Well, and here she thought both were on equal footing.
After some dramatic lifting, the bear was thrown away like a potato sack and collided with a summonsed undead that Solomon had conjured from God knows when. The specter's reaction to his summoning was equally boastful, befitting his masculine voice and a full set of armor. Knight in... err ghostly armor? Good thing he didn't seem as difficult as his mannerism suggest.

--until Cedar grab the guy and avenged the throw-away he received earlier to an unrelated bystander. Well, at least it closes the gap between them.

Jazdia did not have enough attention to see the aftermath of their little game of undead ping-pong, her eyes caught a silhouette of an elderly man entering the room.

"Got a crooked ol' conjuror inna room!"

"Yeah, I can see that."

Like the previous unexpected guests, this particular wizard pranced into the battlefield with an equally prideful boast as his big lackey was. Only less swaggering and more pompous. A quick ultravision on that wizard revealed a copious amount of magical nodes, probably coming from artifacts with unknown properties. As for Ragnar, the magical aura was more uniform and intense.

So that explained his immense durability. Even when having one of his legs bent like a crooked branch, the man didn't seem bothered. The arrow was still lodging there, and she had imagined its glowing head would burn inside the man's neck-- cauterizing the wound. Wait.. did she miss his jugular? Or was the enchantment so sophisticated it was able to ignore physics?

The fatigue in her eyes did not allow Jazdia to activate her ultravision right now, unless if she was willing to pay the price. Didn't matter! The enemy was here, and she had enough power to demolish the entire tower if she needs to. Drawing another fully enchanted arrow, Jazdia aimed at the wizard.

"Hold it right there, not one incantation or you will see hell! You don't want me to be your enemy!"

And there she was, joining the trend involving conspicuous remarks and prideful one-liners.

Kaito smiled as he saw how Yvonne sended the big dude flying. The fox was still hidden well within the illusionary fake walls and the giant advisory did not seem to be able to see through the illusions at all. However his insane durability was certainly a drag. Even having its leg torn and an arrow in his neck did not seem to bother the guy at all. He either was some weird creature or greatly enhanced by magic. However, judging from the fact that he did not even seem to notice the illusions and utter lack of other magical properties displayed, the kitsune deduced that the enhancements would likely come from some external source, like that wizard that just entered the room.

Jazdia seemed to be in a talkative mood, considering that she did not immediately put an arrow through the white bearded man’s head. However Kaito did not share his boss's judgment regarding not immediately ending the old man’s life. In the fox’s book, wizards are a drag as they often have ways to mitigate his illusions. Unlike the big beefy dude, the Kitsune considered the old man a serious threat.

Suddenly four Kaito’s came rushing out of the fake illusionary walls, attacking the old man from four different directions. Three of them were illusionary. The first illusion came in from the left and went for the wizard’s head. The second illusion came in from behind and stabbed towards the heart. The last illusion came in from the front with an attack towards the throat. All these illusions had one purpose, to draw the man’s defenses away from the real target that Kaito was going for. As the fox rushed forwards, drew his sword and in one smooth motion slashed towards the hand holding the staff in an attempt to cut it clean off.

[GM Post]

"There's no need to be uncouth now, is there?" Asevor scoffed dismissively at the bear, his attention diminishing as other, more pressing matters presented themselves. That one's... not bad, for a hedge mage, but nowhere near enough for a mage of his caliber to take on seriously.

Next, the elf. A smidgen more polite, this one, in the gruff soldiery-type ways. Brimming with magic too, shame that she took the martial path. Well, no matter. It's only proper to reply, for communication was the sign of civilized men. Even if they're still going to try kill each other the very next moment.

"Unfortunately my honor cannot allow me to comply with that, eternal one. So let's do our best and see who comes on top, shall we?" Grey eyes flickered toward the latest addition, the disdain almost palpable as eye contacts was established with the original Kaito. The free hand extended, dismissively flicking in the fox's direction akin to shooing a persistent fly. "I dislike interruptions."

A plain grey ring lit, forming a relatively simple tesselated pattern that erupted with pure force - throwing Kaito back, the sensation akin to getting punched by air turned solid.

On the other side, Ragnar met the thrown Tempest with a wild bellow of laughter even as the battleaxe bit deep into a muscled arm. Little droplets of blood sprayed from the impact, way too little for a wound that went deep enough to reach bone. The two bruisers clashed there, the man steadily overpowering the undead, hint of crimson slowly tinting the air around him.

"Must I do everything around here?"

A leatherbound book floated out of an inner pocket, hovering in front of Asevor as the pages flipped rapidly. The arrow was shot, yet as it neared the trajectory swerved wildly before impacting the floor a few feet in front of the elderly mage. Another arrow from the vampiress fell to the same fate, clattering powerlessly onto the stone floor. Unconcerned by the projectiles, he traced multiple times to form a glowing tesseract that shot and merged into Ragnar's being.

"Gaster's Mandate of Impetuous Strife should fit someone like you, now do your job. And try not to maul the baron in the process, he still have his uses."

He didn't even finished the sentence when the balance broke, the northlander momentarily blurred before punching Bartholomew hard enough to dent his chest plate. Yvonne's attempted to attack the brute while he's busy, but her strike went astray and missed the heart from the sudden burst of speed. A backhand caught her before she fully retreated, the woman bounced twice over before managing to kill the momentum.

"I feel POWERFUL! Where have you been all my life, old man? Gahahahahaha!" Pearls of blood floated in the gash of Ragnar's arm, slowly pulling itself together until only a jagged red line was visible. Shin broken inward, an arrow in his neck, and a sword sticking into his back and out of the front, he's completely unfazed as he stomped forward to pummel the Tempest some more.

To Cedar's newfound detection, the two figures glowed brightly with magic albeit at different form. The brute of a man was a self-contained cycle of vigorous energy, the sheer amount of mana coursing through him only a fraction weaker than the old man beside. It pulsed alongside the heartbeat, the injured spots slightly brighter than the rest as the magic slowly leaked out of those pinpoint locations. The buff from the old mage ran like electric current within Ragnar's stream of energy, a simple yet effective method to boost his already heightened physical capabilities.

Meanwhile, Asevor was like a deep well that kept his magic inward, only a few tendrils connected to the various bright stars of enchanted objects that he wore - a ring on each finger, three different necklaces, the book, and finally the cane being the brightest of the lot. Another tendril temporarily snaked out of his fingers as he traced the tesseract before the pool stilled again, the old man in near-perfect control of his magical side.

"Gah- ow! Godspit, now I'm pissed off!"

Everything hurts, and Yvonne gained a newfound hatred toward wizards. She had squared up with Ragnar before. Several times. Bastard was resilient as a cockroach, but he's not quite that powerful. Or fast. Yeah, normal people wouldn't stand a chance, but she ain't exactly normal. She's perfectly capable of overpowering him for a few moment, usually enough to land a crippling blow before disengaging. Crippling enough that even some new conscripts would have no issue staying away from his grubby hands.

"Can anyone cut off his leg? Stab him through the heart maybe? That'll slow him down quite a bit." She could hardly believe the words coming out of her own mouth, but that's the plain unpleasant truth. "Or cave his head in, if you can. That's the only part the bastard ever bothered to protect."

Scrambling to her feet, Yvonne wiped the blood going down her eyes as she reached for the decorative weapon rack. The... billhook will do just fine. It's actually quite well-made, if looking old. Probably older than her, if she had to hazard a guess. It'll work just fine.

Hopefully.

This was intolerable. That old man had more magic inside him than should normally be feasible or safe.

(He probably farts actual sparkles.) He grumbled inwardly, as he ripped the curtain down from the window and looked outside, specifically to see how far down the ground was.

Thankfully, being on the ground floor, the window's hight inside was only just a tiny bit different from the height outside: about 3ft-- just barely enough to touch claws on the ground outside. He chuckled-- the old codger wants to use magic indoors does he? Well, two can play that game.

He scooped out a small pinch of what was inside his seed pouch, not having much time to carefully pick and choose, given the escalating chaos going on inside, then bent over as far as he could with his right arm through the window to scratch them in and give them some juice. He'd have to try manually controlling their growth from inside the dining hall, once they were up and through the window.

He doubted his ability to just overpower this old fart. This would be more like trying to overpower his old man back home, and that was like fighting the whole forest at once, the kind of magic his dad could tap into. He was limited here by what his own body could naturally produce in a day, unless he could set up and use a harmonized planting to expand his pool, or set up semi-permanent effects to keep the old bastard busy with.

He grumbled under his breath, and wondered about growing the vines further out, and away from the keep to where he had set up such plantings the night before... it would be tiring to send the vine tendrils that far on his own, but once they were in the right areas, he could tap them through said vines, allowing him to better control them indoors...

Maybe he could weaponize them against the old coot, and just drain the old man's energies directly? Surely he'd have to be overwhelmed other ways first before that could be effective? Maybe different kinds of vine could be leveraged in a makeshift way, without the benefit of better selection or planning?

He had 'cucumbers', 'passion fruit', 'greenbier', grapevine, and 'brier rose bush'.

Cucumber and passion fruit would make a good place to 'dump' magic.. they would bear quickly and prodigiously. Grape and greenbrier were woody.. the latter being weedy and spawling, the former slower growing but tougher and deep rooted... then the rosebushes. Bushy, perennial, woody and resilient. He wished he had some acorns, or some deciduous tree seeds, like elm, hackberry, maple, or locust... ash, or yew would be good too, but he would really have to be outside for that...

His reverie was interrupted by the tempest suddenly getting its ass kicked. Whatever he had to do here, he had to do it quickly.

Maybe if, instead of being carefully planted, the vined could be carefully positioned? Alter the resonance in the room, and passively drain magic outside?

It was worth a shot...

He dumped a nearly unsafe amount into the mix of haphazardly sown seeds, causing a small explosion of greenery to erupt and spread. Roots tangled together haphazardly until he redirected and ordered their growth so they wouldn't compete (as much). Greenbrier roots tunnelled through the ground sending up little leafy stems here and there, before worming underneath the wooden wall of the palisade, and toward the east. That side had the most sunlight this early, and he hoped enough of the harmonized planting remained to tap into... he'd need it to complete this plan without popping a bloodvessel from trying too hard...

One can be forgiven for thinking that Jazdia's tendency to give ample warning before escalating the situation stemmed from her elven heritage that value lives whenever possible, but no. It was actually for her own benefit; it was easier to kill when you know the enemy deserved it and yet refuses to make a better call. Call it reckless, injudicious, or exploitable weakness, she did not care, it was a hell lot easier to sleep with more bruises than a dent in her conscience.

Kaito, however, being her closest associate in this sorties apparently did not share a similar code of honor. Three illusionary copies of him joined the effort with his real self to attack the old man from four different directions but then got repelled easily as he conjured an invisible force to shield himself and knock the incoming fox away with its backlash.

For the record, Kaito started it, triggering a premature engagement that the mage himself had already made clear that would only prolong this banter and the fight has to happen anyway.

The arrow released as naturally as it was a breathing motion. An immediate answer for the wizard's refusal to reconsider his stance on this impertinent action of ruining a good breakfast and high treason. To respond to that feedback, his book sprang to life and deflected the arrow, then some more others that came subsequently.

The arrow landed a mere meter away from the wizard's foot, but he turned to his subordinate instead, sparing some words to berate him before sending forth a doping spell. While the arrow was ignored as if it was a mere failure; an elegant way to mock Jazdia's magical aptitude and deem it unworthy of attention.

The violet luster on that arrow was never intended to steal attention, it was, in fact, a side effect that Jazdia would be more than happy to get rid of. But that was how it was. And it glowed even brighter now before a small eye contact from Jazdia's violet eyes triggered its magical fuse.

As the fire and dust and crystalized fragment erupted violently on the floor in front of the wizard, Jazdia prepared another arrow and have it enchanted with explosive command.

---

Asevor. Now everything made sense. Or at least, the mystery behind the magic securing the keep. The deflection of Veronica’s scry attempts, the detection and eradication of Solomon’s shadows, any other attempts to look inside, Asevor was probably behind it. Solomon didn’t know much about the wizard beyond that he was paranoid to a fault, preparing for even more unlikely situations or encounters. Strange it was to see him here, meddling in Kindeance affairs. Given how most of the baron’s men were still slumbering if knocked unconscious from the multiple blasts, it would be safe to assume that Asevor was using the baron as a pawn. More so, the likelihood that the illusory wall would be of much further benefit diminished considerably.

Solomon used the distraction provided by both Kaito’s ambush and his own boasting to cast another spell. Energy went into the ground and the earth began to stir again. From the very mound Bartholomew had emerged three other figures. Somehow held together despite lacking muscle or ligament, three complete skeletons arranged themselves. Bones yellowed with age and scratched as time progressed, their only other defining feature was an ominous purple glow from within their eye sockets. Each claimed a weapon lying around, two with swords, and one a pike. The each went after Asevor. Though they may be knocked down, even knocked apart, should enough of the bone remain unbroken, the skeletons would continuously reassemble and resume unrelenting. Despite their undeath, these skeletons were no more brittle than that of any of the other combatants.

In the meantime, Bartholomew was being pushed back by unarmed blows from the now buffed Ragnar. Even with a body of pure steel, with one blow there was an imprint of of his fist embedded within the chest piece. The sudden increase in strength did not deter the tempest, but he was startled by it.

“Steel verse steel.” is all Bartholomew said as he attempted to strike back. The ball of fire he had for a head flared as his resolve rose. His metal gauntlets tightened around the shaft of the axe as the tempest swung the axe with a twist of his torso. At that time, Solomon cast Dagger Hold on the barbarian. The man beast’s strength alone would mean Dagger Hold would fail almost as quickly as it was cast, but it should stop all movement for the split second for Bartholomew’s axe to cleave the already injured leg. Solomon hoped his timing would match. If he was successful, the spell should also do some considerable damage akin to charging through a wall of knives, and he’d experience actual pain for the first time in this fight as the final aspect of the spell.

[GM Post]

A crisp crack could be heard a split second after the concussive blast of the explosion rocked the room, momentarily obscuring Asevor from sight. The force knocked the baron off his chair, the rotund man tumbled to the floor right on the path of the two juggernauts that took to the shockwave in the same manner a boulder took a gust of wind. He sputtered awake and stared wide-eyed at the unstoppable force coming his way... and somehow the two managed to step around and past the oversized roadblock right he wasn't there at all.

It would'be be quite comical, should there be any unrelated onlooker left in the room.

"Wha- What's going on here?!" Then the gravity of the situation hits him. "MY HALL! BY THE OLD GODS, MY HALL!"

"Return upstairs if you value your life, would you kindly?"

As the dust settled emerged Asevor, not a hair out of place nor a speck of dust on his attire. A flickering layer of bluish white light covered his entire being, for what wizard would leave their tower without an emergency measure or three? He looked more annoyed than anything, glancing down to the cracking and crumbling gemstone on one of his rings. That wasn't cheap, but oh well. Money and material can be earned back. Life, not so much.

The aged wizard surveyed the room again. Magic source... several. The bear was there, doing some druidic mischief by the window. The fox, still where he last left him but the illusion wasn't going away yet. And finally, the summoner- no, necromancer. His eyes narrowed at the rising dead. Even he could be overwhelmed with sheer number, sooner or later. But as the skeletons approached, Asevor allowed himself a slight smile.

He would not be outnumbered just yet.

With a valiant shout the mercenaries finally arrived, a motley crew of men from north to south spilling into the room like a tide of steel. They took one glance at Ragnar's duel before shrugging and forming rank, shieldbearers forward while spearmen and arbalesters filled the back rank. The second the last man stepped off, Baron Otto and the remaining servants immediately took flight and disappeared into the stairs.

"You lot, keep them occupied."

His book flipping to a different page, Asevor began tracing yet another tesseract as the crossbowmen opened fire.

Meanwhile, two coincidences cancelled each other out to create a favorable outcome. On one hand, the prediction that Ragnar felt no pain could not be any further from the truth. The northlander was perfectly aware of every injury, yet he relished in the sensation as if he's only truly alive when riddled with wounds. On the other hand, he was protective of his eyes. His instinctual reaction to the sudden, all-encompassing piercing sensation was to close the ocular organs, but that momentary blindness bought enough time for the axe to bite deep. Through the already broken shin it went, hewing through the leg bone before exiting to the other side.

Barely a strip of skin and flesh were left connecting the limb, yet it wasn't a time to rejoice. Striking so low with a two-handed grip left Bartholomew open for the vengeance act, Ragnar latching onto the armored undead in a tight grapple where the axe had no room to swing. The burly man flexed, metal groaned as he slowly crumpled the Tempest like a can made out of tin.

Back to the other end of the room, the explosion had woken up not only the baron but also Chounan and Reinhold. The former immediately prove his worth as he stood and deflected all the projectiles coming his general direction, while the latter... was doing his best. Not far away was Veronica and Matilda, the vampire covering for the orc as she also intercepted the incoming bolts without even looking directly at them.

When her arrow exploded, Jazdia could sense something breaking from the wizard itself. She activated her eyes and saw one of his glowing artifact crumble and disintegrate, and what remains was the expanded glow that encased himself before it too faded into thin air.

All that to guard a single arrow, and the wizard obviously didn look happy with that revelation. Even more so if he could count the number of flethed shaft jutting out of Jazdia quiver and the amount of energy she has and regenerated.

Anyway, the crews were here. By the wizard's order they immediately worked on to 'keep them occupied' and how they would do that was by forming ranks and setting up a firing line.

Before a bolt could be fired, a glowing arrow flew across the table and harmlessly stabbed one of the guard's shield. Predictable, and they should have laughed, but the arrow only gave them one second before blasting the formation with fiery explosion.

While the explosion claimed several of them and disoriented a few more, the crew on the right side of the formation returned fire. Jazdia leaped to the right and take cover behind the table. Leaving the stray projectile to the gentleman behind her.

She could hear several twang and thunds and all bolts had been masterfully deflected, and the one responsible for such art was none other than Chonan.

The arrow enchanted in no time, while the arbalesters were cowering behind their shieldguards, occupied themselves with reloading their inelegant wooden bolt launchers in fear.

Lurea was already aimed and ready to sing.

Jazdia kept her finger holding the string for now, however. She had two options; either to continue decimating the formation, or blast the damn wizard some more. She picked neither and called out loud. "Baron! We are here for a certain prince you have been unlawfully held hostage in this tower. Leave this room and you will be the enemy of the state-- no, your doom will come a way sooner! We will not leave this keep without any brick unturned. I'm only three fingers away from turning this ordeal into a complete bloodbath. But if you willing order your men to stend down and let us do our job, I guarantee you we can work this out. Make your choice!"

[GM Post]

The baron paused at the bottom of the stairs, the words from the herald bringing his doubts into surface. Was it truly the best outcome? He had chosen after much deliberation, yet the spectre of doubt never quite went away. If he turned to have made the wrong choice then his lineage might very well ends, but still. Was there even a choice at all, in the first place?

No matter. The die is cast.

"Do you want to see them again, Otto von Kruber?" Asevor quipped, his words laced with annoyance. "Up. Now."

Otto sighed, turning to look back to Jazdia's distant figure. He shook his head once before resuming his pace.

"These are not my men, miss Crystalspark."

The elf sighed. Her fingers held the bowstring tightly as she added additional draw and released the arrow with impunity. It whistled past the henchmen, and the Baron himself and ended its trajectory on the magically reinforced wall near the spiral wooden stairs. The wall survived the blast, but the same could not be said for the stairs, or the Baron.

Another arrow nocked, and the encroaching glow on its head blared like a prelude to an impending carnage. The surviving henchmen were still there, and some of them were ready to fire their crossbows frantically.

They had to be eliminated first.

And thus, the arrow released.

A sudden wall of force struck the fox as he tried to attack the old wizard, sending him flying across the great hall, crashing in one of the turned over seats and bumping his head against the ground. For a moment Kaito felt dizzy, as if the world was spinning around him. Nauseous from the blow he tried to pick himself up from the ground only to feel a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder. Looking at it the kitsune noticed something was stuck right in there. A sharp metal bolt that was shot by one of the crossbowmen. This was certainly turning out to be a bad day.

Bleeding from the back of his head and with a crossbowbolt stuck in his shoulder Kaito stood up again, sheeted his sword and sighed. ”Pfff, That is why I hate wizards, they are such a pain in the ass. Guess I’ll go bloody murder him and his cronies now. Spoke the fox rather agitated.

As Kaito pulled out the crossbow bolt from his shoulder he retreated into the fake wall. The fox was pretty sure those mildly annoying henchmen could not see through the fake wall but that stupid ass wizard most definitely could see through his illusions, something that infuriated the kitsune.

But as long as those henchmen were around getting close to the old fart would be difficult. He needed a plan and for the moment he assessed the situation. There was the annoying wizard, a whole bunch of crossbowmen, the big dude hugging the dead guy, a really long wooden table, lots of spilled food and chairs all over the place. Cedar's chair was pretty close.

That big guy was rather interesting. He was powerful but it was clear from the way he acted and spoke that much of his strength came from the wizard. Another interesting thing about Ragnar was that the only place of his body he had been actively shielding was his eyes. Kaito guessed that if there was any body part of him vulnerable, then it would be his eyes. All the kitsune needed was to keep the crossbowmen just distracted long enough for him to close the distance.

Kaito dashed towards Cedar’s chair and hurled it towards the wizard. While the improvised projectile was in mid air it suddenly multiplied into a dozen chairs that all went flying towards the different crossbowmen. As this all happened the Kitsune jumped on the table and dashed towards the hugging Ragnar, stabbing towards his eye.

The hall was in complete pandemonium. Crossbow bolts sung and whizzed past him, as he did his best to hug the wall. The false illusion in the room had not been dispersed, and the soldiers must not have seen him by the window, or they would surely have pincushioned him quite forcefully.

Moments later, the elf woman issued a challenge at the Baron, who was fleeing toward the exit at the back behind the absurdly dressed old man and his one-legged stooge. The man ignored her, seemingly in terror about the threats of the wizard, and very shortly after, she converted him and many of the crossbowmen into steaming piles of shredded meat with more of her explosive arrows.

This was the first time he had ever seen humans being killed like this. He did not like it at all.

(Focus Cedar... Focus!)

He drew on the thin trickle of power he could slurp through the vines he had guided out into the field outside the palisade, then directed it into the rag-tag assemblage of plants he had scratched into the dirt just outside the window; his body still hugging the wall miserably, with his arm stuck out of it-- fingertips barely touching the ground.

A small hedge of sturdy wild roses spread haphazardly as he carefully entwined the root system of the greenbrier with theirs, letting the slow trickle get slowly absorbed by them. They were not the 'best' to use for this-- something sturdier, like a copse of elm trees, with their natural root sharing properties, would have been far superior--- but this is what he had, and it was what he had to work with. Lovely green vines spread out on the courtyard bearing little yellow flowers, and lovely purple ones accompanied them, clinging delicately from the exterior, where they snaked up the wall on either side of the window.

Next, he needed to do something about that stupid old fuck-- who had just backhanded the small fox man like he was nothing. The latter proceeding to unleash a hail of illusory benches at the one legged ruffian still grappling with the flame headed conjuration, then pressing an attack on same...

He was feeling tired-- This much growth magic, this fast, using little more than his own reserves was not a fun experience. ... Especially after having not slept, and having to 'skip' breakfast.

A smouldering ire burned in his belly along with the gnawing hunger-- the audacity of using food in this way! If that old fuck was behind this, he'd get a right whoopin' for sure.

He hoped the little 'insurance' he had just sewn outside would be sufficient to nitpick the old coot while the next phase of his plan slowly wore away the old man's reserves, much as his own were getting drained. With any luck, the old man would pass out first.

He took a deep breath, then took the plunge on enacting that plan--

Grape vines dug deep into the soil, seeking deeper water supplies to use than the shallower rooting plants they were struggling to share with at the surface, then coiled in through the window, up the wall, grappled and sent small streamers down from the ceiling, then coiled down the opposite wall in a wide, diagonally coiling advance up the room, before ducking beneath the table, and resuming the slow circuit, moving steadily toward the exit to the stairs, and the old man at the egress.

He did not have time to waste-- The coiling tendril he was guiding needed to branch out-- fill all the space on the walls, ceiling and floor- leave no gap where any outside energy could get in--

Smaller shoots branched off the sides of the larger one, covering the whole room in green, as the main shoot rapidly grew a thick woody bark as it thickened and fattened under his exertion. The ones near the feet of the remaining foot soldiers slithered like vipers around their feet and legs, continuing their coiling around bodies and arms while they were distracted by the false flying benches soaring at them.

He new better than to try and ensnare the wizard at this time-- He needed to really reinforce and imbue the 'cage' first-- Let the old man think he is not the target by distracting with the hired help first. Let his obvious hubris be his undoing. If he attacked that way first, the old man would likely effortlessly burn the whole room in retaliation, and ruin the entire plan. No, it needed time to work magic in a subtle way like this...

---

Along with the rubble of wood and stone from the blast of the explosive arrow was the clatter of bone as the three skeletons got caught in the blast. The order for the crossbowmen to fire wasn’t much concern for them, but it was for Solomon. As the men lined their fire, Solomon became incorporeal hid among the multitude of shadows. He wouldn’t escape Asevor for long if at all in this form, but the men relying on martial weapons would be useless. Whatever Asevor was planning could not be good. Solomon saw him stay behind the foot soldiers, relying on them for cover as well to prepare his next spell. Another tesseract. Solomon did not know what it would entail, but Solomon would not be able to deal with it without opening himself up. It might be too late, and he’d have revealed himself at the moment of casting.

After several moments of dialog between Solomon’s party, the Baron, and Asevor, the clatter of bone continued again. Just as quickly as they were scattered, the bones began to align themselves as three fully formed skeletons assembled just before the line of foot soldiers that remained. Two of them were able to reclaim a weapon, a sword and pike, but the third continued weaponless. They were focused on Asevor, stepping through the newly formed break in line created from Jazdia’s explosion.

As for Solomon’s tempest friend, he seemed to be in quite a bind, literally. Despite succeeding in amputating the enchanted brute’s leg, he was now caught in his vice grip like hug, crushing the tempest inward. Metal straining and even splitting added to the cacophony of sound that the battle wrought. Still, being set hollow, the tempest was still mobile if limited. He was unable to swing his axe and the damage to his chest piece was hindering his arms further.

“Kindly stop that you fiend.” Bartholomew attempted to headbutt the barbarian. Despite being a literal ball of fire for a head, it was surprisingly solid within the outer flicker of the flames. It wasn’t much use. The most he could probably do was burn the man, but given Ragnar’s tolerance to pain, Bartholomew was quite stuck. He struggled again the brute, unaware that aid was coming his way.

A second explosion, this time in the stairwell behind the paranoid wizard. Solomon watched as Jazdia exacted justice towards the baron. Prior to, the Baron's response to Jazdia’s bargain was interesting. There was no denial. As long as Asevor and his men were occupied here, it could give Solomon just enough time. Quickly, his shadowy form climed through the ceiling, disappearing between the masonry stones and timber that held the ceiling. In no time at all, he had made it to the second floor despite never using the stairs. One of these rooms contained the prince. If he could only secure him.

[GM Post]

The mercenaries did not do well at all, but that's probably expected with the adept mages out there dealing with magical infestation instead of behind them providing a modicum of security. Well, no matter. The shieldwall took the brunt of the blasts, and what remaining force that washed over it was absorbed by the remnant of the first instant barrier.

The next explosion, however, were more infuriating.

Another crisp crack marked the cracking of a different ring, the instant barrier protecting the false archmage from harm. Yet the same couldn't be said about the baron who stood closest to the explosion, and judging from the groans and screams neither were the arbalesters and the servants in the vicinity. Thankfully, there's no interruption to the creation of the tesseract as Asevor added the last line into its form.

"Koriloth's Purge Undead."

A familiar pulse washed over the room, the three skeletons disintegrating like a pile of ash on contact. Not far away Bartholomew fared better, yet it seemed like the spell weakened him anyway as a good section of the living armor caved in under Ragnar's pressure. The berserker roared, burn spreading on his face as he headbutted the tempest back and receiving even more burn in the process. With a final snap he finally folded the undead in half, smashing the remnant to the floor as he roared victoriously.

The wave struck Solomon's shadowy form too, and while it likely wouldn't be nearly enough to put him down it's probably not a comfortable feeling either. On the other hand, Veronica seemingly were unaffected by the indiscriminate attack.

Things still seemed to be spiralling out of control. The undead were done, both the bones and the one Ragnar was pummeling, but now the mercenaries were taking severe beatings. And vines were growing all over the damn place, as if there's not enough issues to deal with. A glance at the northlander showed that he's still full of vigor, one less thing to worry about. Good enough. A big working was needed to stabilize things, in the meantime Ragnar can rampage all he wanted. And if he wanted it quick, well, his own developed formula was the fastest to complete.

"Enough of this. Asevor's Bulwark."

A flick of the wrist. The forming shape was different, all curved and elegant as it flowed rapidly into place like liquid metal in a mold instead of the ponderous artistic strokes of earlier workings. A chunk of his mana went into the spell, an opaque layer of crystalline growth spilling through the floor before turning sharply up and finally enveloped a good quarter of the room on Asevor's side. The arrow struck and exploded, yet the still-forming barrier actually shook less than the fort itself. A chair clattered on the surface before falling on the floor, the rest of it came right through toward a few screaming crossbowmen who immediately fell silent as it passed them like ghost. Verdant growth in the path were sliced through. One of the mercenaries inside experimentally tapped the protective shell, but it seemed to be a two-way blockade.

Just like that, the exchange of projectile came to a pause.

"You are lucky I'm here, I'll heal you lot. Shoot the elf when the wall comes down, would you kindly?"

The mercenaries looked at each other as they exchanged quick command, the injured men brought closer while those in good shape reloaded and spread out in small group. Another shape started to form at the flick of the wrist, different and more compact compared to the previous spell yet it flowed just as smoothly as its predecessor.

"Asevor's Purification."

On Ragnar's side, just as he dealt with the tempest he was ganged on four sides. Kaito went for the eye, but the northlander whipped his head sideways and instead of gouging the ocular organ it scored a shallow gash through his temple instead. Chounan came swinging with his blade, Veronica with a scythe she pulled out of nowhere, and Yvonne with the newly acquired billhook. The man flailed madly, unconcerned that he meet steel with flesh, injuries mounting yet still he managed to overpower the assailant with sheer unnatural savagery. If one were to observe, his severed leg were attached to the stump by what looked like a thick blot of blood - his steps were uneven and clumsy, yet it was undeniable that he's fully capable of standing up still.

Kaito, the first to strike, was the first to get out and wasn't caught up in the rampage. Chounan proved to have met a bad matchup, all the finesse meant nothing against a foe where his full-powered swing barely score a light gash. The blade clashed with a fist, Ragnar gaining another inconsequential line of wound while the ronin's weapon flew out of his grasp. Yvonne held strong to her weapon even as her palm cracked and bled from neutralizing the impact, scoring deeper yet almost equally inconsequential gashes on the meaty fist and arms. On the flip side, Veronica seemingly overperformed as she dodged every wild swing by the milimeter before her supposedly unwieldy weapon snaked through the flurry of blows and striking at the body.

For the first time in the battle Ragnar retreated, a moment of clarity surfaced through the red haze as he glared warily at the vampiress' weapon. Whatever that was, it's doing funny things with his blood. That's a bit too dangerous when there's already an array of worthy opponents sitting before him. He need to play smart... or dirty.

Thus Ragnar the Red reached down, grabbing the top half of Bartholomew by the arm as he swung the Tempest like a makeshift bludgeon.

Above, away from the cacophony of combat, Solomon was finally left alone. He had emerged in the center of the second floor, in what looked like the baron's private chamber. On the nearest table was a small, finely crafted wooden box inscribed with enough runes to make it hum with power even to uninitiated folks. Beside of that out-of-place object, the room itself seemed like a completely mundane residence of a noble and his wife.

Teeth flashed momentarily as the bearman stifled a snarl. He could feel the green tip of the vine get cut, along with the section that had ensnared the footmen, severed from the roots and cut off from further control. Technically still alive, but wouldnt be for long. It angered him for reasons he did not quite fathom. Some of it the obvious of the work being wasted, but also something else; something he couldn't quite place-- somewhere between the anger he felt when people shot at wild animals for 'sport', and the anger he felt about 'tree poaching'-- anger at the cutting short of new life for stupid reasons. A few seconds passed, as he redirected the growth, slower now, and fueled by a portion of the trickle he had coming in from the outside, up, around, and over the top of the glowing prism the old coot had conjured. Touching the vines seemed to have no discernable effect, and he capitalized on that fact, overgrowing the entire barrier and the back of the room with focused, anger-fueled intent.

satisfied with the work, he guided a thin tendril of the greenbrier 'lifeline' in through the window, then let it wrap gently around his right wrist; loose, new, flexible and smooth, and not yet coated in nasty bristles, before withdrawing the arm from the window.

The flame headed abomination looked like it had seen better days-- crushed in, and getting used as an improvised weapon.

He sipped at the trickle through the vine, redirecting it through the woody growth he had taken to leaning on when he had pulled back from the window, timing it just right to ensnare the tempest at just the right moment to pull it free from the moron's grip. It wouldnt be enough to stop the swing, as it would just pull the vines free from the wall they had spread from, but it WOULD alter the path of the swing, and cause a stagger. Perhaps enough for Veronica to score another hit.

He released both vines, then rummaged in his bag to see what he still had.

Mostly rose seeds; he'd need to replenish his stock after this altercation if he wanted to continue 'being useful'.

He looked around the room, wondering how best to put them to work before noting how scantily clad the juggernaut was..

A wicked and toothy grin spread across his long-muzzled face.

He knew EXACTLY where to put them.

Another explosion shook the entire building, thin dust and smoke filled the room, and splinters of wood loosely darted everywhere. Jazdia's fair feature feigned no emotion after realizing that today she had ended the lives of nearly a dozen people with her fiery blast. The gruesome nature of their death was a kind of a blessing in disguise that she had stomached a long time ago.

They had it coming. At least death came at the swiftest that way.

The elf squinted. Even after the explosion, her focus was never averted from her target, and she knew it when her arrow missed its target.
In sheer dismay, Jazdia drew her bow and aimed. But there was no retaliation coming out of the dust, that now has turned into a magical barrier. As if praising himself, the wizard announced:

"You are lucky I'm here, I'll heal you lot. Shoot the elf when the wall comes down, would you kindly?"

The commentary, though rather foolish and served nothing but to let Jazdia knows their next move and plan, was highlighting her vulnerability as well. In a split second, she scanned her surrounding, looking for something solid before being peppered by their bolts. Between her and those protected crossbowmen was the dining table, it was already pretty battered after surviving a large man and bear-man wrestling next to it. Her relentless bombardment had also caused the long wooden furniture to lose both of its forelegs and now slightly shifted from its original arrangement. It was still standing, albeit like a piece of long dilapidated roof

Should be enough.

Now immediately jumping toward the cover would be unwise. The slowness on their part had given her enough time to enchant her arrow. With Lurea drawn, Jazdia walked slowly toward the table, with her enchanted, yet unreleased arrow keeping the standoff remained in a stalemate.

Or perhaps that was what the enemy wanted?

The barrier now changed in color. No, it was a new one seamlessly integrating itself with the existing barrier. Jazdia watched those crossbowmen taking their position and having the injured magically tended risk-free. Healing spell, what an absolute defensive utility he got there.

There was nothing she could do about it. The clamor from the barbarian was now disrupted her focus. Her aim was almost swayed to end that prolonged ruckus, but her instinct told her that she must not let that wizard out of her sight.

Now arrived at the desired position, Jazdia took a deep breath and readied herself. The enchanted arrow released, but before unleashing the explosive charge, the command had been changed to the delayed explosion. The arrow landed on the wooden floor just a span away from the edge of the barrier, and she could see some of the henchmen recoil in fear. The second arrow imbued just as fast and embedded itself next to the first. The third arrow, the same treatment, although the strain had become more apparent and finally hit the hardest on the fourth. The elf ended the strafe with right-hand hurt as hell as if the tendons had all been severed and leaving two that barely connected, enough to be used to draw the fifth that was already nocked but not yet drawn.

She hoped those bastards would fire at her anytime now. So she could hunker down a bit before giving them hell as she had promised.

---

It was much quieter up at the second floor. The faint sound of combat and further explosions shook the floor beneath Solomon was evidence enough. Dust scattered down from the ceiling and wafted in the air through the beams of sunlight from the near window. The room was obviously some kind of bed chamber, probably the baron’s with how well furnished it was, with rugs and tapestries, and a large bed. After a quick look around, and finding the room empty, he noticed a magical box on the nearby table. It rested with runes glowing over its surface. What magic was contained inside Solomon wasn’t sure. However, he did deem it best that the inhabitants of the keep not have access to it, with swift movement, Solomon tucked the box away.

Now, as to his current mission to locate the prince. He held out his hand as another stream of energy radiated from the large tome near his back. It streamed in ribbons of silver and black mist culminating within his palm before dispersing into the air, as opposed to that of the ground. Slowly a white aura appear and then formed into the figure of a hideous woman. She was without legs, had long arms that ended in frail looking but lethal claws. Her skin held tightly to bone in form, warts and lashes about her angled face. Hair like static frilled all around, flowing general behind her head. Tattered dress with shredded frills around the hem covered her figure. She cackled before her eyes went wide and the form diminished back into a misshapen mass of ethereal ectoplasm and reconstituting into that of a child. An unassuming child in leggings, traveling vest, and short skirt entirely white with as her skin, the scenery behind visible through her form. She levitated inches above the ground, however her feet remained flat like she was standing on a flat surface.

“Violet.”

“I know.” She said softly. She looked up at the necromancer through the shadow of his hood. “I’ll help find him.” The ghost of a little girl then disappeared. Violet was more or less a ghost for the purposes of what Solomon was doing. Freely able to travel through walls much like a shadow, Violet was able to do so completely invisible even if her movement was considerably slower. Likewise, she held more power within herself, hopefully able to better withstand the purge spell Solomon felt earlier. No wonder his shadows were so easily dismissed. Likewise, his skeletons were probably also gone. For now, it was him, his tempest, Bartholomew, and Violet. For now at least, it would be her and he searching room to room. Violet would head to the third floor while Solomon would remain at the second.

Finished with his plan, Solomon once again became incorporeal and traveled through the door out into the hall. At the same time, he called upon the two shadows still on standby near August and also had them come to the keep. Should Asevor cast another purge, they would cease to be, but the more eyes within the keep the better. The quicker he could find the prince, the quicker he could evacuate him and return to aid his allies. As it stood, the battle quieted down, but Solomon doubted that meant the fight had ended. Though weak, he could still feel Bartholomew, and his fighting spirit was still burning.

Speaking of the tempest Bartholomew, the purge spell had done a number on his already failing structural integrity. The flame upon his head diminished in luminosity, no longer burning white, but instead a cooler deep red in color. In no time, he was bent in half, collapsed to the ground, and shortly after used as a flail. As it was, he was not much use, but as he was caught in the vines, he reached out with his free hand and attempted to pull himself from Ragnar, should the redirect not free him. He was prepared for even if it meant losing the arm he was being swung by. Even without his legs and potentially missing an arm, Bartholomew would not give in, yet. If it was possible, he would swing himself using any remaining vines roots above and body slam the barbarian.

[GM Post]

Well now this was quite the pickle. Six of the mercenaries had perished, and just as many lost limbs in the short altercation. The baron, too, was part of the casualties. Asevor clicked his tongue in annoyance, that one death meant he no longer did the perfect job. And Antigone wasn't even present! By all right there's no mage that could match him in the surrounding area, yet they snuck a low blow on him regardless.

Unacceptable.

"Bah, give a druid a moment and- Quit yammering, this is nothing."

As the magical bulwark was overlaid with vines, it darkened inside until the only source of light was the tesseract Asevor was constructing. The distraught mercenaries stopped their hushed whispers at the order, though the death and dismemberment half their rank just experienced had rendered their morale wavering they still had enough trust on the archmage's prowess. For now, at least.

It took some time to construct this one, the elderly mage needing to consult his notebook multiple times in the process. He couldn't see what's going on outside, what's with the vines physically and magically hindering the sight, but it's quite unlikely for his foes to have blown the door open. The clean up wouldn't be pretty, but this particular surprise wasn't an easy one to defend against. Tracing the final line into a vaguely serpentine abstract shape, Asevor pushed out the magical construct as it phased through the barrier and emerged outside.

"Caustic Cloud of Ruzpin."

A few moment earlier, Ragnar's swing of the makeshift bludgeon was interrupted by the vines. It missed, the excess force separating the Tempest at the elbow joint. Bartholomew's attempt to swing back, meanwhile, also failed just as hard as the vines weren't made to support the still significant momentum of steel plates. The root came off the wall, the undead clattering back down on the floor.

At least he's away from Ragnar at the moment.

The northlander wasn't having a good time either. He abruptly realized that the electrifying current within his blood had dissipated, rendering him only as strong as he normally would. He stepped back again, this time picking up a chair for a weapon, but the experienced combatants wouldn't miss this chance. A few probes and they confirmed that the magical power-up had ran its course. Yvonne hooked the chair before dragging it down, making enough opening for Chounan to slash through an eye while Veronica landed a deep gash through the neck. There seemed to be some tug-of-war as the blood was pulled between the weapon and the juggernaut's veins, but in the end a glob was split off as the scythe greedily drank the crimson essence.

At that time, the glowing tesseract emerged from the shell. Veronica's eyes widen before it even took effect, stopping her assault to shout at the rest of her team.

"Acid fog incoming! We need to get out of here!"

*****

Not far away, Solomon's search would find some more rooms. The presumably heirs' rooms were empty and seemingly unlived for some time, though it's kept clean and spotless still. There's a few guest rooms, empty save for one - it had a number of magical wards enclosing the entire room, Asevor's mana signature littered all over the formation. These weren't meant to be particularly strong, but enough that it'll take some effort to physically dismantle. Magical intrusion still would met some resistance, though not as severe, yet the biggest issue was that any trespassing attempt would've alerted Asevor of the fact.

The third floor was a rather clear split. About a third of it were servants' quarters and kitchen and whatnot, currently filled with cowering peasants unsure of what's going on with a number of them sporting injuries. The rest of it seemed to be where the mercenaries were housed, enough bedding for fifty men yet currently completely empty.

A stairs up led to the battlement, the door leading up locked tight.

The bearman stopped dead in his tracks as the glowing tessaract emerged from the vine encased barrier, then bloomed into a slowly spreading vapor that clung in the air.

More unbidden, but potentially useful memories drifted through his head then back out again. He and his dad had been trying to contain and reclaim the 'fungally overgrown' section of their home forest. His dad had warned him about the dangers of inhaling mists and particles, but had offered him one of his shirts, which he had plunked in the nearby stream.

"Don' breath 'at shi' in boy" he had said, while extending the wetted shirt. "Wrap dis 'round ya head, an' breaths through 'at."

The memory left as quickly as it came. The ominous cloud of mist continued to slowly rise into the room, causing the leaves on the vines to wilt almost on contact. He DEFINITELY did not want to breathe that in.

The pulled down curtain adorned the floor under his feet, which he quickly snatched up before scanning the room for something to wet it with. The elf woman's antics with the table had toppled all of the remaining drink decanters onto the floor rendering them useless for the task at hand. He needed something to wet it with, and soon-- As he hurriedly scanned the room, the realization that he had not gone to the little bear's room since Hdur came home to roost. He did not like the idea at all, but it was all he had to work with.

Drawing and huffing an irritated breath, he hiked up the front of his robes, shoved the brilliant red curtain into place with one hand, leaned against the wall with the other, then relieved himself of the fluid fraction of the stew he had ate the previous day, until the curtain was sopping wet, and the pungent odor of "male bear" hit his nose-- which wrinkled at the prospect of what had to come next.

He gave the wad of cloth a momentary queeze to distribute the 'moisture' evenly, paused half a moment, then draped the odorous rag over himself as if it were a table cloth, and he a table. The only thing he could see was red fabric, and the scent of "his own brand" dominated his offended nose.

He growled, then turned toward the barred entrance door, and began to body slam it.