Interacting with: @RogueFox@Shadow Dragon

"Oh I plan on doing both." Mort said with all seriousness he could muster. "The Everdark is my home now and I have no intention of leaving it as a ruin...but my metaphorical heart is utterly engulfed with the fires of vengeance and nothing short of seeing them being eaten alive by my insects would abate the flames. So, why won't we kill two birds with one stone?" The infested skeleton then gestures to the general area of the dungeon. "If we pursued them now, at our current state, we would nary accomplish anything than to add to the dead. And without a proper home and community like we had before, the next group of those bastard adventurers can easily destroy us even before we could even get anywhere near strong enough to take our vengeance." The skeleton then holds up a finger to punctuate his suggestion. "Therefore I propose that we rebuild the Everdark, better than what it was before, and in the process get stronger and stronger as we nurture this gestating nation of monsters. Fending it from threats within and without and when the time comes, and it will come, we march our armies to the surface and repay them in kind." Mortimer pauses as he revels of what carnage they will wreak upon the surface. "So...what say you my new friends?"

Interacting with: @Birdboy

When Zarroys hand was caught by Scri'erk his eye seemed to brighten with joy. He didn't see her actions as an attack because it felt like she was tickling his palm. Then to top off the stone cake with the rock cherry on top he got to listen to a symphony of noises that the golem surely felt was a song of her people.

"Not well! Broke web! Not well!"

Not well? Thought Zarroy. He withdrew his hand to his side not really noticing if he drug Scri'erk who was still resisting his affection. He glanced down at the Trapmaster not noticing any wounds on her. Strange... Can spiders get colds? He rubbed his chin in thought as a small voice came from within the ruined home.

"Ma....Ma....Master Tr..Trapmaster" Came the timid voice of the young goblin. The young goblin hopefully caught her attention distracting her away from her bumbling yet well meaning companion. The goblins of Everdark had long since used Scri'erk as a creature of worship using her when possible to get rid of their problems by evading her webs and luring their pursuers into her webs. "The denizen here had a large food storage of meat, if it is to your liking.." The small goblin pointed towards what was once a food storage that was well packed with not just meat, but herbs, and other things. "Zarroy and I, Ginto were sent by Isatar to look for Survivors down here. I don't know if you know Master Trapmaster, but most of Everdark is currently in ruins.."

-----------

Zarroy had not be kneeling idly while this conversation was going on. He had noticed when he ran his hand down his chest a lot of ruined webbing. He had begun the process of peeling the pebble laden webbing off and applying it to the opening that had gotten them to the Slumbering Lantern. After a few minutes of work he backed away from his creation. If it were not for the fact that Scri'erk's webbing was really strong this makeshift web (and the term is being used loosely here) probably would not have stopped a strong gust of wind. Zarroy's top arms crossed while his bottom arms rested happily on his hips proud of his work. He would have to show Scri'erk his handiwork and hopefully this would make his friend well.

Hecate listened to Mortimer's speech, visibly shaken by his sincerity, and by the bravery he and Vinashy were showing. She shook her head with a mournful expression. I do not know what kind of help I could be with fighting adventurers. I am not very strong... Though, rebuilding the Everdark is something I very much would like to do. I have not yet traveled deeper into the dungeon... mayhaps we head that way to search for more survivors...?" She gazed at her brave companions, feeling a little more hopeful than she had just 5 minutes ago.

Interacting with @SleepingSilence

The Spore that Speaks was so busy admiring the view that it did not notice the tiny lesser demon approach. How long had it been since a scene like this unfolded before it. Though it may seem like a large mushroom forest to some it was simply an attempt to return things to how they were. The Everdark was a colorful once, the floors and walls which Spore roamed were littered with all types of fauna. Then the invaders came, bringing with them torches and bombs. Everything that Spore had created, its life’s work, gone in a bright orange flash. Luckily it was familiar with all the nooks and crannies of the Everdark otherwise it too would have been charred and turned to dust.

It was brought back to reality by a familiar voice. Spore normally flinches and immediately releases paralyzing dust the moment it gets startled but it had gotten used to such surprises from this particular fellow. The first few times where, not so pleasant to say the least. Mainly for the lesser demon. Getting paralyzed wasn’t such a big deal, it was the fact that Spore was quite sluggish so the continuous release of paralyzing dust as it shuffled away may cause the one affected to be incapacitated for nearly an hour or two.

It slowly turned around to face its visitor. Shaking the large cap on its head, a fine silvery dust began to spread. “Hello…Dylirius…” It said, communicating slowly through the thousands of minuscule spores that it spread. A chorus of sounds all coming together to form a single, baritone voice. “Thank…you…” It reached down on the barren spot where the lesser demon buried a pawful of stalks. Curling its fingers, the arm slowly rose up and a larger number of mushrooms sprouted.

A loud growl echoed through the halls where Dylirius had come from causing Spore to jump in shock. “What… was… that…?” It asked its furry friend. Its small, pinlike pupils trembling in fear. It suddenly moved and grabbed a handful of yellow, string shaped mushrooms and handed it to the lesser demon. They were called Sun Wisps, because of the color and the shape of it looked like the radiating flames of the sun. A natural antidote to the paralyzing dust that Spore releases. “I’ll… go… hide… Give me… signal…” It said before closing its eyes and leaning against a wall, now perfectly camouflaged with the rest of the room.

Interacting with: @Moon Man

Dylirius’ lack of caution and friendliness was apparent from the moment when he had first introduced himself to Spore. Since this otherwise-immobilized demon had managed to carry on a conversation, with the help of a herb stem tip, dripping an anti-paralysis substance inside of his maw. But surely the Myconid must’ve wondered; 'if the cat was already prepared for this to happen. He shouldn’t have come so close, or had something stronger ready to ingest.' Yet Dylirius sounded so happy to be experiencing ‘such a potent numbness spreading across his entire body’. In his own words. Before proceeding to speak intimately about his alchemy and altruistic goals until - and long after - he was freed from the paralyzing spores. Only remembering to share his name at the very end of their encounter.

With a visual change that occurred every subsequent visit—disguising the natural candlelight glow of his eyes. Realizing that his flickering gaze might’ve resembled those intruders’ torches, or their accursed light spells. Because better not to be reminded of one’s tragic past, yes?

So it was no surprise to see him standing nearby, without any apprehension. Admiring his friend’s green thumb, as the tiny airborne particles began to dance around them. “Oh. It’s a great privilege to watch you work.” Dylirius noted spiritedly. With his paw soon fidgeting with the leather straps of his triangular crystal necklace. So realistic in its swaying movements, and even how it felt to touch, that it was too easy to forget that all of it was a part of his artificial ensemble.

Quick to clear his throat and tone down the zeal in his voice. “Ahem. I mean. You make it look so simple-” He asserted. Not able to finish his calmer comment, before his stomach provided a swift rebuttal. Prompting the lesser demon to raise his paws up, once he was handed the stringy mushrooms. “Oh my deepest apologies, but you misunderstand.” Dylirus appealed, while putting his paws back onto his belly. “There’s no reason to fear my stomach’s rumblings.” He assured his camouflaged companion. “It’s just one of my test-stage brews happened to vastly increase my appetite.” Dylirus elaborated with an averted gaze, and his paw rubbing underneath his chin in deliberation. Perhaps more so than I originally intended… He thought, with a feeling of something being on the tip of his tongue.

As Dylirius abruptly turned to face the tunnel that led closer to the giant spider’s lair. “But I don’t wish to startle you further. So I will go elsewhere and let my innards settle.” He declared, before taking several steps away from The Spore that Speaks. Being considerate enough to look back and make sure that he didn’t leave the Myconid paralyzed with fear. “Unless—there’s any kind of problem or ailment that you need my assistance with?” Dylirius offered, in a less-than-subtle manner. Seeming hopeful as ever, that everyone was always in need of something.

Vrel's eyes barely focused on whomever was speaking to him "Attacked...By one of our...Own," the dark elves breathing was getting ragged and the red spot on his chest was growing "Killed the entire...Scouting party...In their sleep," with the strength he had Vrel pointed to his fallen weapon on the bloody cave floor.

"Take my sword...kill that bastard..." voice trailing Vrel breathed his last, finally death took him and he felt no more pain nor suffering. All that remained lifelike was the dancing flame in the lamp and the strange sword lying upon the rough stone cave floor.

@Tally Dor

When the goblin appeared a frothing drool pooled around Scri'erk's mandibles. She struggled to listen to the words the goblin spoke over her hunger. She had not seen a good meal in days. As the small, green humanoid's words fully processed in her head, she gave a vaguely nod-like motion in acknowledgment. His food would likely not be her style, she preferred a fresh meal. Still, if they had been sent by Isatar, this could very well be important.

Her attention turned to the golem's 'craftsmanship'. He had turned her webs into a tragic disgrace to all craftarachnidship. In a stern motion she shot out a web that replaced it, looking for more sturdy, may be capable of capturing a drow!

"Stop broking webs! Then I helps! Scri'erk helps Survivors. No eat!" She graciously offered, still keen on getting the Golem to finally understand. He was beyond thick-skulled, and she wondered if there was any brain under all that stone. Likely not.

"Scouting party? You weren't my reinforcements? Hey! No, no, no." Yvain leaned forward and shook the male by his collar and shook his limp body, but it wasn't of any use. He was gone. She pulled back and scooted out of his pooling blood. The only civilized voice she had heard since the battle and now it was silent forever, unless one of those dammed necromancers had made it through unscathed but she was sure this place would already be flooded with zombies were that the case. Just one more dead dark elf. She didn't even know this ones name.

She sighed, rubbing her head, and took a look at that sword he had been so insistent about in his final moments. To her surprise she found it looking back. She jumped to her feet, slapping her hands over her mouth to keep her yelp from alerting any vicious murderers that happened to be lurking in these tunnels.

She held her pose and had a staring contest with the sword.

It blinked first.

She didn't think it knew they had been playing a game, but she was more confident now that she had beaten it.

Slowly, carefully, she reached down and laid her hand lightly on the blade. No burning. No immediate possession. She hadn't switched alignments, she didn't think. She picked up the sword, a genuinely magic sword. She had never held one anymore. Who was this guy that had been cut down in the dark that he would have a honest to gods magical sword? "Then again, it's not like it did him much good." She said, without even realizing she was speaking. She examined it, trying to find some sort of button or magic word carved somewhere that could activate it. "Maybe all it does is look at stuff?"

@Dark Light

@Gentlemanvaultboy


”A good artisan...
Never blames.
Hisss...
Sworrrd.”

A low whispered voice echoes in the drows head. The words long and drawn out, holding an almost defensive tone.
The sword, although short felt heavier than it appeared and the eye, while possessing no eyebrow or muscles around it, somehow still gave a judgemental condescending glare. Or was it just in her head?

”So, you think you can do better than... he did?” The sword hesitated, seemingly already forgetting its previous owners name or simply deeming him to unimportant to mention. Then it continued, its soft slow whisper absent of any commitment or vigor.

”Please go ahead, find vengeance, slay the wrong doer... Use me as a tool to deliver death. As was his dying wish.
That is only if you know how to do more than just stare at me? Or maybe all this one does is talk?”

The eye continued to stare, blinking twice in succession but then not again. Simply becoming unable to.

Oh crap, she had offended it.

More worrying was that the sword could be offended, and could share that information with her. She almost dropped it right then and there, letting it clatter to the floor and leaving it stranded in the dark until someone else stumbled along and found it. Something about it, thought, instead made her grip on the hilt tighten. Something incredibly familiar.

"I certainly can't do any worse than he did." She replied, trying to summon up some of that imperiousness that came so naturally to every other member of her family. She was sheriff around these parts now, if only because she had discovered her commanders brutally decapitated corpse. If there was a threat to the dungeon that was still her responsibility.

She glanced at the yawning mouth of the tunnel the other dark elf had disappeared into and gulped. "Right, lets go get this creep!" She said, pointing her new sword in its direction. She marched forward, discarding her torch and picking up the lantern along the way as she followed after him. Of course the branching paths of the Everdark were intentionally twisted and confusing. There was no guarantee that she would find her quarry. It was more likely that he was going to get lost, eaten by some desperate dungeon denizen, or starve to death walking in circles. There was no telling where they would be spit out.

"So," she started as she walked, making conversation just for the sake of hearing another voice. "Do you know why these guys are here? Was that guy always your master or did you get picked up along the way?"

@Dark Light

Phaid easily navigated through the twisting flooded caverns of the Everdark, years of practise clearly evident. For many generations now, the Bullywugs had lived among this submerged architecture, calling it their home, a place in the dungeon for only the frog-kin. Phaid was a proud Bullywug, viewing himself as an alpha among his clan, the rightful lord of these depths. As such he had no problem eating something without sharing it among his kin.

And that is exactly what he did as he leaped out of the water. A small rat had barely enough time to even squeak as Phaid opened his jaws, easily encompassing the rodent. With a loud crunch, Phaid broke the rat in half, his powerful jaws grinding it up enough so that he could swallow. With one last gulp, Phaid completely downed the rodent, sending it to his digestive track. Phaid then wiped away what little blood from his meal that had gotten on his face.

While Phaid always enjoyed the taste of rat meat, the one he had just consumed had been on the smaller end. The Bullywug did not feel full, his tongue salivating at the idea of having one more rat. Unfortunately, Phaid did not see anymore rats around the pool. With his one good eye, Phaid looked down the tunnel, the only light coming from some bio luminescent fungi that clung to the walls and glowed a bright blue. While he didn’t see anything dangerous, he did know that he was near the edge of his clan’s territory. But the primal feeling of hunger overtook Phaid, as he threw logic to the wind.

With wet steps, Phaid began walking down the tunnel. He figured that he would only be a few minutes, and that his clan would be safe without the protection of their Puddle Knight. But Phaid kept his short sword on himself just in case he wasn’t safe. With a hand kept on his blade’s hilt, Phaid left the familiar tunnels of his people and into the bigger part of the Everdark.

Phaid attempted to keep walking forward as he didn’t want to get lost. He had heard stories of Bullywugs who had travelled too far and were forever lost, dying from exhaustion unless the creatures of the dungeon got to them first. It was with those phantom creatures in mind that Phaid stopped when he heard a voice. The Bullywug quickly dropped to one knee and began to listen. Whatever was making that noise didn’t sound that large to Phaid, so he ruled out the worst possibilities like a troll or ogre.

But then Phaid thought of what if it was a smaller creature. He had heard tales of giant Bullywugs eating Kobold babies, apparently being a delicious meat. The thought of snacking on one was enough to cause Phaid to slowly approach the voice. As he got closer he saw a being who looked like a giant walking mushroom. Phaid knew of this creature, a gentle being who comes and goes. The mushroom was standing next to some kind of small furred animal wearing clothes, apparently the one who was speaking. Phaid didn’t know what to make of him, until he mentioned helping with ailments.

Even to a Bullywug, Phaid understood that as a code word for herbs and mixtures. While he wasn’t supposed to waste trade items for frivolous things, Phaid had in the past partaken in some psychedelic plants. It helped liven up Phaid’s mundane life. Deciding to be bold, Phaid approached the pair, his hand still on the hilt of his sword.

“Excuse me small mammal. Would you perhaps be selling the mind warping flower?” Phaid asked as he sized up the medicine man.

[Interactions with: @Moon Man @SleepingSilence]

"Stop broking webs! Then I helps! Scri'erk helps Survivors. No eat!"

Zarroy instinctively felt one of his hands twitch towards the webbing, much like a naughty child being told not to touch something in the toy aisle. Yet the golem calmed himself as he remembered his task. Isatar had painstakingly took way more time then necessary to try and ingrain the importance of survivors into his mana addled brain. Zarroy still standing tall despite Scri'erk more or less spraying more webbing onto his beautiful disaster nodded his head.

"I will be more careful. Sometimes your webs cover the entire walk way and I have no choice..."

Zarroy looked downward pouting like a small child who was trying to explain his point. It was during this conversation that Ginto cautiously gave Scri'erk a wide berth as she got to Zarroy as quickly as her small goblin legs could take her and leaped onto Zarroy's ankle and started to halfway climb and crawl up the golems rocky leg. Zarroy noticing her ascending his leg reached down and grabbed her between his thumb and index finger and set her on his shoulder.

Ginto brushed off her animal skin skirt and let out a relaxed sigh figuring herself out of reach of Scri'erk. "If you two have made peace can I suggest we get going?" The little goblin looked sadly at the Slumbering Lantern. "Nothing is alive here anymore and we need to keep looking." Zarroy pointed towards a path they had not been yet.

"I don't know that way...Check maybe?"

[intercting with @Birdboy]

-------

Interacting With: @Martian @Moon Man

The lesser demon immediately stepped in front of the camouflaged Spore. I can smell you coming... Dylirius thought in disgust, as he turned around to face the sword-wielding stranger. With his impulsive actions, likely to be perceived as defensive by the swordsman. From the way Dylirius presented himself, in his equally brazen approach toward the battle-savvy Bullywug. Especially, since he didn’t seem to have any visible weapon. Nor did his paws ever reach for the satchel that was carried on his backside. Being able to see the cat’s scrutinizing eyes and relaxed stance. Both suggesting that he relied heavily on his excellent agility and reflexes. Because how else could one interpret the friendly smile that Dylirius displayed shortly thereafter?

Either the medicine man believed that he could outrun a warrior—or he was simply unafraid of injury or death. At least, that was Dylirius’ best assumption of what was going through the foul-smelling toad’s head. Soon-to-be reminded of why he was frequently grinding and chewing on various pieces of fragrant herbs or flower petals. Not saying anything about how many times he bathed, in order to keep the Everdark’s stenches off of him. But there were still certain odors that his sensitive nostrils adjusted to quicker, and therefore tolerated much better than others. So sure, it might’ve seemed strange to be unaffected by the death and decay surrounding him. However, nothing was worse than the cruel scent of freshly-eaten meat guts.

Though he tried his damndest to appear friendly regardless. “Oh, I don’t require true payment from my fellow Everdark dwellers.” Dylirius declared in an upbeat tone. Sounding delighted to advertise himself to others—since he was very likely one of the newest creatures within the Everdark. Only known by anyone else here, for his effective treatments and boundless generosity. And he intended to keep it that way.

“Name’s, Dylirius.” The demon greeted, while briefly tipping his oversized hat toward the Bullywug. “And yes, I can provide you with that substance.” Dylirius confirmed, without as much build up as he was used to giving. Just in case his armed customer wasn’t so patient. “But I don’t have those precise ingredients on me now. So you’d have to wait here for a moment, and let me work.” Dylirius offered, with his paw casually extended. Not minding whether he had his hand shaken or not. “But I assure you that it would be most worth the wait. Sir-” Dylirius appealed with a pause, to get the stranger’s name. Using the prefix out of belief that his ilk would feel slighted, if it wasn’t used. Since the human knights were always obsessed over their worthless titles.

@Gentlemanvaultboy

There was a sound in Yvaine’s head that could only be described as a sigh. Beyond that the sword fell silent. Clearly not a conversationalist. Simply offering no reply until the dark elf seeming hesitated at an intersection.

”Left...” It said with a cold flat certainty.
”
Right

Right

Left...”
It continued to guide her down the tunnels, apparently aware of or seeing something she could not.

”Keep going.” it ushered.
”But try to be a bit more silent... If you must talk to the voices in your head, then at least try to appear sane and keep the conversation in your head.”

There was a slither of light amusement in the swords final words. Yvaine could almost somehow sense it smirking.

"You are-," Yvain started before quickly shutting her mouth. Instead she thought "You are a voice in my head" as she dutifully followed its directions. If it was going to be this difficult to get a conversation out of than it was just going to have to get cozy with the rest of the voices in there.

She wondered, momentarily, if the voice was even real and whether the shock of seeing her first company in weeks chopped down like a giant mushroom hadn't finally caused her to snap. If she was insane now, though, it was a better form of insane than whatever the person she was chasing had. She hoped that the sword, or whatever aspect of herself had splintered off and was speaking to her through the sword, knew where it was going. If it did, that probably meant she wasn't crazy.

Do you have a name at least? Swords that are magic tend to have names. At least, they do it all the operas.

@Dark Light

@Gentlemanvaultboy

”What is an opera? And just how many like me are kept there?” It replied with a seemingly genuine curiosity.
”
Right

Right again.
We are getting close”

The sword seemingly grew lighter in Yvain’s hand. At the same time it fell into a contemplative silence. What gave Yvain the idea that the sword was thinking, and if she was right to assume so, was just another of its many mysteries. A moment later it spoke again before she could get a word in.

”We don’t need titles. You don’t need to address me when you want to communicate, I hear all your thoughts and words anyway, and well, I can’t speak to anyone else so if you hear my voice it is safe to assume I am talking to you.”

“But....
what we’re the names of these other magic blades kept at the operas?”

Interacting with @Martian @SleepingSilence

After hearing his furry friend’s explanation, Spore looked at him with two large, unblinking eyes. “If… you… say… so…” It slowly pulled itself away from the wall. The Spore that Speaks wasn’t something that trusted so easily. Due to its nature it preferred to keep to itself yet the lesser demon somehow managed to prove its trustworthiness to the myconid. Perhaps it was due to their common interest of different types of fungus or the fact that Dylirius didn’t really care whether he got paralyzed or not.

It slowly shuffled its way forward, eyes darting around, obviously still alert. “Please… give… warning…next…time…” said the jittery myconid. It moved past Dylirius and started to tend towards the newly grown garden, making sure each part of the fallen dungeon dwellers and invaders were home to different types of fauna.

It was minding its own business when the sound of talking was heard. Turning around The Spore that Speaks could see Dylirius talking to something, or someone. Shuffling around a little bit it could see the source of the unfamiliar voice. It was a rather tall, green looking frog thing. One of the creatures who live in flooded parts of the Everdark. It looked quite tall and imposing with its build and scarred eye. Spore’s gaze moved down towards the visitor’s hip where there was a hand resting on shortsword. Memories of its kin and other dungeon dwellers being cut down by the invaders resurfaced.

“Danger…! Sword…!” It warned Dylirius through the use of spores. Without waiting for a reply, The Spore that Speaks quickly shook its large cap releasing a wave of bright yellow dust that quickly filled the entire room where it hung as though it was fog. It turned around and shuffled as fast as it could towards another exit.

Interacting With: @Martian

Dylirius found himself in a difficult situation. When he heard the Spore’s warning and didn’t have the chance to prevent an inevitable cloud of paralysis from enveloping his potential customer. Giving the lesser demon seconds to decide, if he wanted to get stuck alongside the soon-to-be cranky toad, or rush off to safety and leave the Bullywug to his fate. So that way he’d be able to come back and offer his assistance. Having the benefit of helping the warrior out of a dilemma—assuming he wasn’t too stubborn or angry to accept it.

On the other hand, if the Bullywug saw Dylirius fleeing the scene alone, and didn’t realize the myconid created these stunning spores in the first place…

Oh dear—I wish you wouldn’t have done that. Dylirius thought, before softly exhaling and opening his extended paw that was meant for a handshake. With enough quickness to focus on a particular herb stem, thinking about its rough feel and light green color, plus any extra details that he needed in order to perfect its creation. Thankfully, it was easier for Dylirius to use his herbal alchemy on things that he had grown familiar with. Yet another reason that he had put so many things inside of his mouth.

And I just replenished my mana earlier. Dylirius lamented, as his claw tips began to shimmer with a crimson red light. “Here stranger. Stick this in your mouth, and suck the juice out of its stem.” The cat insisted, while quickly inserting one of two long green leafy stems inside of his maw. Which somehow spawned inside his no-longer-glowing paw, right before the Bullywug’s eyes.

Holding out the other one for the Bullywug to take, just as the large area got completely covered. Able to bite down onto the stem tip and taste its bitter slime that soon coated his whole tongue. “That’ll let you speak and breathe without any trouble, as long as you keep it in there.” Dylirius elaborated, while still grinding the stem in-between his teeth. Though unless Phaid had already done what was said, and hadn’t tried to escape the burst of fog on his own. The toad could've had a bigger problem, than being unable to move for a few hours. Since it turns out that breathing in a haze of toxic spores—wasn’t the best thing for one’s lungs. Who knew?

In the dusty corpse ridden halls of Everdark's upper half, the trio would find no living survivors other than rodents and other vermin picking corpses clean of their flesh. Vinashy was unfortunately the only one with olfactory senses so the smell of pustulant rotting flesh assailed his nostrils, but it was nothing the blood ritualist couldn't handle.

Some bits and pieces of broken weapons littered the floors nearby the bodies, some had the irreparable vestige of armor clinging to their remains. But between the buzzing of flies suddenly came the sound of brisk and rapidly recedeing footsteps, whoever it was they were in a hurry to get away. It sounded like whoever or whatever the footfalls belonged to were anxious to flee to the deeper portion of the dungeon.