The brute stays silent during their descent, focusing instead on his senses, trying to ignore the sound of their own steps while taking in whatever else could be heard. While the dim lighting obscures the smallest details, it doesn't take an owl to notice the crumbling wall in front of them. Lyun steps right up to it, sparing no time.

Ashür: "Right. . . Get moving, nice and slow." Ashür recommends, though the tip of his curved blade pointing forth, about half the distance toward their captive's back, was all the recommendation that Gesties needed. The bandit turns his head back toward the others, "If screams echo through the hall, we'll know where the danger is." He adds with a crooked smile before taking off cautiously behind the other merc.

Gesties: "We'll see who'll be screaming. . ." The bald man grumbles, hefting his own heavy sword ahead as he takes the most gentle steps he could manage between the cracked ground and lack of light. Yet all things considered, the air was dead quiet.

Only the faintest glimmers of light from outside managed to make its way down the twisting tunnels and into this small chamber. Around him, pressed uncomfortably close for the cavalryman's tastes, were the silent brute Lyun, the priest, and Sirus. Uncomfortable, Zarif kept glancing over his shoulder, gripping his bow height in one hand, his other constantly drifting towards his quiver at his side.

Damnit Salador... I dont feel like a whole man without you. I feel so exposed down here on the ground. The merchant thought to himself, as he glanced back for the hundredth time. He's been forced to tie his dromedary, his lifelong companion, up outside the entrance to the tunnels. He sent a silent prayer out to the distant gods of his homeland to keep his friend safe in his absense.

Zarif was snapped back to reality as Lyun, brutishly effective as always, and having identified a weakness in the wall, drove his axe directly into the bricks, nearly toppling the wall in one swing. The merchant whistled at his strength joking, and drove his longspear point first into one of the floor bricks, easily finishing the heavily damaged structure off

Etor: "Hey Kastalus try to stay close by. You wouldn't want to yeeked while we aren't looking."

Etor was in pretty good spirits. Everyone was close by doing their own thing and as etor progressed he notice a structure by Ashur.

Etor: "This place is pretty dark. Wonder what this place used to be.
Whatever it was it's pretty run down now. I think some of these walls could crumble at any given moment. "

The older man merely nodded, though rather ambivalently toward the young mercenary's words. Taking a few steps alongside them in the dark.

Kastilus: "I've naught to worry, not with your able band at my behest." For once the scholar manages to break his stony guise and muster a smile at the side of his lip. Imposing himself between the bandit and Etor himself, Kastilus inspects the rising pillars and brickwork, alongside their innumerable pictograms before replying to the boy in kind, "They speak of this Ziggurat in Zagros as one of the original cradles of civilization in days long gone. Of three equal parts, a place of governance, a place of worship, and thirdly of most interest to me, a tomb." His words are punctuated with various carven images deep in the cracked sandstone.

Kastilus: "Not of kings or men, but rather of a symbol. Clay tablets discovered in a ruin at Uruk name this as the resting place of the Crook of Dumuzid, a great lugal before the first Dynasty of Kish whose reign of ten sars brought unity to the people these lands, a unity unlike that of our current šar-kiššati. . ." The man sighs, he does not hold his tongue in the presence of the Hellions, though few would speak out against the Emperor. "Regardless, I've secured your pay in hopes to see Lugal Dumuzid's implement of rule with my own old eyes, you see."

Siris had been patiently waiting for his allies to break down the wall, but the instant it crumbled before them so too did his patience.

Siris: Charge!!! Follow me!

He quickly runs past Lyun and makes an abrupt turn to the left with his shield out. Shortly after there's a loud noise as Siris's shield and face impact into the wall.

He rubs his face with his sword-hand attempting to fruitlessly lessen the stinging sensation

Siris: Gah!! What the hell! Guys this is just a dead-end.

As the disgruntled Scorpion is hurried forth by the edge of Ashür's blade, a curdling cry echoes from yonder bleak hall, bouncing back and forth from obelisk to obelisk. And with it, just as Gesties careens his head northwards, a sharpened spike, coated in Zuzu-knows what filth darts toward him, catching the merc through his abdomen which only elects another cry, pained and sharp to bounce through the crumbling rubble.

Gesties: "D-Damn!" He cries out, a deep red stain swelling around that purple cloak of his. With a mighty swing back, his own gleaming bronze cuts deep into the blue beast's rubbery hide.

Gesties wastes no time, clutching that thoroughly pain-stricken side of his and pushing his way past the bandit behind him, too on edge to stop the merc. He bumbles further, past Kastilus, Etor, and Makeen too. "You damn Hellion bastards are gonna get me killed. . ." He growls.

Without a chance to retort any more than a riled grimace, Ashür fills the space that Gesties left for him, weaving that curved blade past the outstretched spike into the Yeek's throat.

Ashür: "On your guards, another lurks in the shadow!" He calls back, "Make no unnecessary moves."

The sounds of battle, muffled as they may be by the walls between the two groups, urge everyone to get a move on. Lyun steps up to the wall, once again, gripping his axe with both hands.

Etor: " Right. You paid us for a job and that's what we're here for. Now if you'll excuse me I must be getting to work at the task at hand."

Etor moves past kastilus and around Ashur into the darkness. The sounds of jagged breathing help coordinate the position of the yeek. Once he encounters the scrappy beast he hears a wall break down some distance away.

Etor: "No surprise but there's definitely more yeeks here. "

The young spearman attacks the yeek but the darkness aids the blue bastard as the gnarled spear lunges at etor.

Another room, another crumbling wall, which Lyun promptly took another swing at. With his massive body blocking anyone else from getting a good shot at the door, Zarif once again poked the wall with his longspear, sending it tumbling down like the last one.

After regaining his composure, Siris turned and saw his allies once again working on breaking down another wall. As he walked closer the wall fell and he could hear the sounds of fighting coming from outside.

Siris: Charge again!!!

He pushes himself in between Etor and Lyun and ran to where he heard fighting. He saw two figures fighting with spears, making it hard to distinguish between the two. As he got closer the one on his right seemed much more humanoid, so he was decently sure that the one on his left was a yeek; although not sure but it was a “risk” he was willing to take.

Siris: Die you bastard!!

Although Siris made a lot of noise both going through the wall, running, and yelling, the yeek couldn’t change his focus without getting a fatal blow from the spearman. When Siris reached striking range the yeek tried to quickly turn to stab him, but a quick deflection with a blade sealed its fate.

Before the yeek could reposition itself Siris used the sword once again while still running to quickly stab the yeek under its chin, causing the blade to come out through it’s head thus killing the creature instantly.


Siris: Haha! Victory is once again mine.

As he lowers his weapon and the yeek slides off, he turned to see what seemed to be the rest of his allies nearby.

Siris: Ah, hello friends. Looks like we met up again quickly!

Gesties breaths are ragged, yet the look of death wasn't quite yet in his squinting eyes. Even were it not the case, the incantations of the young thief manage to staunch the Scorpion's bleeding, and reknit the flesh below his hides.

Gesties: "Well well. . ." He wheezes, "Never thought I'd see the day a Hellion looked after one of Shůlaar's." He doesn't allow the moment to dwell though, standing up tall once more albeit with a dull pain in his chest, "What's more surprising. . . A vagrant kid like you can call upon the Divine Language." The man huffs, though his words were somewhat harsh, there was a clear intrigue at the very least. Again, not searching for a specific response, he heads off, filling in the spot between the bandit and their employer, his own blade now dangerously close to Ashur's back, feeling the pull to plunge it therein. Though cooler heads prevail.

The god of crystalline glass and their great incants flood the halls through the voice of the vice-captain Iddin-Ninshubar. As the priest positions himself for the inspiration of the Hellions, a momentary glance in the bleak shade abaft pry both his eyes and ears wide open -- counter prayers in a language foul and detestable, Zuug-Agbliish, the Petrified God's hand has not been withdrawn from the Zagrosian Yeeks just yet. A pair of spears fill in the choke just beside Iddin, drawn on by primitive religious fervor, one strikes true, catching him with a deep wound from the gnarled branch.

After felling the first of their quarries, Siris and moreso Etor steel themselves, the patter of slick feet against the brickwork below is too obvious to ignore, even over their spiritual leader's agony. Another pair of the blue beasts come into sight, one reaching the young spearman to strike, just barely, the boy wrenches up his own armament to parry. Only then are the pair of young mercs' attentions drawn even further on, a bellowous cry ripples through the cramped halls, mighty footfalls herald the coming of a prodigious foe -- A hulking figure the likes of Lyun's stature, warty skin draped over ever too large a skeleton, dyed crimson perhaps for the Scorpions it'd slain before. A Red Yeek charges into the fray, nearly unable to fit its frame in the antediluvian structure, hefting a mighty axe, scraping along the stones as it goes.

The god of crystalline glass and their great incants flood the halls through the voice of the vice-captain Iddin-Ninshubar. As the priest positions himself for the inspiration of the Hellions, a momentary glance in the bleak shade abaft pry both his eyes and ears wide open -- counter prayers in a language foul and detestable, Zuug-Agbliish, the Petrified God's hand has not been withdrawn from the Zagrosian Yeeks just yet. A pair of spears fill in the choke just beside Iddin, drawn on by primitive religious fervor, one strikes true, catching him with a deep wound from the gnarled branch.

After felling the first of their quarries, Siris and moreso Etor steel themselves, the patter of slick feet against the brickwork below is too obvious to ignore, even over their spiritual leader's agony. Another pair of the blue beasts come into sight, one reaching the young spearman to strike, just barely, the boy wrenches up his own armament to parry. Only then are the pair of young mercs' attentions drawn even further on, a bellowous cry ripples through the cramped halls, mighty footfalls herald the coming of a prodigious foe -- A hulking figure the likes of Lyun's stature, warty skin draped over ever too large a skeleton, dyed crimson perhaps for the Scorpions it'd slain before. A Red Yeek charges into the fray, nearly unable to fit its frame in the antediluvian structure, hefting a mighty axe, scraping along the stones as it goes.