bone and flesh.

"Bloody Bone Clan all over the shop!" Croix yelled with obvious elation in his voice to no one in particular. Another warrior broke from the pack, much larger in size and prepared to square off with the Missionary.

"Give them no quarter! Rend their flesh to shreds" He roared as he charged the man, surprising him with a sudden display of strength as he pushed them both back with the handle of his axe. The action was no doubt difficult to see among the ensuing chaos, but the sound of blood splattering, flesh tearing and uproarious gravelly laughter was unmistakable.

She smirked. You would ask us to leave our weapons here as we meet the air queen. Tell me, child, how do you plan to make the Son of Stone safe for the company of your queen?

Still, the Dust Mother offered no quarrel. She did, however, clutch to her walking stick. She would not go hobbling before a monarch, however foolish this one may be. Token courtesies cost little and earned much. The Dust Mother had few weapons on her - a small dagger for carving and a pouch of harmful mixtures at best. She was protected by more than steel.

The scarab approached her. From behind the skull helm that covered the Dust Mother's face, she could feel the apprehension and disdain of the others. The scorn of the soft-skinned ones was of little concern to her. Without ten times my numbers, they do not have the courage to act on their anger. She eyed the small creature, armored in its carapace. She did not like it. Its features were foreign, but it seemed excitable. Seldom were people excited to Kaimerians. This merited no small amount of suspicion - and its honeyed tongue may have tasted sweet to the children around her, but it smelled of snake oil to her. "Well met, Child of Chitin," the Dust Mother spoke, her tone terse. She did not mind pleasantries, but now hardly seemed the time - and she doubted the creature asked if she had companions so it could properly prepare a feast. "I am never alone," she responded, thinking perhaps that would make whatever alien mind worked behind its outer-skull think for a few moments.

The Dust Mother turned to the emissary. "The terms are fair," she spoke, her voice raspy as the desert air, "But I will keep my walking stick."

Then the mouth of the air queen was struck down, and the Dust Mother tasted salt and iron on the desert breeze. Sworsd were drawn and battle was upon them. For a brief moment, the Dust Mother contemplated if this was treachery: but it hardly seemed likely. No, this soft-skinned queen was good to her word. She merely hired fools for watchmen.

The Son of Stone turned and spoke to the raiders with the voice of a mountain, calling for peace. This intrigued the Dust Mother, even as her heart began to thunder in her brittle chest. An idealist or a fool, she mused. Time will show if diamonds or dust are behind his skull. The Dust Mother gripped her walking stick tightly with one hand, reaching into a pouch upon her back with the other. From behind the skull she wore, the glare of the desert sun was lessened, and the whipping winds had a difficult time casting sand into her eyes. Though her peripheral vision was limited, what her aged eyes could see was clearer. A fair trade, in her experience. The moving mountain crushed the raiders who came before him, and the Dust Mother stepped back slowly, the clinking and clattering of her bones unheard in the screams and shouts of battle.

The small girl who bared her stomach attempted to burrow for safety from the storm. The Dust Mother had not sprung to movement or attempted to run - she stood still and ready, her old muscles primed for when she needed them. At her age, she could not spare the fancy flourishes or reckless strikes of the children. There was an economy to the Dust Mother's movements - slow and steady, she kept her breathing regular and as much of her energy as she could spare. There was little chance that she had the strength or energy for a prolonged exchange with even the least of these raiders.

Fortunately, she was likely the least imposing of the group, and the bones she wore offered her a passable-at-a-glance camouflage to their attackers. She stepped backwards as the brawl expanded, taking in the scene. The winds grew stronger, and a desert storm was soon upon them. The small girl had noticed this, wrapping her head with a shawl.

Outside, the beasts screamed for aid. Your time has come, The Dust Mother thought with irritation, even amidst the clamor. Face it with honor and your bones may yet be worn by a warrior. She stepped over to one of the other rods supporting the tent, some feet from the small girl attempting to hide herself in the storm.

Ah.

She turned her head straight up to the desert sun, the milky whites of her eyes stinging in pain for a moment. The Dust Mother watched the currents of the wind, and a crooked grin spread across her face from under the helmet of her skull. The storm came from behind them, roaring toward the attackers. She hobbled another few steps to the iron rod that bound the heavy tent to the earth.

"Child," she spoke to the bare-bellied girl. This may yet show if she will bear warriors or wretches. "Cut through the cord."

She offered no explanation for her plan - an elder Kaimerian mother was not used to affording such luxuries to ones as unbloodied as her. Knees popping, she knelt and drew the carving knife at her belt and began sawing through the thick, heavy rope beside her, feeling the tent grow less anchored with each pull.

Hope Passage
^{@Zombiedude101@The Man Emperor}

---

The short girl with a crossbow had a bit of a point... despite how misguided it all was. Nakala herself had similar sentiments as the girl but at the end of the day, they all took a risk coming to Hope Passage. They all traveled all the way out here in search of wealth and safety, even if it seemed too good to be true. However, the rugged man mentioning slaves really sent a shiver down Nakala's spine, and those uncomfortable memories made her reconsider that stance, just for a moment. However, Arthur had a point saying that the great and powerful Exusia had little to no need for slaves. Nakala sighed as she crossed her arms and softly said,

"I have no issue with this," Nakala stated to Tisa.

However, the dust storm hit and the camp went oddly quiet... Nakala was worried, just a little bit but maybe that was the paranoia that Deadwood elicits. The land of Hope, Death, & Misery is very unforgiving and harsh... and another example was seen when a shriek ripped out, followed by someone being stabbed to death and the Emissary ending a raider and meeting her own end. Nakala immediately reached for her spear and held it tightly in both hands - she was tempted to save Tisa but it was far too late the moment she was stabbed in the stomach. It was definitely too late when her throat was slashed by the Bone Clansmen.

The Bonesclan was one of the most infamous factions in the land of Deadwood. They remained in the Bone Sea and were superstitious as they got - perhaps they came for a way into Exusia. Or they just wanted to kill people. Nonetheless, Nakala was not gonna be a victim here, not as long as she continues to draw breath.

The rest of their ragtag group of adventurers charged into battle, likely a futile effort due to how many members of the Bones Clan were probably here. Arthur rallied her and the small one onto him, maybe he had a plan or a strategy. Nakala thought it'd be better to just cut and run while they were killing everyone then try to hunker down in the camp because they, more than likely, had the entire camp surrounded. However, it seemed their short friend Azariah was a magic user and that disturbed Nakala, just a bit. Not enough to stop her from focusing on staying alive. However, the Bonesclan targeted the boy and it would behoove Nakala to protect him at all costs.

There were a lot... a lot more than what Nakala could handle even with a spear. A fine young gentleman with a sword and a lust for violence and eyeballs charged at them head-on, and Nakala dropped her weight. She used the full force of a giant to send the spear through his chest and the Clansmen screamed in pain as those were his last moments. She yanked him back and placed her brown leather boot against his mass and kicked him back, liberating her spear as the young mother looked around.

The rest of the Bonesclanmen were surrounding her, and she didn't know who was gonna attack first. They probably saw her display of raw strength and are... hesitant. However, it wouldn't be long before they realize that they had the number advantage. The first thing that came to mind was never show any hesitation or fear or else it would be suicide (as she learned from the arena).

The second thing was that she was hoping that her "little friend" had a magic trick up his sleeve.

---

Soon, the inside of the tent had careened into utter chaos. The clansmen were everywhere, armed to the teeth and trying to kill all they saw. Fourteen wasn't sure what to do- blocking the door to the tent had seemed like a good idea at first, but now there barely was a tent, and it seemed like the canvas provided absolutely no defense. As Fourteen contemplated the situation, his vision went black, and he felt something pulled over his head and shoulders. He staggered back as he felt the canvas strip tighten and a clansman climb up his back, pulling it tight around his neck. Fourteen could not suffocate, but fighting blind was a terrible idea. Desperately, he swung about, stomping violently in an attempt to keep the clansmen away from him. He felt a sharp pain as a club met his right hip, then another met the back of his left knee. It hurt, but it didn't break stone. Their strikes would start leaving permanent damage if he didn't act.

Carefully, Fourteen reached behind his back, but the clansman was too fast for him to reach. The only way to get him off was to fall backwards, but then Fourteen would be on the ground and his head would be an easy target. Fourteen had heard that blows to the head can cause amnesia, and more than anything he didn't want to lose anymore memories. He had so few left. Another blow came to his right knee, and Fourteen instinctively reached down to his left. He felt cloth, then skin and he clenched his fist hard. A clansman cried out as Fourteen grabbed him by the bicep. He gripped hard, causing a terrible squelching sound, and then he had an idea. Fourteen lifted the man up with all his strength and brought him down over his back like a towel. There was a crunch and a scream as the clansman in Fourteen's hand struck the one on his back, and both tumbled to the ground. Fourteen ripped the canvas off his face, turned, and stomped. There was squishing and crunching, but no screams. Fourteen turned and batted the third clansman's club away. The club went soaring out into the sandstorm and the clansman retreated.

Fourteen turned back around into the tent. Several of the other members of the team were fighting for their lives as the clansmen swarmed in. Fourteen marched inside as Azariah's magishell went crashing through a clansman's head, splattering blood and viscera. A clansman with a spear ran through one of the cuts in the canvas. Fourteen gave the man a hard push in the chest and he went soaring backwards, landing outside somewhere. The spear grazed Fourteen's arm, but it hardly left a scratch. Fourteen turned around, putting himself in the way of anymore clansmen coming from the front of the tent.

"We require a more robust defensive position," Fourteen said over his shoulder. "Who here has knowledge of battlefield tactics or the acquisition of defensive fortifications?"

---

---

There was a growing number of dead, but none of them appeared to be from the ranks of the would-be adventurers. Hazel appeared to struggle as she held up the weight of the large, dead man, turning ever so slightly to get a better view of the fight. Arrows were loosed, spears were thrusted, notes were taken, laughter was had, tiny constructs vivesecuted, and a rope was cut. Hazel twisted her partner to take the blast of sand that snuck up under the loosened part of the canvas and watched as more and more clansmen filed in through the hole in the side of the tent and attempted to push past the mountain blocking the entrance. It seemed as if the clansmen were as numerous as the sand itself, more appearing the moment a grain was discarded. Hazel doubted the desert would run low on sand before her companions exhausted.

The voice sounding like an avalanche crushed the sound of fighting, "We require a more robust defensive position. Who here has knowledge of battlefield tactics or the acquisition of defensive fortifications?"

Hazel frowned, but when even the creature with rocks for brains knew the situation was turning desperate then she really could no longer justify holding back. She continued to hold up the Bone Clansman as she spun with him towards the overturned table that had once held the ever-so-coveted map. When the dancing duo got there she yanked the dagger from free his chin, pooled blood cascading down her arm, as she gingerly crumpled to the ground with his body. Hazel nudged it up ever so slightly, hoping that both the corpse and the table would block her from the sightlines of any clansmen, and then sat on her knees. She’d seen how they had descended on Azariah for his magic, and feared the repercussions that’d come with her having to rush her spellcasting.

Uncertain of how hidden she truly was, Hazel planted the dagger into the ground next to her and unlatched her satchel. She wiped the blood on her hand on the cloth of her sash and then snaked her hand around the inside of her satchel to reach into the hidden compartment. She glanced up as she pulled the ancient leather tome out, drew her elbows into her knees, and cracked the book open. She heard the mad laughter of the preacher man still as a few men in bone armor stormed past to rush at Artur’s group, but none seemed to notice her yet. A gust of wind made it appear as if the pages flipped on their own as it opened up to about midway through the tome. Hazel pinned the book open with one hand as the other reached out from her balled-up body and began to claw at the earth below her.

Hazel dug deep so the blowing of the sand would not interrupt or transform her ritual. First, she laid out the blueprint for the barrier. It would be a round bastion of earth about fifteen feet high and just larger than the tent, with one entrance wide enough for Fourteen to squeeze through. The outer walls would be smooth and difficult to climb, while the inner walls would tiered like the seating at a coliseum to allow those inside to get to easily step-up to the top of the parapets and fire down from above. Then, she drew a circle around the design and began to write words of power around the border in an incomprehensible runic language. Almost finished with her ritual, Hazel lifted her head to shout a word of warning at the others.

“Everyone, fallback! Stay within the fire! It won’t harm you!”

Hazel rose her hand and slammed it down into the middle of the design. As the sandstorm continued to tear through the lacerated tent a bright beacon of white flame erupted around Hazel’s palm. The flame produced no heat, no smoke, and didn’t even bend with the wind as it spread from her hand towards the middle of the tent. From there the flame splintered off throughout the tent, diving into the sand and visibly traveling just below the surface before arriving at the outline of Hazel’s fortification. Jets of harmless magical flame began to emerge and burn a few inches out of the ground to denote the border of the fort and form a literal line in the sand of where their crew would want to be once the ritual was complete.

Hazel grabbed her spellbook and rose from the ground, hand outstretched. She raised her hand into the air and began mumbling in some otherworldly language. As she did, the flames surrounding the tent began to rise up as well—one foot, three feet, five. Wind began to wipe white flames around her feet and spiral around her up to her waist, her hair and clothes blowing in the tempest as it eradicated the ritual circle next to her once the spell began to truly form shape in reality. The others would feel the ground quake just below the surface as the earth shifted, the barriers ready to erupt once the flames had hit their peak.

It would only be a matter of seconds before Hazel finished fulfilling Fourteen’s request for defensive fortification beyond the scope they had called for and shifted the fight from a desperate assault to an easily-defended siege. However, seconds was more than enough time to absolutely slaughter someone, and Hazel had just turned herself into a bright, unarmed magical beacon begging to be fed a blade.

Kai kept their ears open, but they couldn't hear anything other than the fighting in the tent. Metal sang with each clash, dull thuds of flesh hitting sand, or swords piercing bodies, created worst images in their mind. Chances are some of the people they're supposed to split the cut with are dead. Good. More money for them. It got louder when the flap opened. The presense of someone more dangerous than them made their skin crawl. They turned around and peeked open an eye, shielded by their hand. The Kaimerian woman stood right below them, peering up at the sky. She's not looking for me, is she? Kai had no idea anyone in that tent knew they were there in the first place.

"Child, cut through the cord."

Kai barely made out what she said. "What?" They weren't questioning the command, but they weren't sure it was a good idea. However, a worst idea was disobeying a Kaimerian. Khiar-koff has let them live for this long. They weren't going to give him any reason to change his mind. Kai pulled a dagger out of their waist band and started in on the rope. Sawing back and forth didn't seem to do any good, until it snapped. Their side of the tent collapsed more than it should have. Kai sung down from the rope they held onto and rolled out of the way of the tent falling on them. Once they got their barings, they found out that the Kaimerian also worked on the rope supports.

El flew out of the tent and to their side, chattering away about what went on inside. Kai didn't care about anything other than the fact the people they were going on this journey with are still alive. Couldn't they at least get a larger cut after surviving this shit show? Kai untangled themself from their jacket and wrapped it back around their head, then shot passed the Kaimerian to the next rope. If this was the plan, then they might as well help.