Acid? Godspit. Yvonne had seen what a magically conjured glob of those could do to flesh, she wasn't about to linger around and find out how painful exactly it was to quite literally melt off your own bones. There were two exits. One's at the other side, beyond the damnable mage's barrier and out of reach. The other was the entrance that was locked earlier. Would it be easier to break the windows? No, those were all stone and way too narrow.

The entrance, then.

"Someone hold back Ragnar, go!"

Disengaging, the mercenary's eyes locked on the heavy axe forgotten in the corner. To think that it's useful now, huh? She picked it up, grimacing at the sheer weight of the weapon and the insanity of someone who crafted the whole damned thing out of metal, but that's a boon now. The door was at least two inches thick, regular axe just wouldn't make it.

With an angry yell, Yvonne tapped into her inner strength as she swung the axe with as much force as she could. Over and over. Then Cedar came barelling with his bulk, the two taking turn axing and slamming to the stupidly sturdy door.

Will they make it? Yvonne didn't quite felt like turning back to look.

The enemy's heavy frontliner was down. Good thing because Jazdia didn't have to involve herself in another fight. Not possible considering she hadn't been able to break her own stalemate. The violet hue on her eyes had been returned when the Druid's conjured vegetation covered the wizard's shield, and he saw him preparing another spell.

And Veronica's shouting.

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

Even from this distance, the spreading vapor had started to contaminate the air with a sickly mustard-ish stench. Her eyes darted immediately toward the door. It was locked, but nothing explosive arrows couldn't handle.

She hated the idea of terrorizing the hapless henchmen had to be stopped now, but her priority was always clear. The elf leaped for Matilda and dragged her toward the exit.

"Come on! To the door! Double time!"

In her restless surveillance on the encroaching mist, the not-so-transparent-anymore-barrier, and the door, she saw the druid running around frantically and searching the pile of thrashed tableware. What he did next was unobservable as Jazdia had better things to do, like pushing Matilda not so gently and prepared her arrow, that fortunately had been enchanted prior to this tactical retreat. Again, that made her grit her teeth.

This would be the last time she looked back; The barrier was still up, the mist nearly reached her, and in that critical situation she saw the bear-- urinating?

Jazdia was lost for words, simply because she had to hold her breath to prevent toxic fumes from entering her lungs, or perhaps to maintain her sanity remained intact. The next bizarre thing that happened was Jazdia watching the urine-soaked fabric disgustingly waving like a very filthy cape as the druid propelled himself against the door and body-slammed it repeatedly. Like... err animal?

Sadly, communication, one of the most underrated aspects of society had been cut off from them. The notion that those guys could dispel their barrier any moment and shoot her when she was so occupied running from mist started to get on her nerve. In desperation, the elf drew her bow and aimed at the door, with a raging bear blocking it, hoping Cedar would take notice and move aside... Or somebody would be kind enough to nudge the stinky bear out of the way.

Annoying, the big guy managed to dodge his attack in the nick of time. O well, the others seem to have more success. As the battle raged on it became clear that the magic enhancements of Ragnar seemed to fade out. Kaito’s involvement was no longer needed as Yvonne, Chounan and Veronica were perfectly capable of handling the big warrior on their own.

For a moment the fox wondered what he should do. The big warrior was getting pummeled by his companions and the other enemies were hiding behind some sort of magic barrier while the big bad evil wizard was cooking up his next trick. And his next trick was certainly a fucking pain in the ass.

”Acid fog? What a drag.” sighed Kaito as he jumped over the table to help Jazdia drag the orc towards the door on their side. ”We need to get out of here asap, but you already noticed that” The kitsune watched as Yvonne and Cedar frantically tried to brute force their way through the door. From his peripheral vision he noticed how the elf drew her bow only to have the bear stand in the path of her arrow.

With the acid fog creeping closer. Shouting and breathing became hazerdours, even for a centuries old mythical creature. Quickly Kaito grabbed the nearest plate and threw it at the bear to get Cedar’s attention, while waving to him to get out of the way.

Looking behind the fox realized that they would be very vulnerable to the crossbowmen once their barrier would come down. If they weren’t through the door by then. They would all be turned into pin cushions. Quickly he dropped the illusionary fake walls he had created and created a new illusionary wall right in the middle of the room. It would not block any arrows but at least it would block the vision of those damn crossbowmen. With a bit of luck, this would buy them enough time to get through the door.

A new set of thumps joined opposite of his, and the somewhat-familiar sound of Yvonne's breathing lockstepped his own.

... THUD. THUD. THUD. ...

The door was resolute. Either its frame was very sturdy, or they had treated the wood with something. It did not look magical; he'd have still detected any magical shenanigans even with the piss soaked curtain draped over him.

Abruptly, the second set of thuds stopped, but he kept hitting for a good two or three more body slams, before he felt something hit him in the back.

Irritated beyond belief, he risked pulling the curtain down enough to see past it and turned his head to look over his shoulder, just in time to see the elf woman with a glowing purple arrow aimed at him.

"AWWW FUCK!" he shouted, before wrapping the curtain back over himself, then falling to the floor and rolling away from the door as hard and fast as he could.

---

Solomon came across a room, thoroughly monitored compared to the rest of the facility. It reeked of Asevor, as several bands of mana encapsulated the room. If the prince was here, this would have been the most likely room to house him. If Veronica’s visions of the prince were accurate and only redirected, then chances were high. Solomon took a moment, his eyes closed as he contemplated what to do next. Any sort of penetration of the wards would alert Asevor.

Solomon could still feel the tempest, giving him confirmation that he has not been eradicated, yet. It was clear enough that Bartholomew’s fight was diminishing. However, his presence alone was not enough evidence to prove his comrades were pushing victory. The clash of steel quieted down, as did the explosions. For now, that is all he had to go on without returning to the dining hall.

Solomon willed for his shadows and Violet to return to his side. Violet appeared next to him, becoming visible once again, and two shadows manifest from the behind a painting on the wall. There was a moment of silence as Solomon’s mouth opened and closed though nary a sound could be heard even had eavesdroppers were on top of him. Shortly thereafter, the shadow shades sank into the those cast from the light unknown of where they were traveling. Violet returned to being invisible, seemingly unmoving as she faded from view. Solomon himself silently as he could crept to the stairwell. If what Violet reported was true, he was not worried about any more soldiers on this floor. He took a peak down the flight of stairs. From up here, they remained intact, though perhaps farther down, the stairs could have been destroyed, removing quick physical access back up from that room.

Solomon returned to the Baron’s room, knowing that directly below it was the main hall they were served breakfast. Becoming incorporeal, Solomon shifted through the floor, careful to not emerge completely through the ceiling of the floor below. Holding himself among the rafters out of view, Solomon saw the state of the battle. The room was much smaller than he could recall, filling with ghastly smoke. Bartholomew with only one limb remaining was attempting to intercept Ragnar. Vines covered almost every surface, and Asevor was protected behind a barrier of magic. Shifting through the newly created partition, Solomon could see the other’s breaking down the door to escape. Given the potency of the magic fog, He now understood what was happening. Turning his attention back towards the foliage covered barrier of Asevor, Solomon had an idea. The fog would leave him alone from any immediate aid from his comrades, but hopefully if things turned south, Violet could provide some support. Ideally, she would not have to, but at least she was close.

Solomon snaked across the ceiling, through the crevices of timber and stone and around the few vines that had begun to take root there. Entering the antechamber of the remains of the lower level of stairs, Solomon returned to form. If successful in his stealth, he was just close enough to the others he began his spell. Swirls of black and silvery wisps would travel from the large tome at his back, down his arm and towards the ground. From there the stream would split and slither across the stoned floor merging into the remaining bodies of the six dead mercenaries, purposefully avoiding the baron. Those whose bodies were still mostly together would rise as undead zombies, and those whose bodies were otherwise decimated would rise as ghosts. If successful it would make much of the protections provided by Asevor meaningless.

After this attempt, Solomon once again turned incorporeal, hid, and waited to see what develops. At the same time, he hoped his allies would be able to escape. Assuming no unforeseen hiccups, in just a moment the two shadows would push through the barriers placed over the guest room. It would undoubtedly alert Asevor. Anyone trying to physically inspect the door, such as Asevor or his men, Violet would appear in the form of the hideous banshee screaming with enough force and volume to make deaf the interloper, and potentially knock unconscious. If Asevor had another means of bolstering the room, Solomon waited to observe.

[GM Post]

The door was beaten and battered, axe blows carving deep grooves around the lock while constant slam further weakened its structural integrity until finally an explosion broke that particular section apart. With the lock and handle separated nothing stopped the remaining part of the door from swinging open, still in mostly one piece despite the abuse it's getting. Just about everyone filed out of the room in great haste, save for Veronica and Ragnar (and an unfortunately immobile Bartholomew), and not a moment too soon.

Hisses and sizzles echoed repeatedly from the room as the caustic cloud spread, filling every inch and spilling out of windows in a sickly wave of verdant green. The hall was blackened and corroded, from the furniture to decorations to scraps of food and even the surface of the stone walls of the building. None of the vines survived the contact, and grass likely wont grow for quite some time in the immediate area surrounding the windows where the fog had spread.

Amidst the thinning cloud was the northlander and the vampire, locked in deadly combat even as their surroundings went to hell. Veronica seemed to exist in an entirely different plane of existence, the fog washed straight past her figure without disturbing a single hair on her head. Meanwhile Ragnar was clad in a near-opaque layer of red, thick stench of blood radiating from every inch of his body. Without the combined attack slowing him down he's quite handily overpowering Veronica, who made a steady retreat toward the open door before finally disengaging and bolting away.

"COME ON, WAS THAT REALLY NECESSARY?!"

Ragnar didn't pursue far, testing the illusory wall before fetching the axe discarded by the door before yelling at the cracking barrier encased by blackened plant matter. He had a few spots of chemical burns where Veronica's strikes disrupted his aura, but otherwise wasn't doing too bad - beside the eye and the leg issue dragging his performance down.

"You can handle it, no? You sounds perfectly fine." Asevor's muffled reply came from within the shell, soon enough another tesseract formed and merged into the northlander's burly figure. "There, Gaster's Mandate of Impetuous Strife. I need a moment until the fog fully dissipate, dont let them escape."

Of course, it turned out he didn't have a moment. Asevor saw the magic taking hold before it was physically apparent, clicking his tongue at the near-simultaneous trespassing attempt on his room. A finger brushed against a sapphire ring, minute cracks expanding against the inlaid gemstone as the dispel indiscriminately washed out. His own bulwark held, but the half the room was instantly cleansed of the fog while the gleaming arrows lost their connection to their creator. With great displeasure he found that it was not enough to entirely stop the reanimation, four zombies lunging at the nearest person with whatever weapon they could reach. At least the incorporeal ghosts were banished.

"Change of plan." With a wave of his hand Asevor cancelled the barrier, the dispel already clearing the most immediate caustic hazard. Blackened remain of the vines fell on him like sooty rain, a disgusting sensation that the archmage would need to take care of soon, but it's of no issue. "Assist your men here, I have an intruder to deal with."

Forming another spell construct, this one took shape akin to a four-leaf clover that had one leaf missing. Asevor vanished from mundane sight, a single step brought him into the antechamber where a section of the stairs laid in ruins. Without missing a beat he simply floated straight up, soon enough entering the hallway of the second floor.

Close by, the shades pushed on and was initially met with some resistance before they simply found a thinner section and punched through... much easier than expected. The room within was the height of opulence, feathered bed laid with fine silk big enough for six people taking the centerpiece. The bedside table had a platter of cheese and a half-filled bottle of wine, trace of the drink still visible at the bottom of the wineglass. At the foot of the bed was an enchanted chest, large and heavy and - most importantly - locked, the warding several degree beyond what's applied on the room itself.

On the far side was a travel dresser, unfolded and open to reveal rows of fancy clothing of various style - way too many than its outer size would suggest. On the other wall was a desk, tall mirror attached to one end while various bottles of self-care tonics were carefully arranged on top.

Unfortunately, the room seemed to be devoid of life with no apparent hiding spot.

*****

The party that fled out was greeted with a veritable warzone, on the walls by the northern gate men with blades and axes hacked away at invading overgrowth while mages sent down spells on something beyond the wall. The west and east side were abandoned because they're quite literally on fire, flickering red and orange visibly caressing the top of the rampart from the other side. The flame seemed to have started spreading to the wooden palisades, the loud hubub of panicking villagers audible even from this far up the hill. The keep's southern gate wa closed shut, and with the inner village's entrance further south blocked by an overgrowth the resident were trapped within even as flames threatened to consume them all.

The party somehow didn't even attract any attention, everyone's eyes pointed outward to the sheer chaos Augustus caused. Veronica joined late, but after that there didn't seems to be anyone else coming out for quite some time. Vague echoes of combat could be heard from within, though visibility wasn't great due to the lingering fog still lazily spewing out of the hall.

Cedar's eyes went wide for a second, as he took in the 'view'.

The sounds of screaming villagers hit his ears, as the scent of burning wood and vegetation caught his abused nostrils.

Visions of this kind of thing had filled his head when he had innocently asked about 'war' over a month ago.

It was horrifying and sobering at the same time to witness the spectacle here, and a moment of panic gripped him, with the instinctual fear of uncontrolled fire urging him to run, but he stayed his ground.

His eyes darkened and his fur ruffled frighteningly as he barred his fangs instead.

More towns like this-- Towns all over Kinderance, all over Meche, maybe further beyond-- they would ALL burn-- Maybe even the tiny frontier wood cutting town of Mystville... they would ALL burn, if the prince was not collected today.

The revelation and cruel finality of that thought ran through him as hot as the flames lapping up over the walls. The Wizard HAD TO BE STOPPED HERE. TODAY.

Filled with singular dark purpose, he stormed away from the group and around the corner of the building to where he could see all that remained alive of the makeshift planting he had sprouted outside the window.

Blackened husks of dead rose bushes. Cucumber and passion vines clung like zombies to the wall with their roots burned off.

And there in the grass, a tiny flag of greenery hiding in the grass, the sole survivor of the green toxic filth roiling over the windowsill-- the long-grown roots stretching out under the wall to the east, with little bits of top sticking out here and there to catch the sun.

He carefully pulled one of the charred rose bushes up by the roots, careful not to get into that disgusting shit, then snapped off a bit, and started scratching the dirt up with it, drawing a large 'circle' around the entire keep.

That old fucker may have roasted his plants inside that room, be he had not come out with them. That meant he was still inside.

Scratch. Scratch. Claw. dig.

He carefully used the last few bits of his stock, arranging them to greatest possible effect, then tapped in the vine leading in from outside, and kicked off the latest in his series of botanical terror gardens.

He was going to encase the entire keep, from the outside, and infiltrate the windows on all the remaining floors.

That wizard was NOT getting away.

Not today.

Not ever.

When she reached outside, Jazdia immediately cast magic into her arrow, only spared a flash acknowledgment toward the surrounding fire and screaming civilian before activated her eyes and aimed again.

She saw a pulse emenated from the wizard. Another beacon wanes and disappear. If that corroding fumes were magical, it too suddenly neautralized, leaving only ashes and putrid stench that Jazdia imagine would render the entire floor inhabitable for years to come.

If that baron was still alive that should be the least of his concern. She observed the wizard dispelling the barrier, and several reanimated dead already lunged at his men like rabid beast. But instead of staying, he walked toward the stairs.

Her eyes were still incapable of seeing through the wall, but her hunch told her that the ghostly doctor was upstairs, and the Wizard was on his way to deal with him. Sighed, Jazdia motioned her left pinkie to detonate one of her planted arrows, but apparently the link was disconnected.

With visible displeasure on her face, she announced. "Follow that wizard. The price is several floors upstairs!"

There was only one problem, the nortlander and Baron's henchmen was still blocking their way. And she wasn't really sure the room is still safe to tread into. She could see anything that was remotely magical, but the hazard often came from the physical realm as well.

Drawing Lurea on its fullest draw, Jazdia released her crystal arrow toward the line of enchanted arrows she had previously planted. Employing the of the old adage When in doubt, blast it! to its full effects.

[GM Post]

Another series of explosions, incomparable to the previous ones, rocked the fort yet again. The mercenaries, the zombies, and Ragnar himself was caught dead center amidst the blast, not even the slightest errant scream could be heard from them. Then, as the remaining acidic fog dissipated, the still combat-capable members of the party charged back in. Jazdia at the helm, closely followed by Veronica and Chounan, back to the room desolated by repeated indiscriminate magic.

"Rangvald? Jotnar? Off to meet the Ironhand, I see." As the dust settled Ragnar's figure emerged, clad in baleful crimson aura from head to toe. The explosion seemed to barely rattled him as he got up to his feet, sparing only one glance at the fellow northlanders torn to shreds nearby. "Felt that one! You're all that's left, hm. Bring it on!"

Axe raised, Ragnar the Red charged forth like a rabid beast, lopsided gait barely seemed to inconvenience the brute.

*****

Above, Asevor went unhindered toward his room... at least, until he got close enough that his necklace reacted to the presence. Taking a glance at the trinket, he frowned at the undeath influence nearby as he slowed and paused on the corridor. A druid and a necromancer, among other things. The most annoying of spellcasters if they're spared just the slightest room. Seems that another purge was in order.

Crooked fingers began tracing the construct, Koriloth's working seeing yet another use. Perhaps he should pay the eccentric a visit after this business was done - maybe there's a new variation of the construct that Asevor could trade for.

Kaito sighed at the sight of the charging brutish Northlander. That guy seemed to survive pretty much everything. It was getting pretty annoying. However, the fox was a long way from running out of tricks. Once more he tapped into his magic and conjured an illusionary large metal bucket around Ragnar's head, blocking all the vision the man had. To top it all off, an equally illusionary hammer started to bang against the bucket like there is no tomorrow. Creating a cacophony of sound. It sure would not kill the brute but it might distract him long enough for Chonan and Veronica to get some strikes in.

”He’s all yours” shouted Kaito as he dashed around the Northlander in pursuit of the wizard.

Making a second pass along the outside of the keep, monitoring the growth of his latest handiwork, the sounds of fighting erupted from the desecrated first floor dining hall, followed by a loud rhythmic banging.

"... the hells 'em kids a doin' in'ere .." the bear grumbled irritably. Saying he was 'put out' by all this was a gross understatement; while he did his best to be chipper and jovial most of the time, he HAD inherited more than just a little of his dad's crude and volatile temperament-- being tortured with food, then being made a mockery of by planting him in it, then being tossed like a sack of manure, then forcing him to have to wear his own piss to evade having his lungs seared, then being nearly blasted by friendly fire had left him more than just a little cross, and the absurd and persistent clanging mixed with the shouts and screams of the villagers to the south had him in a rather foul mood indeed.

He looked in through one of the fouled windows and saw that thuggish brute still swinging in there, with a bucket on his head with a seemingly animated hammer drumming on it, making a terrible racket. It *WAS* a humorous spectacle, but he was so over this guy.

Then he remembered the diabolical thought he had intended for the muscle-bound
bruiser.

'Hoy!' He shouted in through the window, while ripping the decayed and crispy black vegetation from the opening. "Shove 'at fuck'r o'er dis a way!"

He grinned wickedly, allowing his malign intent to color the expression with a lurid intensity, while beckoning his companions to drive the bastard toward the cleared window.

---

The keep shook, more so than it has recently. Whatever the explosion origin was, be it Jazdia or another trick of Asevor, it was enough to finally clear out the undead on the first floor. The corrosive properties of the acidic fog and the final shock wave of the blast was enough to finally halt Bartholomew. The flame on his head smoldered down in deep red before completely extinguishing, whatever power holding his body together diminishing along with it. They pieces clattered as they fell apart. Those of his recently raised regiment also collapsed, leaving Solomon with no touch among those in the keep. Luckily, those among the second floor were untouched as was his connection with August. However, he could see out of the window to just what extent Asevor’s men were going to deal with the continuously growing plant life.

The corners of the sill glowed orange as fire competed with the morning sun to light the halls. So close to the wooden walls and that of the thatched village houses, they risked setting the village itself on fire. A prospect Solomon suspected August would propagate. At this point, there wasn’t much Solomon could do for those outside of the keep. He let August continue to grow the brambles as the roots remained safe from the flames above, routing mana and energy around to not lose the energy from the charred remains.

After the brief glimpse outside, Solomon witnessed Asevor as he approached the sealed room through the hall. Of course the ruined staircase was no obstacle. Asevor’s hands began crafting a spell. This time, Solomon could recognize the tesseract as the energy flowed from Asevor into his construct. From behind, Solomon reappeared from the shadows stepping silently upon the wooden boards. He needed to do something before the spell could be cast. A quick flash of magic Solomon stared intently from underneath his hood.

Dagger hold.

It would be of no surprise if Asevor was equipped with a magic trinket or enchantment prepared to deal with the spell. Ideally, it would completely stop Asevor in his tracks, his less than youthful figure unable to break free from it causing him pain and discomfort if he tried. However, even if the spell broke, the goal was to halt him. Much like how Solomon provided a brief window for his allies with Ragnar. If he could make him slip with his spell and break the concentration, it might be enough. By now Asevor was aware of much of what Solomon could contribute to the hindrance of his plans. His only answer so far seemed to be that purge spell. Perhaps Solomon could abuse that. At the very least, he needed to stop Asevor one way or another. He knew something either about the prince and or prospect of war between Kindeance and Meche. What that was lied with either Asevor or what lay in that sealed room.

At the same time as the cast of dagger hold, another ghostly figure would have emerged from where Asevor was traveling. Violet, the pure white grown woman of uncomfortable physique hovered in the middle of the hall. Her arms with long sharp nails at the ends of her long cracked fingers out stretched. She opened her mouth full of rotting and misaligned teeth. Without inhaling, Violet lurched forward as visible sound waves escaped her maw. The paintings along the walls swung on their pegs. Anything glass or ceramic cracked and shattered. The piercing shriek continued as the volume and pitch increased. This close to the banshee, the scream would be enough to burst the ear drums of the listener, even knock unconscious. Outside the keep, the piercing scream was clear, the stone wall doing little to mute the noise. Solomon himself would be caught within the shriek, his undead form more easily dealing with the after effects than that of the living.

The elf stopped, the dust had settled for God knows how many times already in this ransacked room, and it revealed the enraged northlander, alive and approaching them in desperate gait. As someone who studied practical magic, Jazdia wondered about the cost that man had to pay to be able just to stand right now, and how long it would be able to keep him together if left alone.

She decided to not find out, the black bow was drawn, and the arrowhead was now programmed and filled by its explosive magic. However, as soon as she aimed for his center mass, the Berserker's movement suddenly became erratic. A quick observation told her that Kaito was behind all of that cruel yet whimsical prank; a tubular conjuration now encasing Ragnar's head, and despite the heavy doping spell, the illusion was apparently perceived so real Ragnar instinctively had his voice muffled as well.

Should she feel bad for it? Her bow had been relieved from its temporal tension, and the glowing arrow on Ragnar's chest said she didn't really care.

What she did care about was when the pale lady positioned herself near the rampaging brute, anticipating his movement and preparing herself for what she predicted would be a series of heavy melee slashes.

"Get away from him!" Jazdia shouted.

[GM Post]

Whatever Ragnar was expecting, a literal bucket on his head and some hideously loud clanging noise was not on the list. The northlander roared in anger as he clawed and failed to even touch the offending object, rendering him near-completely blind and deaf to what's going on around him. The axe in his hand cleaved with abandon, catching the blackened table a couple times but otherwise failed to get remotely close to any of his foes.

"WHAT TRICKERY IS THIS?! FACE ME BLADE TO BLADE!"

He wouldn't get his wish. Both Chounan and Veronica caught the warning and steered clear, a gleaming arrow landing dead center on Ragnar's chest. another explosion consumed the berserker, momentarily staggering him with concussive shockwave. The vampiress didn't miss the moment as she rushed back in, braving the remnant of the explosion to deliver a single strike to their foe.

The scythe tore through Ragnar's crimson aura like hot knife through butter, plunging through the heart where the weapon keened with greed. Yet her eyes widened as the man still refused to drop, brawny arm grabbing the scythe and refusing to let go. She had to abandon the weapon to avoid an axe blow, staring with morbid amazement at the sheer resilience of the brute.

"Finally! Slippery bastard."

The scythe was torn out, splatter of blood unnaturally following and flowing into it. The crimson aura coating him thickened to the point that it's veritably opaque now, looking less like a man and more like a creature made out of blood. The illusory bucket and hammer sizzled and faded upon contacting this seemingly enhanced layer, though from the sounds of it the man underneath wasn't doing very well at all.

Ragnar rampaged forward, Veronica and Chounan pushed further and further as he seemingly beelined to the elf. The vampiress seemed to do okay, but the swordsman's skin started to blister the longer he's locked in close combat with the brute. It was through sheer willpower that he kept blocking the way, deflecting and parrying with blood flowing through his palm.

Above, Asevor was unceremoniously ambushed in joint attack - something that he did not expect, considering his invisibile state. Pain seized him all of sudden, stopping his hand in place, followed by an inhuman screech so terrible the old man actually blacked out for a moment.

"ARGH! You dare-!"

Another protective ring started to crack, purging the magical influence of the scream and the hold. The false archmage was swift in tapping in another of his ring, soft layer of healing light fixing his burst eardrum though it did little to the blood that had dripped out. More pressingly, the tesseract was halfway unraveling by the time he regained his faculty. He willed it to collapse in that state, the purge barely a tenth as potent or widespread as it should, but enough to buy a little time.

A spell construct flowed into the mental mold, finishing in record time as for the first time today Asevor actually felt threatened to some extent. An unfocused bluish-white beam of arcane energy howled through the corridor, blasting Solomon and his latest banshee summon before colliding hard enough to crack the far wall of the fort.

Breathing rapidly, the old man hurriedly grasped for his necklace... only to find that the undead caster that ambushed him were still nearby somewhere. Turning with paranoia to the floors and walls and ceiling, Asevor immediately decided to bolt up and toward the battlement. Out in the open, he'll have a lot more options. Otherwise it would be putting the cart before the horse if he accidentally buried himself in this godforsaken fort.

At the antechamber below, Kaito would find the dead baron and a few more dead servants mixed in a pile of rubble that once was a staircase but now ruined and collapsed by explosion. Getting up... probably will take some effort. And was likely unsafe. But what choice did he have?

The mischievous grin quickly turned into a snarl, though the difference may have been hard to detect, aside from some furrowing between the eyes, and the ears going flat.

Why was it nobody listened to him?

He looked around irritably looking for something, anything concrete to contribute to this predicament.

The bucket illusion had been singularly effective, for however long it lasted, which gave him an idea.

Hurriedly, he dropped the piss soaked curtain to the ground, then furiously heaped it full of dirt and mud mixed with wads of grass from the ground, bundled it up like a sling, backed away from the window to get room to whirl around, Began whirling, then yelled through the window:

"Hey fuck'r! CATCH!"

A split second later, he released one side of the curtain, discharging the contents through the window toward his target.

Chounan made a momentum, breathing technique and adjusted his footwork and unleashed a barrage of slashes just what he did to the champion wolf. His ki is overflowing, it's like a blazing flame the flowing from the burning. A godspeed slashes while moving so faster than a naked eye, inflicting cutting slashes in every direction. Surpassing his limits might bring this berserker to an end.

[GM Post]

It was a scene right out of a legend, where a sole warrior stood stalwart against an unstoppable force. Ragnar was overpowering him so badly that the slightest graze would've torn Chounan apart, yet with surgical precision every blow was deflected and redirected just enough to avoid a direct hit. Blisters from contacting the burning blood spread quickly, cracking open into bleeding wounds from the vigorous movement where he struck twice for every deflection, however no matter what he did Ragnar's blazing aura was akin to an impenetrable fortress.

Both of them burned, in their own ways, a pair of bonfires dancing the fine line between life and death. It was truly a pity that the samurai's constitution wasn't quite up to par to Ragnar's sheer endurance.

Chounan faltered. His grip weakened, the sword slapped out of his hands from the impact. With no more strength to move, he could only beheld the oncoming axe. However, a slender hand grasped him by the shirt and yanked him out of the trajectory just before he's split in half. That was not exactly a timely save, Veronica moving before the weapons even clashed as if she could see the future, but regardless Chounan was spared a grisly fate. The time he bought was not in vain, for the Impetuous Strife enchantment on Ragnar faded just about the same time as the samurai's fall.

The northlander was still a vicious and wounded beast, but it's undeniable that he's cornered and on his last breath. And, with a splat, even covered with stinky mud. The filthy additions sizzled as he roared and wiped the offending substance off his face, but perhaps it's a slight opening to anyone who's fast enough?

Above, far above, Asevor reached the locked battlement door and unceremoniously blasted it open with his force ring. The sight that greeted him was a burning hellscape, screams in the distance as the village itself started to burn. There's some fighting at a part of the wall, but several sections had been either abandoned or overran. That didn't bode well to the men he brought along. What happened in the short moment he's occupied within?

"Damnation."

He took a deep breath, calming himself down before taking another glance backward. No sight of hostiles, but that didn't mean a thing when his necklace still warned him of undeath presence. Bastard could slip through the wall and see through invisibility. His own detection was hampered by the sheer saturation of magical effect in the area, courtesy of that druid. Twice the damnation, he could feel that his mana reserve were... still plentiful, but definitely drained quite a bit.

Floating straight up, Asevor stopped about a hundred feet off the battlement before starting to trace another tesseract. This one vaguely resembled a corvid, though from a certain point of view it'll look like a skull instead. This far enough should give him ample warning if anything came close. It'll leave him vulnerable to snipers, but that's likely less dangerous than an ambush by the necromancer. Yes, he had a battle plan now. This was still salvageable. And failing that? Fleeing was not out of the question.

Pity about his wardrobe in that case, but oh well. The generous payment was still worth it.

If it were possible for Cedar to get more angry, it wasnt possible for his features to convey it.

Shortly after plastering the rampaging nitwit through the window, his senses keened from far overhead. Some powerful magic was being used up there and it was definitely the accursed, and hideously dressed poseur of a wizard-- and ENTIRELY too high up.

"STOP FUCKIN' AROUND IN 'ERE! I THINK DA FUCKIN' KOOK IS GETTIN AWAY! --FLOATIN' OFF DA DAMN ROOF! GIT YER SORRY ARSES OUT 'ERE!"

He roared through the window, before storming as fast as he could away from the wall, and toward the circle of greenery surrounding the keep.

A tiny glimmering speck to his spell-modified senses indicated the wizard, working some diabolical spell.

"GIT YER ARSES OUT'ERE RIGHT FUCKIN' NAOW! 'AT SUM'BITCH GUNNA DO SUMMIN' NASTY A'FUCK TA DA WHOLE PLACE! AIN'T GOT TIME FER AT FUCKIN' SKINJOB IN'ERE! OUT AFORES YAS GITS BLASTED!"

He grabbed the closest bit of verdant geen vine he could reach, completely heedless of the thorns it bore. There wasn't time. He could feel the stored mana coiled up inside his little garden, like a snake ready to strike.

'Not tudday, ya floatin', pig fuckin'..'

He tapped into the store, then directed the growth up the side of the building in an interwoven torrent of greenery. In moments, it raced up the walls, then overgrew the battlement just beneath the floating wizard.

It was running near empty as it finished the encasement, but that wizard could NOT be allowed to escape.

Not today.

Not ever.

He sucked in a deep breath, then funnelled in his own powers, hoping he'd have enough to reach that cocky little shit's feet without overdoing it, then sent the interwoven mass of greenery higher still, weaving and darting over and through itself for support as it climbed...

Not too far, but at least undisturbed from the commotion below, Jazdia gripped the railing and hopped on a staircase sturdy enough compared to what half of that spiraling stairs had suffered. As the bear's howl faintly echoed in that antechamber, she couldn't help but shake her head; would be nice if he make good use of his big displacement and helped that foreign samurai to bring down the nasty northlander.

There was some magic pulsing, coming from below. Again the druid tried his luck with his overgrowing spell.

Jazdia had reached the second floor. Her bow was drawn and her piercing vision activated, too busy to ponder the effectiveness of Cedar's spell. Both the captured and the capturer was well above, and sadly she need to tread carefully.

Her violet eyes glanced at every corner of the room, scanning for any ill-intentioned surprise the Wizard and his lackeys might have prepared for her.

---

The blast was quickly cast and versitle enough to strike both sides of the paranoid wizard inciting a reaction of incorporeal form for Solomon, and retreating through the structural walls for Violet. Solomon’s body as injured from the arcane blast, and deaf from his own banshee, but it did not hinder him much. His undead body felt no pain. He followed Asevor to the next floor shortly after he retreated. Unceremoniously, Asevor continued up and out of the keep, destroying the door towards the battlement. Solomon could technically follow him out, but his shadowy form would be plainly visible, and he lacked speed to evade any other evocations Asevor might cast towards him. Violet had an advantage as she could fly up remaining invisible.

For now Solomon hid among the crates and a decommissioned ballista when a sudden tower of plant material snaked its way up towards Asevor. This wasn’t August, as he was still propagating the flames against the casters that used them to burn down the brambles. This was Cedar’s handiwork. It was impressive and quickly gained height. Cedar seemed to have developed a special hatred towards the paranoid wizard enough to fully exert himself. If only Solomon was more adept with a martial weapon, he could hide among the vines of the newly formed stalk and surprise Asevor as well.

Cedar’s command of his bean stalk might bring up another opportunity for a surprise attack. Violet traveled to Asevor’s position in a straight line, the timber and stone of the keep below not hindering her travel. Assuming Asevor’s attention would be towards Cedar and his leafy tendrils attempting to grab at him, Violet could appear again, striking at the more desperate wizard with jagged nails that were more like sharp claws. The spell constructs Asevor forms seem to unravel when disturbed. Solomon knew enough that whatever Asevor was casting could be devastating if he needed fly as far as he did before casting. Attempting to disrupt it seemed to be in order.

Asevors position should theoretically make it easier for Jazdia to fire upon him. The lack of exploding arrows probably meant she wasn't in a position to witness him. Or she wasn't in a good position to fire. As for his other allies, it didn't seem likely for them to be able to take advantage of Asevor's position. He watched to see what would unfurl. If Asevor was able to succeed in his spell, perhaps incorporeal form would help wane off the brunt of the effect. Otherwise, if Cedar and Violet could not halt him, perhaps he could make use of the ballista. It would take some strength of reposition it to better fire at such a sharp angle, but as it stood, Solomon himself lacked range.