[GM Post]

Unfortunate that there's no one in the immediate area that could feasibly took advantage of Ragnar's mud-soaked opening, with the elf deciding to skip ahead and went up. Veronica did the sensible move of getting the heck out, Chounan's limp form dragged along like a sack of potatoes. Her magic allowed a glimpse ahead, muscles forced beyond its physical limitations as she shot out right before the overgrowth burst and covered the entrance.

It didn't hold the northlander back for long at all. Ragnar was a walking inferno at the moment, plant matter curling and bursting aflame at the mere contact with his aura as he shoved and forced his way through. His quarries were gone into hiding by the time he passed, but then he set his sight on a different prize.

The bear druid over there, maintaining the plant growth that overtook the whole fortress.

With a ragged warcry, he stomped forward as he burned his own life.

Above, the second floor was completely devoid of life. The rooms were empty, and save for a single guest room in the far end there's no sign of magic at work either. Then the structure shook as brambles and vines grew at a pace that would give nightmare to all gardeners, obcuring the windows and plunging the indoors into pitch darkness. The growth insulated sounds as their side effect, the entire world seemingly turning silent as the cacophony from the chaos outside was greatly dampened.

Further, quite a bit further above, Asevor impassively glared at the rapidly approaching vines toward his position. He simply floated higher, knowing that the growth still had to adhere to its own physical limitations and would need an increasingly thick base to sustain its own weight. He's incapable of moving too quickly or else he'd break focus, but it was sufficient to steer clear of the increasingly desperate vines.

Then, of course, the ambushers appeared.

Only a fool fell to the same trick twice, much less in such short period. The only cover to get to his level were the vines itself, thus Asevor wasn't flustered at all. He pointed his left hand at the banshee, three rings simultaneously lit up as flame, kinetic force, and mind-flay blasted her straight in the face. The first two likely did little, and the third wont affect the basic undead, yet he lucked out that the filthy creature turned out to retain enough of her mind to be temporarily knocked senseless. Small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Asevor's right hand finished the last trace, the spell construct pulsing into an opaque monochrome mass. Now, time to see if Xelthos' claim was as accurate as his boast.

"Xelthos' Servant of Death."

The spell construct pulsed again, splitting into three parts before each grew and grew. In its place was tall, lanky humanoid creatures with pallid grey skin where from shoulder up instead of arms it had scraggly wings with black feather and a raven's head. The body were mostly humanlike with a distinct lack of nipples, belly button, or genital, while the leg ended in massive talons more fitting for birds of prey instead of the supposed raven theme.

"Defensive formation."

Pompous name aside, these were mere non-sentient semi-autonomous shadow elementals. Not quite the best at direct combat, but perfect for both committing and defending against guerilla tactics. And highly resistant to physical blows, something that he'll need if he were to proceed to the next step. Something that he could get into now that the three Servants circled attentively around him.

Everything below was a lost cause. So, he'll kill everything first and proceed from there. Asevor renewed his flight magic, ditching the invisibility part before starting to trace a different construct. If anyone paid attention earlier, it's building up to be the same one that summoned the caustic fog.

As Solomon observed the decommissioned ballistae, perhaps looking around for the projectiles and whatnot, he would notice that the garret was used as a storage of some sort. The inside, however, was cleared recently of whatever junk it previously held and in its place was a rather ominous cube of steel plates with sigils and runes carved on the surface, the edifice periodically pulsating with gentle blue light yet somehow emanated zero traces of magic as if it didn't exist at all. At one side was some sort of defunct arrangement of arcane construct, a detached link of wire suggested that it was until recently connected to the box itself. If Matilda was present, she would've recognize the box as something almost exactly the same dimension as the box containing explosives earlier, while the construct next to it had high degree of similarity with the one mixed among the explosives themselves.

There's a cut section that may had been a door except that it had no handle, with a slot - similarly without handle - possibly used to deliver food and whatnot into the thing. There did not seems to be any mechanism to operate the thing.

Cedar was not amused, and doubly so at expending energy only to have the dodgy bastard just float a smidge higher to miss the vines.

As the lumbering imbecile approached, he slipped the pilfered kukri out of his belt, palmed the handle 'fight-style' in one hand while holding the vine still in the other, then waited for the inevitable attempted tackle.

As the moron lunged, he instead dodged to the side, swung his weight against the vine to close back behind the bludgeoned mass of bloody streaks that called itself Ragnar the red, pulling the vine tight in the process like a rope, then quickly wrapping it around him, all in the same movement, before bringing the blade down hard across the back of the man's neck, then kicking him in the butt toward the window he had slung mud through earlier.

"I AINT GOT TIME FER YA DUMB BULLSHIT. FUCKOFF."

The room was clear, and she did not waste a moment pondering about it.

Third floor, eyes activated...

Jazdia usually never bothered with vines and overgrown proliferating around her. But this time they grow so quickly that she instinctively slowed her pace down. When the next floor reached, however, she started to despise it even more.

"A friendly... magically enchanted construct, great!"

And true to that, besides making her feel rather squeamish, those overgrown were an active veil to her vision, and having to exert more power to pierce those layers was always a bother, especially when done in a place where the access to the sunray was limited.

After treading through the moss-layered floor that felt like cheap, soggy carpet, Jazdia climbed another set of stairs and reached the door. It was opened but blocked by the overgrown. In sheer frustration, she unsheathed her long knife, channeled magic until the blade was glowing hot, and slashed the moss, vines, and all.

She was half expecting an ambush but found that the welcome was rather lukewarm. Carefully her eyes spied the coast. She saw the spectral doctor Solomon near another room, smaller than the floors below with myriads of magical emitters installed between it and another internal room in which the prince could be seen sitting and reading without a care in the storming world around his small cubicles.

The wizard was up there...

Was he really that snob he thought of himself as ascended being or something?

The elf grabbed her arrow in a batch of six and took her time to enchant them with the explosive spell that would automatically explode after reaching a certain distance. A bit more expensive than usual, but look where she was now! The sun was shining directly above her head making the cost almost negligible.

When the wizard finished his summoning, Jazdia had already finished her arsenal. The first one nocked and the bow was drawn in full, it whistled in the air before blasting its target with fire and crystalized shrapnel.

She betted the wizard never heard about surface-to-air missiles before.

---

This box. Well, if it was premature to assume the sealed room was worth investigating, this box was certainly not. It lacked an easy was to quickly access, with the only entrance like areas lacking an obvious means of opening. A notable discovery. Solomon noticed that the rest of the room lacked any supplies, making the ballista useless. By now, he could see the servants summed by Asevor, and the preparation of another spell. So, for the time bring, Solomon’s priority would have to switch again. What lay in the box would probably be safest within. Solomon turned his attention towards the sky back out within the open air, embers blowing across the lower sky, Asevor flying well enough away from the flames.

Violet floated listlessly where Asevor was previously located. Unfortunate his altitude was much farther than Cedar’s plant tower could reach. Solomon began preparing another spell. He needed range, and he lacked his own. Likewise, the shadows were useless in combat and Violet was out of sorts. Likewise, many of his allies also lacked range, at least from what he could see. Jazdia had her bow, but Cedar’s beanstalk seemed to be the extent of his range. The others were either incapacitated or close range fighters. The only other archer he was aware of was Veronica, but her whereabouts were unknown to Solomon. Black wisps of magical energy twisted with silver began to coil around his arms, collecting within the palms of his hands.

“August, leave the brambles, give aid here. Violet, come to sense.” said Solomon needlessly. Yet, he spoke anyway to help give him some clarity. The range of that spell was unknown to Solomon, but he saw the effects it had when it was contained within the dining hall. If Asevor could magnify its area of effect, then such a caustic cloud would be detrimental, not only to his allies, but to the servants and citizens who remained in the village, fighting the fire.

Up until now, August fed mana into the brambles, growing them even as Asevor’s wizards burned them. He remained below the ground, making it very difficult for them to drive him out. When Solomon called, he positions the thorny vines over as much flammable material as possible and then immediately drew the mana from within. This effectively killed the vines, letting the fire burn them into ash, raining embers onto various buildings. Though most of them were evacuated, the ensuing uproar of fire could still keep the mages busy leaving them to deal with the fire they started. This action also helped supplement his own mana stores along with the pools Cedar had created funneling them towards the keep. The ground rumbled as August gave Cedar’s sky scraper another burst in height. The growth of the structure was no where near as far as Cedar’s initial burst, but should be just enough to attempt another grab at the floating mage. The remaining mana went into the pool for Cedar’s access as well as reinforcing the stalk as to not topple over its own weight.

Violet momentarily remained still unaware of what had occurred. The three effects cast upon her were of little consequence, but it left her mind scattered. Aware but not observant, she took a moment to realize how inactive she was being. After regaining her composure, Violet resumed what was requested earlier. She flew higher to match Asevor’s altitude, though a fair distance father than her previous encounter. He was surrounded by some odd raven human hybrid monsters. If they do not engage, Violet was to deliver another ear piercing shriek.

As for Solomon, he was finalizing his spell, calling upon yet another of his undead allies. Despite being several stories above the ground, the floor broke as another entity formed from a mound of newly formed soil, as though it had always been below the surface. The figure of a woman, dressed in a formal dress rose. The dress was yellow and white, a large bow tied around the waist. Puffed fabric was held at her shoulders leading to fine silk sleeves. The front of the skirt held several frills, and outfit trimmed in lace. Her features were fair, though grayed. As one of the dead, she was very well preserved. She had blond hair with a single braid that flowed down over her shoulders. Suddenly, her body lurched forward as the back of the dress tore. A ghostly mirror of the woman, joined by the hip, almost like a soul escaping from her own body emerged. The physical body and ghostly upper body of the same woman remained conjoined in this way. The only difference between both forms was the spectral woman was dressed in under clothing, of simple loose fitting garb and less than neat hair. Likewise, unlike the color that made up her dress, the ghostly apparition was entirely pale white. Two bodies it appeared to be, yet only one entity she was.

“No!” the odd undead spoke. The voice came very much from the spectral head, the physical body displaying very little animation. Whatever she did, it was the ghostly torso, the physical body not acting at all. “No, I swear whatever it is you call, I refuse.” The woman folded her arms, turning away from Solomon, the physical puppet turning shortly thereafter.

“This is not up for discussion. I need your skill in the arcane arts to combat Asevor. How you fair afterward will rely on it. If you so require, I will speak indomitably. Favor is earned, and otherwise you leave me without choice.” Solomon spoke softly, yet sternly. As so much he had allies that saw him favorably, circumstances of their past where Solomon could not save them, there were those who looked upon him with disdain. Petra was one such person. If one knew of the atrocities Petra was a part of, her fate might not seem so undeserved. However, it mattered not. If it were not for Solomon’s binding, she would nary care for what was happening. Yet, his words were true. Even without the control Solomon had over her, she was still bound to him.

“Fine. You want to bring down the man surrounded by Xelthos birds? Don’t call me again once that’s done.” No longer heeding any of Solomon's words of advice about Asevor or otherwise, the physical body moved for once. Her arm latched onto a small book once stashed under the thick ribbon tied around the torso of her dress. Flipping through the pages, she held the book up in which her ghostly hand laid upon one of the pages. She quickly lifted her hand off the page. Bright light emanated off the page, streaked from it to her hand, and then from her hand it flew straight towards Asevors location like an arrow. Shortly after the ray of light, Petra also took flight in a similar manner Asevor demonstrated.

[GM Post]

Ragnar rampaged through with the grace of a rolling boulder, missing the bear in the first pass as his maimed leg prevented proper turning. The vines touching him rapidly sizzled and burned, his protective aura preventing both following blows as he swung the axe with abandon. It bit deep into Cedar's arm, the tips of his furs curling from the blazing heat emitted... yet the strength displayed seemingly pale in comparison to the previous performance.

The northlander was, inevitably, burning out.

Far above, one of the crow spirit reacted as it swiped at the incoming arrow, the following explosion engulfing it almost entirely. Yet by the time it dissipated the creature was still there, a bit translucent than before and missing half of a wing with body full of holes yet otherwise remained floating in the air. Another met the banshee head-on, the two semi-incorporeal beings descending on each other in a tangle of claws. The third went for the conjoined Petra, but the light blast struck it head-on as it disintegrated with a shrill shriek. More than half of it vanished on the spot, but the rest of the crow spirit seemed to be gathering together to reform into a smaller version of itself.

Asevor, floating away from the next vine outburst, added the last stroke onto his tesseract.

"Caustic Cloud of Ruzpin."

The spell construct lazily floated forward, belching sickly-green cloud of acid that spread and slowly descended over the fort proper. It wouldn't be as concentrated out here compared to the indoor usage, but it should cover a much wider area. Not taking any more chance of surprises, his spellbook flipped to another page as the archmage began tracing yet another imitation construct from his apparent safety.

At this point the walls was completely abandoned as the fire spread with abandon, blood-splattered Yvonne and Reinhold descending away from the heat. The latter seemed grimly satisfied with whatever they've had done in the past five minutes, the previously defended rampart now littered with corpses of the mages and mercenaries. The two noticed Ragnar going wild on their bear companion, the hunter nocked and fired an arrow at the crimson brute to no apparent effect. Meanwhile, Yvonne caught the expanding green far above and could only mutter one word.

"Fuck."

Loud snarling and a roar were the only sounds the bear made before transitioning into a foul torrent of curses and epithets about what ragnar did with his own mother.

The futile arrow shot by Reinhold did at least buy a moment of distraction that he used to grab hold of the nearest set of vines near the wall, which he willed to begin an all out assault on the mostly naked idiot, in the form of multiple vines lashing like bullwhips.

As each hit and caught fire, another came in right after, in a dizzying blur of green and smoke, as he did his best to control them while dodging the axe.

Healing would have to come when an opening presented itself, until then, not letting up the pressure was the only option.

Ragnar was strong, but not fast. The vines however, were very fast indeed.

Whatever that wizard was doing, Jazdia did not care, the bombardment continued even when the first one failed to bring him down. The second arrow trailed in the air, and his summoned servant also intercepted it. Not waiting to see the result, the third launched, the wretched lunged, punishment dispensed, and damage was taken. To shoot them until they were all down, and let's see how long they can withstand the bombardment. There's more where that came from!

When the fourth was ready to launch, it was apparent that the Wizard's turn to answer her onslaught was imminent. Same trick, same problem, but now it descended like some sort of volcanic haze crawling down from a very passive mountain, yet its course remained unaltered by the wind. Jazdia winced and have her bow un-drawn. She had had enough.

The elf gripped the remaining three arrows and cast upon them a protective command before returning them to her quiver. For much of the observable moment, she did nothing but breathe. A fire vortex started to form on her right hand.

Breathe.

She looked up as the cloud of poison hovered down towards her.

Breathe.

She kneeled and closed her eyes. A calmer state of mind was required...

To breathe.

Fire engulfed her right hand as she touched the stony base. The flame was her own energy, compacted in a volatile medium, unstable without its usual casing.

For another five seconds, Jazdia kept on maintaining the flame. A while ago, in her current blinded state, she would worry that damned Wizard would come down and lop her head off while she was kneeling, now the concern was more immediate as the acidic fumes started to burn her clothes and she could hear her own skin sizzling. Worse of it, she could only ignore the pain.

With a swift motion, the elf raised her hand. The condensed flame whirled and pulsated once before lashing its blaze in every direction. She braced for more pain as the flame ignited the acid fog and scorch the entire battlement in a rapid conflagration.

---

With Asevor so far in sky and the cloud of caustic acid slowly descending over the keep, Solomon realized just how little range he had. For that battle, Solomon would have to rely on his allies, both living and dead. That is not to say Solomon didn’t have anything to do near the ground. The steel box was of concern. It was a good size, enough to hold a person. The doors further supported it. The night magic, silent incantations that one wouldn’t be detected meant this contraption, this cage perhaps was to be thoroughly hidden. Solomon observed the case, and the device, attempting to read some of the runes engraved to get a better sense of what he was working with. Unfortunately, he misrepresented how much time he had, unaware of how quickly the acid fog descended upon the battlement. However, it seems like his miscalculation was saved by Jazdia’s release of inner fire, something he wouldn’t realize until he once again left the garret.

As for the ongoing battle, Violet was keeping one of the summoned bodyguards busy as best she could. In fact, being mostly unaffected by the crystal fire of jazdia’s explosive arrows, worked to position the one she was dealing with as near to them as she could, though made very difficult by the shadow raven’s persistence.

August found he was out of range. The beanstalk could not go up much higher without increasing the base significantly, and he currently lacked the substantial mana to do so. Instead, he took individual vines and laced them with rooted seeds, turning the stalk into a pseudo trebuchet and the root structures into nets. The seeds held just enough mana that once they land to rapidly dig into their landing spot enough to sturdy themselves. Almost like an extension of himself several hundred feet in the air, the vine would swing like a whip, releasing the seeds where one would normally crack.

Petra used all parts of her body to cast her spells. Her arms would come down, flip through pages quickly before raising her book once again for the spectral hand to lay upon the page and release a spell. After her first near encounter with one of the strangely humanoid ravens, Petra cast upon herself Blur. Her very being was no longer a sharp contrast to her surroundings, becoming wispy, and very hard to focus. It was though one was looking at her through fogged glass. While not impossible, her appearance would make targeting and landing further attacks that much harder.

With another hand on the page, Petra slid her hand off the spell book with a directed point towards Asevor. The servants of death, at least the ones that remained, would have to act more defensively to protect Asevor blocking barrages than facing Petra. Rays of light were enough to burn and seemed to be a weakness of the shadow elementals.

[GM Post]

Ragnar was there, ready to press his attack, when he stumbled and fell. The axe still in his grip ripped itself out of the wound in a spray of blood as he confusedly looked down, his aura flickering and vanishing from the edges - enough that his severed leg was no longer held together, robbing him of his balance. The savage rictus eased into an understanding as he fell, a mountain of scarred muscle and flesh finally meeting its end.

"Ironhand, bring me home."

As the aura fully receded, the injuries it held together returned to take their toll. Pierced heart returned with all the fatalities it entailed, lifeblood leaking from a dozen more wounds that marked the end of Ragnar the Red.

"No fucking way, is he really dead? Good job, everyone."

Yvonne arrived a few seconds after, kicking at the corpse without any sign of respect for the dead. Then she retrieved her sword still buried in the mountain of meat, and as a last gesture of profanity proceed to saw off the northlander's head. She glared back halfway through at Cedar and a horrified Reinhold, scowling at the latter as if he had said something offensive.

"What? We gotta make sure, you have no idea how resilient this fuck is."

Her effort was interrupted by a loud detonation above, the roilling wave of green abruptly replaced by a flash of crimson as the caustic cloud exploded violently. The vines took the brunt of it, as were Jazdia herself being so close to the cloud at that moment. That solved the immediate issue... only for the clear sky to reveal that the spell construct was slightly smaller but otherwise unaffected as it resumed spewing more sickly-green cloud.

Violet was winning, but not fast enough. The remaining two ravens, meanwhile, threw themselves onto the conjoined spellcaster with abandon as they rapidly shrunk from the barrage. That, however, was all the time Asevor need to complete his tesseract. He victoriously raised his hand, the spell construct gleaming brightly before shooting straight into the sky.

"Harlek's Incantation of Incineration."

Nothing immediately happened, yet the sky dimmed for miles around even though nothing visibly obscured the sky as if the sunlight itself had lost potency. If anyone had any sort of danger sense, however, it would've been ringing wildly right at this moment.

Emerging from the smoke and leftover vapors was Jazdia, standing in a way that hid her flabbergasted expression. Her clothes were tattered around her calf, elbow, belly, and chest, showing the burnt skin beneath. Her injury testified to the intensity of her firestorm, yet the blaze barely licked the source of the dangers itself.

And it was still going, albeit at a slower pace.

"What a *cough* bother."

For a while, her vision blurred, and it felt like she would collapse any moment, the damage was pretty bad Jazdia could have sworn she heard her father nagging from the afterlife.

Yeah Dad, channeling magic without a medium was a very reckless of me.

"How is that damned prince anyway?"

Jazdia's heart raced, with a certain anger in the mix, she refocused her magic and stared into the room, half expecting the poison to have reached his chamber, cooking him alive with no way to exhaust the gas away. Yeah, of course, it didn't happen... for His highness' convenience, her fire had cleansed the air before it could seep through, with her paying the price for it.

Was it worth it? Was it the right thing to do? Tough questions, one of many things she wouldn't do when the danger was still imminent and her enemy was still at large, but her mental acuity allowed her to do that, all while dashing forward, and the only thing that made her paused the thought that she had allowed herself to get hurt just to save a royal brat was a slight embarrassment after realizing her tattered shirt was draping behind her exposed midriff.

...and the mass of concentrated energy being sent to the sky.

Despite the damage she suffered, the last explosion taught her something, and it was time to put that knowledge to good use.
Reaching for her previously-enchanted arrow, Jazdia grimaced as the skin from her scalded finger peeled off as the arrow released. It trailed straight toward the arcane construct before exploding on its own and igniting the acid fog.

With the lumbering clod named Ragnar dead (and decapitated), cedar was momentarily overcome with a deluge of mixed feelings.

He had not actually wanted to kill the man; he had just wanted to completely incapacitate him, render him harmless, take him out of the fight without actually killing him-- it was the way his dad had taught him. The way he knew. The way that seemed most right.

Seeing the man, headless, surrounded by a pool of dark blood in the grass, completely covered in oozing wounds, with a leg discarded clumsily nearby, a different and blood curdling kind of painful, bitter and cold hatred bloomed inside him.

Not at the pathetic wreck of a man, who's remains decorated the ground, but for the flying bastard way overhead. The bastard raining green filth from the sky, and calling unnatural abominations to protect him while he did his wickedness. The man who had used up, then just discarded the dumb brute he had been forced to help kill, like he was just so much trash.

The man who's minions had set the town on fire. The town, who's peoples screams clawed in his ears, and ripped at his heart. The man who was so deeply involved in this plot that threatened war in 3 kingdoms, and who engaged in that enterprise so smugly and cavalier...

The hot anger he had been feeling solidified. Hardened. Became ice in his stomach. Will in his soul. Ice in his heart. There would be no mercy for this man, and his wicked deeds.

Vague memories of when he was 2 floated through his head. He had been so curious about the tumbling ruins of what was clearly once a mighty tower, that he asked his dad about it as they passed by it on the way to town. His dad had coldly stated that it was the inevitable fate of every wizard that embraced hubris, and the shape of the legacy that mentality embraced-- total ruin, that mars the earth for years after.

He had been singularly afraid of the dark tone his dad had taken then. Thankfully, his dad was not a viscous sort, and had smiled after, scooped him up and played with him and his twin brother in the grass, telling them both what good boys they were...

Looking at the now vine-encrusted keep, and looking up at the tiny glimmer of brightness that represented the arrogant and twisted wizard, flying high above, his thoughts returned to the ruin of that tower.

This tower too, would fall to ruin. A testament to the willful hubris of a single man, and a lasting scar upon the face of the earth.

He imagined that once, long ago, it was a loving home. A place of refuge and prosperity. The crown set upon the hill the town was nestled around.

All because of one man.

Green filth descended like a ghostly spectre from above the rampart, burning and choking his vines as it d3scended.

Fire raged further up, a hallmark of the battle being fought, and lost high above.

Momentarily, he realized he was deep in a grotesque snarl, teeth barred, ears back, and for one tiny moment, he felt bad for being filled with such cold outrage over this man, before it was replaced with dark conviction.

The sun suddenly began to lose its brilliance, and the sky seemed to darken. Danger seared through his instincts as if a forest fire was coming. His ears planted down hard and he snarled through his barred teeth.

"YOU WANNA DARKEN THE SKY TOO ASSHOLE?" He bellowed, as memories that were shameful to him floated to prominence.

He had been reading the books in Florence's library, looking for new ways to help his dad. Flo was such a nice, and accommodating woman, but with a stern and strict countenance. 'Magic is not a thing to take lightly, like my fool brother!' She would scold when he would ask silly questions about it. That day, it was a hot summer afternoon. It had not rained in weeks, and the forest was suffering in the dry heat. The woodcutters were taking advantage of the opportunity, and were cutting in places they shouldnt again. His dad had said there wasnt much he could do, the plants needed water to grow, even with magic... so, he was looking for ways to make it rain.

Flo had found him a very curious book about the traditional folk magics of a distant island people, and a dance for the wind and rain was recorded-- in the dry and disdainful tones of a college educated researcher, who catalogued the entire ritual and preceeding feast in excruciating technical detail. It was a difficult thing to read: dry and lifeless, like a mummy of something meant to be alive and full of vitality, wrapped, pressed, and preserved in the pages, with diagrams and illustrations of the dancers and their dance.

He had taken it in eagerly, niave and hopeful to help his dad, and help protect his home. The farmers' crops were suffering in the dry heat as well, and a little rain would do so many so much good. He was filled with that vision, that purpose, and completely disregarded flo's very sage advice about respecting magic.

Young and excited, the dance became burned into him as best he could understand the lifeless drawings and cold descriptions, and he rushed to the old forest glade between where he and his dad lived, and the town of mystville...

He had done the dance, exactly as recorded, filling himself with the happiness and power of his native home...

It had been a disaster.

Rain, and not just any rain either. Rain that fell in drowning bucketfulls. Rain like he had never seen before. Rain saturated with wild magic that didnt belong and couldnt be stopped drenched and flooded, and caused so much harm.

The memory of that dance filled him with shame, and he never took magic for granted ever again...

"FINE! IYULL DARKEN YA FUCKIN' SKY FER YAH, YA FLYING FAT FUCK! IF'N I GOTTA DANCE FER YA TOO, SO FUCKIN BE IT YA PRICK!" He raged at the roof overhead, before quickly mending his shoulder enough to do the deed he had set himself to.

He had revisited that book after the storm had ended, trying to find what had gone wrong-- but nothing had been wrong. The spell was powered by, and incorporated the emotions and feelings of the caster, and his feelings had been very strong when he had 'danced for the earth and sky' that day....

And he felt VERY strongly right now. More strongly and full of cold and murderous rage as he could ever remember feeling. That man wanted to play silly games up in the sky, kike it was a bastion of perfect safety? Heh. That madman had it coming, what would surely be unleashed.

He stormed to the front gate of the keep, ripped the standard bearing pole from its mooring, then tore the heraldic banner from it, then walked with purpose back to the copse of roses, raised the 'staff' high, and began a silly, but whimsical and sweeping dance across the lawn as the sky darkened... bushes and grass swaying around him as he moved, tugged and pushed as if by some invisible force, with only the sound of agonized wind screeching to testify to the cause, as his robes billowed and puffed out from the gale starting to coalesce around him.

He was aware if Yvonne and Reinhold watching him. He could feel their incredulous stares, but nothing would deter him from dancing this horrible, terrible, vengeful and deadly dance, as he fed it every ounce of his power and rage, directing it diffusely into the sky above, and the air surrounding the keep, and for miles above and around it-- that arrogant wizard, the sole focus of the spell's fury...

The sky grew darker, cold, and bitter.

His breath became hot puffs lost in the tumult of the wind whipping and whirling along with him as he gracefully cut across the green, arms extended above, rod held aloft...

"Children burn, and fathers die-- widows weep from the mage up high--- dance to turn; hearts awry-- FEEL THE WRATH OF EARTH AND SKY! SUCK ON THIS MOTHERFUCKER!"

He roared, pointing the shaft of the standard pole directly at where he could feel Asevor's magic centered far overhead, as all pandemonium broke loose.

Ensnared by the magic he had let loose, a loud and terrible stream of the most heated cursing and rebuke the bear's heart could muster erupted from his lips as he continued to dance, now with it being questionable which was dancing to what... him to the sky, or the sky along with him, carried in an endless whirling orbit about the keep..,

After what seemed like a long dash, Jazdia reached the edge of the battlement and looked down. Uninterested in the explosion above and more concerned with creating more of it.

"Hey! You two," she shouted to a particular Samurai and the newcomer girl. "Use my arrow and bla--"

"FINE! IYULL DARKEN YA FUCKIN' SKY FER YAH, YA FLYING FAT FUCK! IF'N I GOTTA DANCE FER YA TOO, SO FUCKIN BE IT YA PRICK!"

Jazdia knew it was not for her, but standing here in the line of fire of a cursing druid made her hold her breath. Anyhow, that should be the least of her concern; the air's changing all of a sudden, adding more to the dark overcast above. The wind whistles unnaturally and became more intense in seconds. She had no idea what deity Cedar worshipped, but apparently, they were incredibly lenient they answered his prayer even if it was laced with foul epithets.

"Hey, you! Listen to me! Use my arrow and shoot that mage!" Two of her arrows kindled in bluish flames before Jazdia tossed them down to Veronica and Chonan.

---

An explosion? Asevor is certainly pulling out the stops now that he is outside the keep. Solomon didn’t worry too much about it. Not due to a lack of care, rather he knew that at the moment, he had no reliable means of reaching him, and even if he did lacked any methods of actually dealing with him. It was unfortunate, but it is as it is. Even so, Solomon exited the garret to assess the progress of the battle. Several of the wooden structures crackled as small fires ate away at the timber, small bits of blackened foliage drifted from the remains of the bean stalk, what remained limp leaning over the keep. Jazdia was also there, burned and beaten, her exposed skin blistered from magical acid.

“Prince?” questioned Solomon. He took pause. So the prince is in the box? Solomon turned back to face the box covered in script. The door and slot made sense, and the device? The device might have been a part of what confused Veronica’s scry. But something else was bothering him, he look back out through the door towards the battle above. Violet was holding down one of the death creatures while Petra all by annihilated the others. But the sky, it was getting dimmer. Without clouds in the sky, yet the sun was filtered. Solomon didn’t know specifically what was going on, but it didn’t look good.

Time working against him more so than before Solomon had to risk opening the box to rescue the prince. Sensing August nearby, he called for his presence. From what remained of the beanstalk that overhung over the building, August emerged having used the vines to elevate himself up from below ground. Walking part Jazdia shortly after she set fire to the source of the acidic fog he ripped the door off the hinge to join Solomon within the garret.

“So, your herbicidal king’s heir is in there you suppose? Don’t want to confirm?” asked August. He was a little annoyed at the lost of Cedar’s glorious beanstalk creation. Though he was confident he could restore it once the fighting was over, the damage it sustained cut off his reach against Asevor. “Alright, let me see what I can do.” Vines covered much of the side of the keep as well as penetrating deep within each of the floors. A byproduct from Cedar’s growth spell as well as necessary to support the stalk. Concentrating on those vines present in the keep, August was able to nurture their further development. The wood along the floor creaked and split as thin stems sprouted from below. Soon they widened into thick vines, boring out the floor, collapsing it beneath the box. At the same time, the vines grew around the box to support it instead.

“We will need to get below ground.” said Solomon, “I fear the spell Asevor has cast may lead to stark devastation.” August only nodded as the vines took the box below into the third floor. The vines slithered abound the floor digging into existing crevices and imperfections, widening them and ruining their integrity, boring down through the keep. The abundance of vines helped. Still at the third floor, the vines began to compress the box continuously applying force hopefully to the point where it would split open, but not be crushed. Enough to create an opening for whatever was inside to crawl out. If it was indeed the prince, then he could take him and follow the path August created down through the keep. The goal was to get underground, perhaps among the roots of the giant stalk if the ground could be cleared away in time. At the very least, find as much cover as possible.

Above, Violet was clueless to the change in sky, working to keep the remaining death bird from interfering with the others, but Petra looked onward with knowing eyes. She scowled, but knew that in the end, it didn’t affect her fate. Even so, she was compelled to keep the pressure on Asevor. He may have been able to cast his spell, but the Xelthos birds could only last so long before Petra could resume casting rays towards the wizard. She had some time before the spell came to fruition. She laid a hand on the book but when she raised it off, the ray that accompanied the motion instead curved its path so that it circles her person. She repeated this a couple times. It along with Blur would make approaching difficult, and at the same time would allow her to fire the rays in quick succession should it be required. Given the sudden and quick formation of storm clouds, she might need to in one way or another.

"Hey, you! Listen to me! Use my arrow and shoot that mage!" Two of her arrows kindled in bluish flames before Jazdia tossed them down to Veronica and Chonan.

Chounan caught the arrow and readied his yumi bow. He began his Mushin phase. He executed an artful stance from his origin with his archery skill. He drew his bow with the elf's arrow. Aimed his elevation towards to the mage. The gathered up Ki made his archery blessed with unexplained source of power. He released the arrow towards to his target. The velocity was surprisingly fast that it went straight to the mage's head in a blink of the eye.

[GM Post]

An explosive arrow detonated right at the spell construct, a smaller and farther explosion consumed the acid cloud. Either running its course or hastened by the attack, the tesseract had shrunken into the size of bean before sizzling out of existence as the lightshow faded. That's one threat settled. Another one to go... probably.

"Oh no you dont."

The garret collapsed from the architechtural abuse, something that Asevor did not miss. Waving his hands like a conductor, a blindingly bright pinprick of light fell from the sky over first Violet, then Petra, Solomon, and finally August's exposed figure. Those pinpricks abruptly expanded, a massive beam of scorchingly concentrated sunlight burning through the four undead.

"What the- NO!"

Then dark cloud materialized in the sky, to Asevor's dismay. Glancing at the sinking box, knowing that it would hold for some time, an ugly rictus formed on his visage as he dove straight toward the dancing bear. Chounan, Reinhold, and Veronica attempted to shoot him out of the sky while Yvonne in particular decided to toss Ragnar's rusty axe to the old man. All projectiles missed, veering off-course from some enchanted item though the heavy axe was noticeably less affected than the arrows. Explosions bloomed where the enchanted arrows ended up, one high at midair and another at the stone wall surrounding the fort.

"Bastards, out of my way! Judgment!"

A fluidly forming shape materialized on the old man's palm, before turning into a massive beam of raw arcane might that he swept through the opposition. Veronica dragged Chounan out of the way, as if predicting the beam's path before it was fired as the blast narrowly missed and moved on toward the next. Reinhold and Yvonne wasn't so lucky to take the brunt of it, their streams of expletive cuts off by the scorching force.

Another tesseract were forming in Asevor's hand, his open spellbook floating exactly twelve inches from his face despite the rapid movement. Sweat dripped down his brows, off the disheveled hair that was so finely combed just an hour ago, as fat beads of rainwater and hailstone started falling from the sky.

He could feel that floating fucker coming down like a comet right towards him.

The festering spew of angry profanity did not let up, as his peripheral vision caught the bright flash of light as the twisted levitating man cast a spell and swept through his comrades with it, before starting another.

He continued his dance, and whirled into arm's reach, reached out, and snatched the floating spellbook angrily, before shoving it down his belt, opposite the kukri, then brought the (Woefully inadequate for the task) flagpole to bear against the man's head, feeling it careen off his barrier, before he felt the magic in the spell grip him again.

His vision blurred and his voice became deep and resonant, as he intoned another set of quatrains:

"Exchange of blows from mages dive; Frenzied bodies-- invictus strive-- A wall of light- no strikes arrive."

A momentary pang of fear rippled through him, as he felt the magic cloying inside his intrails, drawing the last gasps of magic out of him, then pulling on his very vitality instead. The thought he had bitten off more than he could chew assailed him, and he felt his steps start to falter, before more thoughts and feelings replaced them-- a sense of dutiful resolution that even if this spell turned him into a corpse, if it took this fucker out with him, it would be a perfectly fine trade. The next wave of forced incantation hit him...

"Lightning crashes-- The duelists vie-- Whirlwind throws the mage on high-- Tossed between the Earth and Sky."

His guts wrenched, and he felt sick as his breath caught in his chest as it tightened against the force of the spell, but his body continued against his volition, moving with a mind of its own as he whirled and danced with the unseen gale, exchanging places with it as it intersected Asevor, then suddenly roared into a cyclone, sending the man right back up where he came from with vengeance, rain and hailstones going right up behind him.

As soon as the breath returned to his lungs, the festering spew of angry profanity resumed, this time a little wheezy and hoarse.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME, YA SONOVABITCH!"

---

Petra’s intuition was right. Unfortunately, she was not in any position to effectively warn anyone, even those in the air with her. That is to say, even if she had, she probably wouldn’t. She did not particularly care what happened to Solomon, and being a voice of warning was not one of her ‘commands’. Still, she was also one of the targets of Asevor’s sun spell. Luckily for her, the spell missed center mass in part because of blur, and she had the forethought to fly away from the sun laser the pinprick foretold. The heat that emanated the blast was intense and though she was able to avoid the initial column of sun magic, parts of her dress was still singed by the heat, and her skin blistered. Not bothered by it, not even able to feel proper pain, Petra looked around, her head swiveling. Asevor disappeared from where Petra had seen him, losing sight as the blinding beam came down. The quickly forming clouds didn’t help. Petra felt a cold chill, moving to descend before the weather worsened.

Violet remained oblivious to anything other than the Xelthos bird she was occupying, taking to full force of the beam as the sun intensive ray completely engulfed her. The only benefit, if it could be called one, is that she kept the deathly looking humanoid raven with her. Though she could not be touched by physical weapons and structures, she was still susceptible to magical attacks. The intensely focused sun beam all but incinerated her.

August and Solomon continued to work on breaking open the box. The box was too large to take all the way down without causing too much more structural damage. The beanstalk already had most of its weight supporting one wall, and the ceiling above already started to collapse with the garret. He concentrated on the increasingly constrictive force of the vegetation as he attempted to crack open the box. The walls might be strong, but near omnidirectional force applied on all sides of the box would break the seams eventually. As long as August was there, the risk of further collapse was minimized.

Solomon looked towards August. While Solomon was a floor down with the box, August remained with the stalk, commanding the vines it sprouted throughout the keep. He noticed the bright thin beam of light poke through the remains of the garret ceiling spearing through August’s position. Solomon uttered a quick word of warning before he himself suddenly vanished within black mist ducking into the surrounding structure. All August could hear was the word of warning, but wasn’t able to do more than attempt to return to the stalk before the beam of concentrated sunlight tore through the remains of the garret though his body. He along with much of the vegetation by his person ignited. What remained of the undead druid collapsed, falling to the floor below, landing next to the box containing the prince.

August’s body smoldered as the teeth of his skulled head chattered. Cursing his fortune, August reached with his remaining hand towards nothing in particular. The vines holding the box quickly lost their tension, and gravity took over. Many bits of foliage fells as the multitude of vines were left dangling from whatever perches they were rooted to. The box leveled out, resting on the plant life that once held it suspended. August’s arm fell, and though he lacked proper eyes, it could be said that his closed. With a final burst of mana, the remains of August’s body extinguished as small stems quickly sprouted from his corpse, a multitude of colorful petals blossoming releasing a sweet scent in the otherwise dusty and charred atmosphere. Then with a pulse, the vines and the beanstalk grew several feet at once. It wasn’t enough to reach or capture anything, but it was enough for the roots to dig further the structural integrity of the keep. The entire side of the keep the beanstalk occupied was unstable. And the weight of the been stalk was fully leaning into it. The strong winds picking up outside wasn’t helping either.

Solomon could feel the loss of both Violet and August. He was saddened by their demise. Violet especially. Though she may have perished once before, she was still a child in many ways. Still, he turned his attention back to the box. It remained entirely intact, the vines doing nothing to crack it open. Not even the apparent door budged, despite the evidence that root work attempted to penetrate its hinges. Solomon lacked much of anything to move it now. For now it was level, and hopefully the Prince would be okay if he stayed inside just a little bit longer.

Solomon stepped over the roots snaked across the floor, looking for a window. He was able to find one, peaking through one of the bedrooms, through it was overgrown with vines. Solomon was able to push enough out of the way to see the drastic change in the weather. The once bright and sunny morning had turned cloudy as rain and hail fell from the dark clouds above. The signs of a vortex was forming among them as the winds picked up. Solomon wasn’t quite sure how the weather came to be, but he suspected it might have to do with Cedar’s bizarre dance among the current battle.

Then there was Asevor, low to the ground now, but not for long as that cyclone forming above encapsulated Asevor. He wasn’t the only one to notice as the rest o his allies were nearby as well either recouping or taking advantage of the turn of the weather. Petra had appeared once again with a volley of light. The beams of light magic that she had circle her body flew from their orbits, homing in on Asevor’s position. With the Xelthos bird more or less dealt with, these may have more impact against Asevor himself. Solomon held out a hand towards the enemy wizard. Before he would get too far away, Solomon cast another instance of daggerhold. A test of the wind to see if it was powerful enough to break it. If neither the wind nor any of Asevor’s jewelry broke the spell, the cyclone would would push the sun commanding wizard into what felt like a wall of knives multiple times.

[GM Post]

The sky was torn asunder. There's no better way to describe it. Dark cloud roiled into a great vortex, a colossal eye that oversaw the world and wept in watery deluge and cruel hailstones. The hill and the fort sitting on top was actually spared the worst of it, the eye of the storm marginally calmer than the rest, but even then it's still hazardous to linger as hailstones fell, furious wind blew, and lightning strikes introduced themselves into the already chaotic mix.

The village below was spared from the flame, only to be then threatened by flood and ice.

The effort to crack open the box finally found some headway, shortly before August was unfortunately incinerated. One of the previously sealed corners popped from the force, traces of magic immediately leaking out as inspection of the inner working was made possible.

Down below, a desperate Asevor fell under multiple layers of assault. Low as it may be, his bag of tricks were yet to run dry. Through one eye he saw the pain spell forming, and the activation of his ring sent a neutralizing pulse out that shattered it before it formed. Scalding light triggered the last instant barrier, the ring cracking and dimming yet it bought enough time for the archmage to reach his target.

"FOOL! Stop that! You have no idea-" The sentient bear had the audacity to insult him. And even tried to snatch his spellbook - only for the protective measure to trigger, releasing electric shock that rendered the limb burnt and limp. Like a possessed fiend it still kept going, swinging with a bloody makeshift club that glanced off the remnant barrier coating the archmage.

The insane ritual must be stopped.

"Blackwood's Shatterbone!"

Completing the last stroke of the tesseract, with hailstones eating away at his barrier, Asevor sent the magical construct right toward the dancing bear. It went through Cedar's hide and inside of him, pulsing once with no immediate effect before a step of the rain dance was interrupted with an audible crack. That finally toppled him, a few more muted cracks followed from the impact with the ground.

Asevor would like to see it continue dance with bones as brittle as glass.

Now, the rest of them. The sky was too dangerous at the moment, but he could still sense Harlek's invocation awaiting patiently beyond the cloud. Once the heavy cloud dispersed Asevor would be able to do make good use of it, but until then he need to avoid further confrontation. Him, a mighty archmage, fleeing from this half-baked lot. The very thought of it burned and ate him from within, but as long as he survived he will be able to snatch victory at the last second.

The barrier shattered. Raising a hand to cover his head, Asevor tapped one of his ring before abruptly disappearing from sight. Plain old invisibility, with the weather this bad it'll be nearly impossible to keep track of him. Flying low as fast as he dared, the elderly man rushed back toward the fort where he'll be safe from the wrath of the sky.

Hailstones kept on falling. Already cuts and bruises marred his wrinkled skin.

Nearby, Veronica was busy. After bailing out Chounan yet again, she had to drag him into the nearby stable to keep him away from the hail. Then the vampiress went back out and retrieved Yvonne and Reinhold, both burned rather severely and was in no condition to move. She had to cut out the mercenary's armor for it had partially melted, though it did its job absorbing a portion of the beam's destructive energy before it struck her fully. Her left side was littered with angry red blisters, part of the face faring even worse. Meanwhile, the hunter was... not in good condition at all. The damage was severe enough that some part were blackened charcoal, and without some miracle he's not going to live much longer.

With all involved parties battered and exhausted, it would not take much longer before the battle finally saw the end. One way or another.

Jazdia readied shot, and for God's sake, she could hear the incantation as the bladed point of her arrow creaked in purplish flame. When the bolt of arcane magic struck down, however, she determined that it was already too late to intercept the attack.

She only caught a glimpse of the collapsing bear before returning her attention to the caster himself. Composed as ever, yet still irritated by waves of pain coming from her injuries, Jazdia drew her bow and aimed. When the wizard cloaked himself in an invisibility spell, she activated her eyes, casually, like a trained operator responding to a blackout by switching on a flashlight.

Her mental crosshair wobbles a bit to follow her target. That target in question was the bluish man with several shining dots that seemed to have its intensity decreased. Against the chromatic background, that silhouette flew away, straight, and despite the hailstones, it was not even trying to make any erratic move, or try to protect itself with another layer of arcane energy, perhaps in sheer arrogance, or fear. A perfect target nonetheless.

The arrow launched, aimed as true as Jazdia could manage, and no amount of hard wind or icy pellets may deter it from its path.

As the spell went inside him, a powerful feeling of pain wracked his insides, before he felt his leg bones twist and crack in two, followed by more in his arms and chest as he landed in a rain-sodden heap on the ground. His earlier misgivings about underestimating wizened old men with magic flittered irritatingly in the back of his mind; a fitting companion for the horrendous pain he felt all over, and the awareness that the spell was still active.

He tried to breathe. It was met with difficulty and blinding pain. He tried to cry out, but the magic seized him again, and stole his voice, and forced him to move-- a struggling crawl toward the wind-beaten rose hedge, gritting and grinding bits of bone on bone moving 'wrongly' inside him as he was forced to reach out and grab the nearest specimen.

"A wicked trick sends bones askew, but nature's pawn mends flesh anew. Verdant green for crimson hue; With life's blessing, mage-curse eschew!'

Ragged coughing and a whole new category of pain blazed through every part of his body just beneath the skin, as though he were on fire on the inside. His battered and shaking paw bit down cruelly on the lovely hedge he had grown earlier. Magic flowed 'the wrong way' from the ensnared plantlife, causing it to shrivel, wither, blacken and become quite dead, as did all the others in the circle about the keep. His vision momentarily became blue light, bones moved, muscles tightened. He instinctively sucked a breath, easier now, but still burning with unbearable pain. The spell seized him again before he could cry out for it to stop.

"No more in sodden heap lie! With lightened steps, his plans belie! For one to live, the other die-- Ends the dance of Earth and Sky!"

His skin was .. 'floppy', and 'sagged'. he felt like it was 2 sizes too big for him. He looked at his arm, and was aghast to see himself so emaciated and skeletal; he would never survive the winter in this state. He was forced to his feet.

Once more, the forced cadence of the spell gripped him, and the double edged nature of the incantation that had come out of him frightened him. He knew there was 'nothing left' to take, should another round hit him, as the spell would devour him whole, then run wild as it burned itself out, wild and undirected, carving a path of ruin across the countryside. The dance resumed with more than just his robe billowing in the gale, as his sagging skin was caught in the whirling, adding the appearance of a layered garment. He felt light as a feather... practically dancing on the wind itself now. A ghastly and graceful form of bones beneath sagging skin, a living revenant of pure suffering.

Breathing was hard. Labored.

"PLEASE!"

he gasped in a hoarse rattle.

"PLEASE... SOMEBUDDY KILL 'AT SUM'BITCH!"