That giantess is rather rude, but it seemed she had a point. The Sulfreyans had helpfully driven them here, alas the foreigners didn't seem at all greatful for the help in crushing the reavers.
He makes a mental note of the necromancer's unexpectedly varied abilities, and her focus on the grimoire, oh he'd like to give that a read.
Viktor is briefly concerned by whatever that shouting wyvern rider did, some sort of foreign spell no doubt, but then the dagger hit their leader. Viktor hadn't even seen that thrown, clearly they had some sort of assassin among them, not ideal, such men are inherently treacherous, much better to handle things personally, but they are out to assassinate a king.

They need to act fast, no doubt the enemy shall soon be routed, with their commander dead the ogre crushing the wyvern's skull their morale won't hold much longer. Most military treatises would say this is a good thing, but this band of Blackguards lacks the cavalry necessary to chase down fleeing horsmen, and secrecy dictates that none leave this place alive.

Viktor steps behind the convenient barrier that is the giantess and her ice, then raises his hands into the air, it takes a little longer than his last spell, but soon a great fog seeps into the battlefield, seeming to flow from unseens cracks in the air. The smell of sulfur is unmistakable, but for the riders and the mounts far worse awaits, the miasma seeps through armour and withers muscles on contact. They shall not have the strength to run.
His only regret is that he will likely not be able to claim most of their souls personally.

Bright, wide red eyes stared at the chaos in front of her as Ruby stood there frozen like a deer in the headlights. This was all too much. Nothing she had ever faced had ever readied her for any of this amount of destruction. Nothing had prepared her for this large of a threat that called for her head on a stake.

Trap... Trap them? The frost giant's words found their way through her panicked fawn response.

She - she could do that!

Eyes tearing away from the giant ice wall that the wyvern just came crashing into, she moved her shuddering legs and started to think. She could trap the foot soldiers; that she knew she could do, but how the hell was she going to do that without also taking down the ice wall ... or being a target of all the soldiers?

Her eyes shot over the group before finally landing on the cackling madman. That would do.

She rushed over to him and suddenly, with no warning, pushed him with all her strength to the side of the giant ice wall.

Ricon had just been hit by whatever magic that damned wyvern rider had cast. It had shattered his firewall (how the actual…!) and then when the wave hit him, all his magical effects had winked out like candle wicks. He’d staggered and caught himself before he fell, but damn that was no fun. And to top it off, out of no where the Sulfreyans had launched their assault. Dazed at first he’d taken a shaky step to the side, trying to get his bearings.

And then, wait…whoa!

That darn Banshee girl!

He staggered to the side and off to the side of the ice wall. And he’s now in plain sight of the knights!

Ah hell no!

Six of his little fire sprites ignite at once. He grabs one and hurls it forward, the spirite making a giggling uluating sound as it sails through the air, then comes down at the feet of the front line of the knights, blossoming into a dome of fire. Huh magical artillery! He grabs another little fire being and tosses that one too.

Okay yeah he can do this!

Peering from behind the ice wall to see that not only the fiery man was still alive but he had also managed to create some cover, Ruby finally, but still uncertainly, came from behind the barrier.

In quick, small motions, like a bird hoping from one place to the other, she suddenly flitted up behind Ricon. There, her legs still shaking slightly under her, she took in a deep breath before she grabbed at the man's collar and pulled him a few feet back.

Now, as the area was clear, a harrowing screech came from deep within her as she threw her head forward, and white hair flew behind her. In an odd coincidence, or was it planning, the soldiers themselves were actually all right. Well, alright, if you count deafened and some ear bleeding to be tolerable.

No, what crumbled to her attack was the very earth under the Sulfreyans. Giant cracks erupted under their feet before they fell into the fresh dirt pitfall with shock and fear. Now, they truly had nowhere to go, just sitting ducks for the rest of the misfit fugitives.

Gasping, Ruby took a shuddering step backward.

Ricon had just drawn his arm back to launch another of these big artillery fire balls. HIs fire halo had started to reform, and his eyes had regained their flaming quality. Gone had been the smirk, that cocky self sure quirk of his lips and the laugh from his chest. But slowly as he cranks back throwing another fireball forward to watch it burst upon the ground, this time catching one of the horses.

Okay he felt bad about that. Immolating a human being is okay, many of them were kinda assholes. But a Horse never did anything bad to him.

But it was kinda funny when it’s rider plowed into the ground with a crunch and a cry of pain.

In fact Ricon is just drawing back again to get a focused fire strike on the prone man when…whoops!

He gets pulled back, “Ah what the hell!” Looking back, oh it’s the Banshee girl again. He’s about to round on her and give her a bit of a piece of his mind when she screams again.

Oh…that’s why!

He dropped to the side and covered his ears, looking out as the ground buckles and heaves under the power of the banshee. Okay maybe it’s not a good idea to get in on her about all this. Because all of that is impressive. Only his Inferno can do that kind of damage reliably.

He finally looks at her, “Remind me not to piss you off.”

Her chest still heaving with exhaustion, Ruby looked up at the fiery madman in confusion before a rare proud smile lit up her face. She seemed to be happy with that comment.

Which may have contributed to the fact that once she started to back up towards the ice barrier, she actually, in a comparatively gentle manner, pulled at his sleeve this time instead of just forcefully pulling him back with her.

Ricon nodded slowly, “Okay yeah…this works.” He braced as he felt her hand on his sleeve again, waiting for another hard pull or shove. But the careful, almost gentle manner of the tug is surprising. He slips back behind the ice wall with her, one his sprites flitting down to bump curiously against her hand, a soft giggle from the fire sprite. It’s warm to the touch, but doesn’t burn.

As they slip behind the ice wall the little fire being giggles and starts to orbit about Ruby slowly, copying the five that still orbit Ricon. The pyromaniac not noticing immediately really. Too much going on. And safely behind the wall he’s busy marveling at their continued survival. Helluva drug it is.

Finally, behind the ice wall again, Ruby let out a shuddering breath as she started to feel a little bit safer. She had done what she could; the rest could surely pick them off easily enough now that they were stuck like fish in a barrel.

She removed her grip on the stranger's clothes, thinking about possibly wiping the foreign feeling off her dress, but instead, she found a surprising warmth. Looking back to see the fire sprite touching her bare hand, Ruby let out a squeaking gasp of surprise.

Her hand quickly tore away, scared of how the fire would burn, but as she watched it start to swirl around her with its little cheerful giggles, she started to become aware that it had never hurt her. The flames bringing her crimson eyes to life, she stared bewitched, reaching out her hands, and then she ever so gently went to hold the small being in her hands.

Ricon rubbed his neck, it’d been awhile since he’d been in prolonged combat.

Ah but that falls to the wayside as he looks over and smiles, seeing one of his fire sprites nestled in Ruby’s hand. The little thing cooing, it’s small yellow burning eyes, surrounded by the softly crackling fire body around it. It looks so peaceful. As it rests, giggles and coos happily in the embrace of the banshee woman.

Ricon can’t help but smile broadly, “I see they like you Banshee girl. Good on you. My sprites are good judges of character I think.”

He looked around and wondered if anyone else was going to throw him beyond the ice wall now. Something to watch out for.

---

---

Before long, the battle turns into a slaughter as the Sulfreyan knights become disorganized and disheartened by the loss of their leader and the overpowering force of your assault. The few who try to get away meet their end in the poisonous miasm, their final weakened cries of despair drowned out by the ominous vapors. As the spell ends and the air clears, you stand victorious and alone on the steppe. Around you are the corpses and cadavers of some four score men and beasts in varying states of destruction. Once more, all is silent but for the gentle rustling of the wind as it softly caresses the fields of grass stretching out in every direction.

The sun is setting, slowly descending behind the Spine far to the west. In only an hour or so, night will fall over the plateau, covering the land in darkness. The group has several possibilities, but not much daylight to perform them in. Looting the bodies of the fallen for resources could be a clever move, but could take time on part of there being so many. Arcane solutions regarding the dead seems like an option, too. If one was inclined to make camp and rest before tomorrows march, the thicket to the south could provide shelter. Then again, perhaps speed would be the wisest choice, marching through the night towards the north east - and your fate.

After all, She is waiting...

Brorin had spent his time behind the giant's frame, praying it would all be over soon... And then it was. Blink, and you'd have missed it. One moment, the thundering riders of Sulfrey clamoring their war cries. The next, a wyvern with a flattened skull, horses and riders gasping their last breaths, and whatever remained disappeared into the earth. The poison miasma, dirt, and burnt flakes of their once-enemies, all slowly settled onto the ground, and silence dawned upon the scene once more. In the distant forest, the birds sang again. And that was that.

Drawing the holy 'X' into the dead with his thumbs, Brorin went to work. First, the wyvern. A quick drain of its stinger of potent venom, perfect for bomb-making. Then, the soldiers of Sulfrey. Not much of value to be gained from them, human matter never did work well for mutagens, but at least they were redeemed now. They may have followed their king bravely, but there was only One God, and this Ael-Gol was not it.

Looking upon their leader, he remembered. The strange shining amulet...! Brorin turned to find it was held by the hulk who had shaken him from his unconsciousness, and his eye widened in his realization. "No, Ogre! Stay away from that thing!" He called out as he hastened back as fast as he could, trying to hook the amulet from her massive hands with his cane, the empty eyes of Ael-Gol's likeness staring into his soul. "Temper your greed! This unholy relic was not meant for us. It will bring us nothing but trouble!"

His mind flashed to the lightning on the ridgetop when the Sulfreyans began their charge. Yes, it could've meant only one thing. "That flash! It was a signal! They must know we are here now! We must make haste, friends! We must leave, prepare for... whatever we will find, or comes for us next!"

@Eviledd1984 @Drifting Pollen @BigPapaBelial @Abstract Proxy @Vertigo @Chrys @Lurking Shadow @Thunder999999

Viktor places a confident smile upon his face, despite the coward's dramatic exclamation of doom, he'd already gained much from that fight in knowledge and souls, but the bounty is far from spent.

"Oh I wouldn't expect anyone to disturb us quite so imminently, if anyone did see that light, they'll be a long ride from here, I expect those corpses were the most mobile force in the area."

With that he approaches their former enemies. "We need supplies and we'll be all the quicker claiming them with more labour."
First and simplest are the flayed skeletons of the reavers he slew, their equipment wasn't impressive even before the slaughter, but they're large and strong. With practiced expertise he moves his dagger, carving a small rune into an empty spot near the back of each skull, then holds his hands out, a faint light enveloping their forms. They jerk, red light glowing in empty eye sockets, then grasp their fallen weapons and kneel before him like men-at-arms before their lord.

He then approaches a few Sulfreyans, picking those with the most intact corpses, these he strips of flesh with the same flaying spell he used earlier, indeed this why he originally chose it. He begins the process of carving runes while others talk.

Ricon heaved a slow breath. Looking about and honestly grinning as the necromancer among them begins to raise the dead. Calling to Viktor, "Impressive work. Was never a school of magic I pursued. Corpses don't last long in a firestorm." He stepped a little closer, feeling a little more interested in another magic user than some of the more mundane, "How long do they tend to last? Or is it an until you don't need them kind of thing?" He grins a bit, watching Viktor work.

After a bit, he straightens up and looks around, getting his bearings, then grins yet again, "Rejoice, my companions." Then gestured in the direction they were moving, "If we continue, we will reach my cache in about 3 hours. By the time the sun is below the horizon and night reaches us. We ought to be safe there for the night. And then, after we've looked at it, we can continue on. And get to this mission, yes? Still wondering how we kill a god, though." His sprites let out little wondering coos as well. The one that's nestled against Ruby nuzzles against her hand lightly. How peaceful for standing in the aftermath of a battle.

@Red Wizard @MrSkimobile @Abstract Proxy @Lurking Shadow @Drifting Pollen

Azir

As Azir closes her meaty fist around the amulet, it glows brightly. A searing pain and the smell of burnt flesh follow the light. No matter how hard Azir tries, she cannot release her grip on the amulet. Just as the pain borders on being unbearable, Azirs eyes roll as her vision fades; it suddenly stops altogether. Unclenching her fist, she finds that the amulet is gone - and that her hand has now been branded with the mark of Ael-Gol. She does not know what that means, but it isn't good news. As she fell onto the ground, she landed on her back and crashed, making the earth shake violently as she landed. She couldn’t remember much, but as she gained consciousness, she rubbed her hand. “Ow.” Whispering while noticing the mark on her hand. It looked pretty similar to the necklace around Thuk’s neck. She was ripping off some clothes from a nearby corpse, wrapping the fabric around her hand as a makeshift bandage and kicking the corpse of the dead captain in frustration. She was somewhat impressed by the combat skills of her comrades. The thought came to her that perhaps they could be useful to her.

She enjoyed the sun setting, feeling a strange calmness contrasting against the bloody battle she had just participated in. She always loved the night when it was calm, and she could freely roam and hunt. She tried to suppress the feeling of seeing a face, the same face she had seen before in the Maw. She was more than glad to leave this place; she felt bad about this situation. “Stupid little man.” Muttering under her breath while looking at the carnage and feeling somewhat proud of the destruction she and the others had caused. “We should listen to the little man and head to Sulfrey.” She said to Brorin while picking up a horse carcass. She was hungry for not eating what she had assumed was a long time—biting into the carcass and ripping the horse’s flesh with her teeth and eating most of the innards and even the bone, snapping it with her sharp teeth.

---

Surrounded by the newly dead, Sariel felt a welcome chill, the cold winds of death brushing against her. They were alive. Largely untouched. And seemingly no worse for wear. It was a fortuitous beginning, as far as ambushes went.

She was unsure of what to make of the scarred man’s words. Holy magic, especially the sort hammered into the strange amulets, like that which the ogre had so quickly claimed from the dead leader of the Sulfreyan knights, was best approached cautiously. It was possible a message had been sent, beyond the purifying light that swept across the plains and smashed the pyromancer’s wall of fire. It was equally possible that it had not. Regardless, Sariel did not doubt that the blindingly bright light had stretched to the very edges of the horizon. Time was rapidly sliding down from the top bulb of the upturned hourglass.

Stepping over a shattered body, Sariel nodded cheerfully at the wizard animating the dead barbarians and a scattering of knights. It was good to see another practitioner of the old arts, the dark arts so maligned by the ignorant. She stopped and knelt down to the commander of the knights, gently removing the dagger from his face, her delicate hands causing little damage to the pierced eye.

Whispering ancient words, Sariel placed her gloved right hand over the face of the brave captain. Ethereal pale blue light traveled over her covered skeletal arm, enveloping the reposing figure in a dreadful layer of faded color. Shuddering and then shaking, the dead knight commander sat up with a sudden lurch, letting out a painful, gasping rasp as he breathed in air he no longer needed to breathe.

"No," the Sulfreyan knight said, desperation obvious in his voice, "No, why am I here? What happened? I am supposed to be sitting next to… NO! You! Vile sorcerer! Witch! Begone!"

"I don’t think so," Sariel replied, rising slowly as she gestured with her hand for the undead knight to do the same. Shaking as he fought against her compulsion, the knight stood at last, staring with horror at his own limbs that had moved against him, shifting at the whims of the necromancer.

"What have you done to me!?"

"I have brought you back. I have restored you. And now, I offer you a choice."

"Choice! I have no choice. You have cursed me, you have damned my very soul!"

"Pah. Do not be so dramatic. Death is death. This is life…or something like it. Calm yourself. And tell me, what is your name?"

"Thuk Meuch-Tok," the Sulfreyan knight commander hissed, fighting still against Sariel's magic.

"Delightful," Sariel answered with only honesty in her heart.

"Why do you torment me?"

"I do not. I simply wish for you to answer some questions. And then, you may return to your rest if you so choose."

"You would release me from this curse?"

"I would, if you answer me truthfully."

"How would you know?"

Sariel smiled a knowing smile, "I have many ways. This spell for one. You are bound to me. You are chained to my will. Power far beyond what you could even hope to imagine was channeled in this spell. It would be best, if you were honest. I take no joy in cruelty, but matters require a steady hand."

"Ask you questions, witch," the undead Sulfreyan spat, trying and failing to mutter a prayer.

"The light. Your holy amulet. Was there a signal…a message sent when you activated the underlying spell?"

"Yes…it was a call for aid. I was told only to use it in the most dire of circumstances. We did not wish to disturb Him unnecessarily."

"Ah, that is unfortunate. I had hoped we might elude detection for some time. Oh well, there is little to be done about that now. Suppose we wished to travel to Malasta, how would we get there from here?"

"You could take the roads," the Sulfreyan began, gesturing towards the close enough roads, visible near the horizon, "You would be safe from any other easterlings."

"Perhaps, something a bit more discrete?" Sariel inquired, nodding pleasantly.

The undead knight shrugged, "If you stay in the wilderness, you will be harder to track, and harder still to spot. Eastwards, for three days, and then north for two more, will see you reach the Unsin River. You can follow the Unsin river for a day or so and then you will arrive at lake Unkar. Malasta, and Sulfrey, blessed Sulfrey, is on the other side of the lake."

"I see, that is quite helpful. I expect there are ferries to transport weary travelers to the city?"

"Of course."

"Wonderful, I have little desire to swim. Now as to the city. Were we to seek entry in Malasta, do you or any of your men possess the proper papers to see us admitted without any unwelcome questions or pointless violence? Would your company secure us a peaceful entry?"

"No," the Sulfreyan said, and Sariel knew with full certainty that he spoke true. "My knights and I belong to the fort at Bal-Atak, we have no business in Malasta. Our presence would raise many questions. You would not go unchallenged even if you were escorted by my full retinue"

"I see, we shall have to do something else then," Sariel mused, shifting her thoughts. "Where might one acquire official documents of transit and entry?"

"Outside of Sulfrey?"

"Preferably."

"I do not know. Such documents are issued only by appointed scribes. You might find such an official in one of the villages around Malasta, but I do not know."

Will, strengthened by time, began to buffet back against Sariel. Soon, she would have to make a choice. She knew she could keep the knight. He would be a useful servant. A powerful geas would bind him…and would protect her.

"Alright then, that’s enough. Brave sir knight, it is time for you to make a choice."

"A choice? What choice do I have? Your foul magic has corrupted me and forced me to betray my country and my master."

"Poor man, I did but set the wheel in motion. You had a choice. You always did. I offered it to you. And you have it still."

Sariel grinned, sensing a faint new wave of emotion. Not anger. Not fear. And not hatred. Hesitation. Beautiful, sweet hesitation. The newly dead were not so far from life. They still remembered. They still sensed all the feelings of life just beyond their grasp. The afterlife might beckon, but life…life was harder to let go of.

"What do you offer me?"

"Life…or death," Sariel said, laughing pleasantly, a sudden warmth in her voice, a soft smile that seemed more gentle than the cold mask that she wore.

"You mock me!"

"Never," Sariel replied, joy still tugging at her features.

"Then what do you mean?" the undead knight desperately said, his hands shaking with trepidation.

"If you wish, I will release you, you will be dead, you will return to the silence of the grave, and your master, perhaps, I do not claim to know the nature of any afterlife. Or…"

"Or…what?"

"You choose to live. You choose this life. A new life. A different life. You would serve me. Until my current task is completed. Then you can be free. Truly free. And you may do what you wish with your new life."

The Sulfreyan knight’s eyes grew wide, his chest moved with heavy breaths that verged on panic. Sariel watched as the knight reached for his sword that lay carelessly nearby. Raising his sword, the knight pointed it at Sariel, and then laid the blade flat on his open palm. Bending down to one knee, he lowered his eyes to the ground, defeat palatable in his entire being, "I offer you my sword and my loyal service, my lady."

Regal in her bearings, Sariel approached, and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, "I accept you into my service and recognize your most honorable oath."

As the necromancer spoke, she could feel the geas binding the undead knight. It was an old trick. It was an ancient spell. One the wizened liches had taught her in their hidden tombs scattered in the distant east.

"Now rise, Thuk, we have many things to do, and I must share what I have learned with my companions. But first, let us see your steed. For what is a knight without his loyal mount?"

Animating a small animal was a simple thing. Animating a bigger animal was a task for novice necromancers. However, animating a great beast, a cousin to dragons, now that, that was a task for a true master of the necromantic arts.

Following the directions of her new servant, Sariel stopped at the bruised and battered form of his slain wyvern. The body was in adequate condition, she could perform her work. Whispering words older than the remembered years, Sariel raised the creature with a gentle brush of her hand over the head of the monster, as if she was petting a particularly large cat.

Standing with a sudden roar, the creature seemed uncertain, settling only when it saw its rider standing protectively nearby the necromancer.

Smiling, Sariel left the knight to attend to his revived steed and strode towards her companions as they picked the corpses that now surrounded them.

"My new retainer has told me many things. Unfortunately it would seem the amulet contained not simply a powerful defensive spell, but also an arcane message, a call for aid sent to our very target."

Relaying the rest of what the Sulfreyan knight had said, Sariel concluded her thoughts, "It would be best if we moved quickly, before more Sulfreyans arrive. East along the forest or North to the hidden treasures of our fiery friend, it matters not to me, but we have little time to decide."

Omiku was waiting for the clashing of steel, the shedding of blood, the carnage of battle. But the opening gambit of the Sulfreyan's stunned her. Light disrupted the Kitsune's senses as her penumbral refuge faded for an agonizing length of time, her shadowy form shifted and shattered, screaming without a voice. Then the pain began to give way to desperation and rage, a faint noise in the back of her head spurring her on. A few riders caught her attention as her thoughts shifted to bringing the night early, but she was interrupted by more bursts of light flicker and burn. These ones from a friendly if antagonistic source, but painful all the same as the world faded from her again.

When she came too, she found herself spread thin as her shadow spread and seeped in the gaze of the setting sun. Somehow, she has just about survived to nightfall in spite of the efforts of foe and supposed friend. It has been long. Perhaps too long since she felt the sun fade, but her body remembered. Old emotions and instincts spurred to life from memories of past expeditions and raids under the embrace of darkness. It was a comforting, if not entirely pleasant, memory from back before her fate shifted to that prison. But the fate of the past is to remain fixed, She must concern herself with the future. To head further towards their goal, no doubt the last encounter was but a taste of what is to come. It is certain now that her extended stay in the maw has weakened her more than she thought, in this state she would need to rely on these non-kin if she is to have a future.

Viktor returns the necromancer's nod as he finishes animating his knights.
Quite the interesting spell there, though with the need for the original soul, not one he could see himself using even if he learned it.
The conversation is certainly informative, it seems these individuals think their god awaits them in death, perhaps that's how this god-king is so powerful, a whole nation worth of souls is a great deal of power.

He then replies to the pyromancer, "Oh they'll last as long as wish them to, it's surprisingly easy to preserve animate bone."

The reanimated wyvern gives him an idea actually, it won't be nearly as swift or comfortable as his palfrey, but he is not walking for five days like some peasant.
It takes a moment to find a sufficiently intact horse, and perhaps more importantly, one with a still functional saddle, but once he does it turns out to be little different than animating men, he has his knights tighten the straps aroudn the creature's bone, then they kneel as a makeshift platform and he climbs aboard his skeletal steed.

"We'd best be gone soon then, and if it's going to take days of travel, we should check Ricon's cache first, I doubt we'll have chance to return."

It's a gamble, the man's information is outdated, but these soldiers carried little of value and the locals will no doubt be far more helpful with a little bribery, Viktor knows well how much one can convince the lower classes to accept with the clink of coin.

Azir

Silence and peace settled down upon the land, and Ruby let out a shuddering sigh of relief. They had made it. She was experimentally moving the small cooing ball of fire over to her shoulder when the shouting of panic and doom shattered the quiet.

She turned around in shock to see what had caused such fear, but before she could question much, it all became very evident when the ground under her shook with the impact of the ogre's landing. “Ach, you cursed numbskull of a creature!” she heard Brorin call as he slung away the still-smoking chains that had held their enemies’ amulet just moments before.

She stood there hesitantly for a moment, unsure if the warnings meant she should be running or if they had time. However, when she heard the whispered out pain, her tense body yielded. She couldn't just leave a wound like that, it would surely get infected, if not worse. They had enough time for her to do at least a little something.

Turning, she quickly approached the man who had fainted so easily at her voice. Not giving any explanation, she grabbed at Brorin’s bag and began rummaging through the goods she had seen him collecting on their path. To his slight dismay, and slightly greater confusion, he decided to oblige her. Kindness? his expression seemed to ask, in this group? What a strange soul, this girl. Inside the bag there were Dandelions, beetle shells, berries, and some odd coloured liquid. She shoved it all to the side as she went through his supplies before finally coming across some lavender.

Pulling it out with a triumphant smile, she abandoned the bag and the rattled man attached to it, muttering something about how he was going to use it for his pillowcase, before heading over to the large woman. Ruby hardly made it up to the ogre's waist, yet she still gestured to her chest with no fear or holding back in her actions. It took a while, but finally, Azir seemed to understand enough to pass her her flask of mystery liquid.

The ogre seemed quite confused about why the woman named Ruby was pointing at her chest. “You want drink?” She asked while raising an eyebrow. It took some time for her to finally get what Ruby wanted from her—reaching into her dirty cleavage to retrieve the flask and hand it over to Ruby.

Unscrewing the cap, Ruby sniffed before shaking her head slightly. Nodding to herself, she held her hand expectantly and looked toward the ogre's.

As the necromancers did their reanimations and binding, creating guides and servants, Ruby was hard at work crushing up the lavender in one hand before mixing it with the strong alcohol as she dressed the bad looking burn. Ruby really didn’t like the look of that symbol or how it branded the other woman’s flesh, but she could only do so much. So she cleaned as she could before finally finding a cleaner cloth free of blood and dirt before rebinding it up.

Handing the flask to Ruby while watching her curiously what she would do. Watching with a careful eye in case she tried to harm her. But it didn’t seem Ruby had any ill intentions and in fact, did something quite generous for her. Smiling, which showed off her gnarled and yellow teeth. This was something quite strange for her since no one had ever done something nice to her. The only other person she could think of was her mate. Most people would not want to look at her, let alone touch her.

“Thank you screaming wo-man. Me appreciate da help.” Using her large pinkie to gently rub the top of her head. Putting away the flask back between her chest she carried on what she was doing.

Work done, she held the flask back to the larger woman with a clumsy but warm smile. The gentle affection surprised her, but her awkward smile just widened before she flattened her hair back down. She had done what she could.

It was only then she heard the end of the conversation about where they should go. They had a choice, and she already could tell which one she would prefer. So, in an uncannily familiar voice, she spoke for the first time since she had met any of them and repeated Viktor's own words back to him, "Ricon's cache."

Now, Sylvaine had seen her fair share of death and destruction in her day. Hells, she'd dealt some of it too, and been on the receiving end more than once. But what had transpired in front of her was of another magnitude altogether. This gang, this... freak show, didn't just look dangerous - they were deadly. Upon seeing the ease with which they dispatched of not only the easterlings, but the Sulfreyans too - with a wyvern, no less - she had decided that she was going to have to be careful around them. That, and that they could be useful. It seemed the Warden knew how to pick her prisoners well. Which should come as no surprise - she had picked Sylvaine too, after all.

Hearing the group discuss the next step as they handled the aftermath of the fighting, Sylvaine caught wind of some kind of cache. Riches, perhaps? Supplies of some sort, hopefully. Safe though she was hiding in the tall grass a ways back behind the group, the moment was rapidly approaching when she would have to break cover and introduce herself. Would it be sooner rather than later? Perhaps. Probably. Better now than when they had already plundered the supposed cache of its supposed resources. Far better if she had become a trusted, or at least tolerated, ally by then. And if she chose to do it now, chances were she could get her hands on a good sword from one of the Sulfreyan knights. She felt naked without that reassuring weight on her hip. The wind whispered through the stalks surrounding her, blowing distorted fragments of their banter with it to her ears. They would probably be moving soon. Her window of opportunity was closing. Decisions, decisions...

With a final deep breath, she forced herself to stand up and approach the strangers. Hopefully, someone would recognize her from the little rendevouz in the mysterious house-of-crashing-cards chamber that the Warden had awakened them in. Then again, she had tried her best to stay out of sight and earshot - and that she was pretty good at - so maybe not. Only time would tell. Now, how to do this? Same procedure as last year, madam? Yes. Same procedure as every year, my dear. Straightening up, Sylvaine adopted a confident swagger as she drew near the stragers, a warm and friendy smile on her face. Bravo! she exclaimed, clapping her hands, I must say, I'm impressed! Never did I know that the Maw held such an interesting and formidable gathering of individuals as you! Please, let me introduce myself, she said, giving a courteous bow, The name's de Vermeille, Sylvaine. I, too, was spat out here by our mutual jailor the Warden to attempt suicide going after Ael-Gol. Unfortunetly, I was separated from you by some distance when she made us... apprear here, but I heard the commotion in the distance and now, as you can see, I'm all caught up. But enough about me! Who are you, friends? What's your story?

The Ogre seemed content enough after the ghostly girl used Brorin's lavender on her burnt hand, already happily chomping on a horse again. She may be stupid as a rock, but she had helped him up before, and that deserved a tit for tat, Brorin supposed. Besides, even the fools fit, in the end. Still, that cursed burn wound was worrying. He would have to pray for her. He made a note to cook up some holy water alongside his mutagens later.

And as if the day couldn't have any more surprises in store, the day had some more surprises in store. Thuk, the slain Sulfreyan who had led the attack on them had been made un-dead and pledged fealty to the death-witch. Sulfrey had indeed been alerted of their trouble brewing. And then the mute ghostly girl started... talking? Brorin wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed to come from afar, like a whispered echo from the depths of her throat, or from the depths of time for that matter - indeed, didn't Viktor just...?

Brorin shook his head. "These godless oddities are starting to add up in too quick succession for my likes. But the suggestion is agreeable. I too vote for the cache. If the next stop after that is going to be the very heart of Sulfrey we better go prepared. Ricon, if your cache happens to have any spirits, I'll gladly partake in them. My alchemy requires them, and I'd prefer some cleaner ones over whatever booze the Ogre's chest--"

Before he could finish his sentence, yet another surprise! "Bravo!" a strange voice clamored from the distance, a boastful spiel followed, and before anyone knew well and good what had just happened, a woman who called herself Sylvaine De Vermeille inserted herself into the merry band of Blackguards. The name rung with an arrogant theatricality Brorin was, regrettably, intimately familiar with. De Vermeille. Highborn blood, no doubt about it. Brorin tsked. They always did say their second and third children became either monks, or bandits. But the Maw? That was a low even Brorin didn't expect.

"Greetings, friend." Brorin dripped of irony. He better make it known exactly what he thought of her kind, and how far he would have her stay away. No, not this, not again. His story? "Experimented on my fellows, made a mockery of our creation, burnt down a King's Church and everyone in it, and all the King's horses and all the King's men, couldn't be put back together again. And for that, I accepted my punishment." Punishment? No, you are freed now, brother.

Leaning softly on his cane, he spread an arm in a mock bow. "Brorin Foul, at your service..."

That was a rather remarkable replication of his own tone from the screaming undead girl, it's fortunate his own magic makes little use of the spoken word, perhaps the creature cannot truly speak, merely copy, truly a strange limitation, when time is less of the essence he shall have to barter some information on obscure forms of undead from Izgath. His musings are interrupted by the swaggering newcomer.

The newcomer spins a good tale, in other circumstances even Viktor himself may not have questioned it, but there's no way she just happened to be far enough away not participate, Viktor is certain the Warden put them exactly where she intended, that creature is certainly powerful enough. Likely the reavers and patrol were both intended as either tests or opportunities. So, did the Warden give this woman some secret extra task or was she simply unwilling to join in, and more importantly why? Oh well, none of these people can be trusted, but then again, it's unlikely any of them could possibly outwit him.

You'd think betraying his congregation would have made the priest less pious, still he at least he voted for the correct option.

Viktor looks down upon the others (well other than the giantesses) from his horse and speaks loudly "It would seem our destination is set and we can't afford to linger, so lead on Ricon."

The sudden appearance of this strange woman from the grassy knoll had Ruby twisting around, ready to let out another ear shattering scream. Instead, her primed body slowly began to unwind as she heard the less than warm introductions.

It was just another person asking for her name and story. Rolling her eyes, she completely ignored the smooth-talking lady. She neither had the inclination nor the ability to tell her name or story, even if she was able to somehow get it across to her.

Instead, something else caught her interest. In particular, the sight of Viktor on top of a skeletal horse gave her an idea. She, too, had no desire to spend the next few days walking on foot, and she would be lying if the sight of the dragon-like creature didn't intrigue her more than frighten her now that it was tamely sitting there.

On quiet feet through the bloodied battlefield, one moment Ruby was talking to the large ogre, and the next, she was up next to the wyvern and holding out a hand gently towards its muzzle. The beast seemed confused to begin with, understandably so, as a strange woman reached out to it. Though as its nostrils flared to smell her, it came along a scent that seemed somehow calming, almost familiar. Almost like the same scent it now knew as itself...

Her pale hand reached the wyvern's head without any rebuke, and then quietely she stroked the forehead as she stared at the creature with wonder. Pulling away, her face was lit up with a genuine warm smile as she looked over the creature. Well, that was till her eyes flicked up to the rider.

Mouth set into a line, and she walked over to the side of the large beast. Before the rider even knew what was going on, she uncerimously shoved him off his wyvern steed. Letting him fall to the hard, bloodied ground with a loud thud.

Then, before he was able to do anything, Ruby pulled herself up into the leather saddle on top of the large undead flying steed. Making herself comfortable in her new seat, she only gave the displaced man enough attention to raise an eyebrow at him as if daring him to do something about it.

Thuk rose from the ground in an instant, his features not angry, not yet, but quite bemused.

Sariel’s laughter cut through any potential violence, "Thuk, the lady is no doubt tired after our brief sojourn and unfortunate encounter with you and your men. No doubt, an honorable knight, like you, would be pleased to offer her a seat on his noble steed and a chance to regain her strength."

There was no challenge in Thuk’s eyes as he nodded, offering a quick bow to the necromancer and then the siren.

"You can always ride double, if she permits it,” Sariel added with a smile.

A proud smirk decorated her face, Ruby turned to the unfortunate Thuk to give him an expression that just said one thing: he was fat out of luck on that ever happening. This was her ride now, and she had no intention of sharing, especially with a man who had been their enemy only minutes ago.

@Red Wizard @MrSkimobile

Azir

Azir kept smiling at the woman’s attempt to help with her burns. Again, she was surprised by the act of kindness. She thought the woman was entirely trustworthy if she went out of her way to help her. Finishing eating the carcass, she threw it onto the floor, letting out a huge burp. “Excuse me.” She looked at the others, thinking they would agree to go to Ricon’s stash. Perhaps there could be a good weapon for her to use. Or maybe she could get a good drink. She was taking a moment to search the corpses for anything valuable she could take. She could use or sell for money, whether it be rings, armour, valuables, or weapons.

Her eyes looked over at the woman who appeared to the group. Furrowing a brow at her, wondering if she was trustworthy or not. She mentioned the Warden and their mission and asked if she was also chosen for their “mission.” Stepping forward, she had her huge arms across her chest. “Who are you?” She asked, throwing her question back at her. She had a bad feeling about her. However, she had a similar feeling to others in the group.

The ogre unfurled her arms away from her chest, looking at Brorin with a frown. “Me booze real good, put hair on the chest. You might wanna try so you get hair on chest.” Now, she was smiling, trying to make a joke. This was followed up with a snort and a low grumbling laugh. Azir was excited to leave and head off towards Ricon’s stash. Staying here talking was just a waste of time for her. Looking over at the now undead wyvern, she felt disgusted seeing the beast being returned from the dead. She was glad she would be too heavy to ride it. She was feeling somewhat unnerved by the two necromancers. The ogre started walking with the group, carrying and eating another dead horse because she was still hungry.

It was a grueling trip. Filled with blood, . danger...

..wait wrong script...

Except for the new members of the group, the undead and the new girl the trip onward was largely uneventful.

Or well until the last 30 minutes after Ricon had said he has seen the markers for the cache. Shortly after there had sounded a blood chilling howl from the distance. No wolf orcoyote call that. But off in the distance it was. "No normal beast that was." Was the reaction Ricon gave. And with no evidence that whatever made it is close, the pyromancer had lead them on.

Soon rising from the ground a forest of high rocky crags. Blues and Grey and white stone rising from the ground capped by brown and green lichens and grass. And Ricon boldly walked into them, directing his fire sprities ahead and high lighting the way through the dark barely light stone paths.

For an eternity it seemed he lead the group having to gently coax them along.

And like magic, somehow they ended up in a rocky grotto that sunk maybe 30 feet into the floor and soared up another 10 feet to an open rocky roof. And at the middle of the rocky atrium a small mound of yellow stone and from a small hole at its peak a little blue flame, naturally made it seems.

Ricon grinned, "Here we go. Just as I left it. Now then." And the grinning fire mage marched to the center of the room, picked up the flame, which then roared higher. He he held it for a time, "Fire is both life taking, and life giving, you know." He said. "Fire can immolate a farmer. Or after a wild fire new life can rise in the shadow of death."

He turns the flame this way and that slowly, the icon of one of the innumerable old fire and life gods from ages past forming ss it moves. The fire symbol hovers then settles to the slopped floor behind the man. For a moment nothing happens. Other the the little blue flame reappearing at Ricons feet.

Then finally a crunch and a thump, and the floor where the symbol rests sinks down on magic crafted gears and guide ways. One of the sprites quickly flies down the newly revealed passage lighting the way. Already the red-yellow glow of gold can be seen down the tunnel. Ricon leads the way.

Andwhen the group catches up he's seated like a Marcher Lord on a throne carved from ruby and marble in the middle of piles if gold,coins, gems, jewelry, weapons and other riches. In his hand, he twirls a small silver scepter topped by an opal the size of a grapefruit. The grinning man looks at the others, "And before my fall, I had at least twenty more caches like this. My high robbery days were lucrative. Take what you like." He says, "I rather think I won't be back again. Money, gems, weapons, a few pairs of fine armor, I took off burned knights. Take what you like eh?" Generous is the former robber mage it seems. Even as he pockets some coins, gemstones and hangs a few necklaces and dons a ring or two.

Interesting, a pyromantically inscribed sigil to the old gods serving as both lock and concealment, an appropriated cult hideaway, or does this man's magic extend beyond violence? He dismounts and follows Ricon within.
Viktor smiles openly as they enter, it would seem despite the dramatics and outdated assessments, the madman has delivered after all. And quite the cache it is, all this wealth feels like home, at the sight of the throne he conceals a grimace, he should be sitting on one of those.
Still, he controls himself well, maintaining the smile and helping himself to the offered bribe, not the most subtle means of ingratiating oneself, yet who would turn it down, noting that there's every chance those other caches are just as intact.

"Oh very good, quite the lock you've got there, and a hoard to match." It might pay to seem impressed, show the bribe working, always smart to mix in a little flattery when dealing with the more dramatic and unstable demons, no doubt this man is the same.

He grabs himself a nice rapier, he's a competent fencer, though it's really more about appearing openly armed when they inevitably deal with the locals, better to keep the magic a surprise. A pity there's no fine clothes, then again with how outdated Ricon's information was, they'd likely be out of fashion anyway.
Next is the coins, gemstones and jewelery, nothing wtih clear engravings, that should have him covered for bribes. Finally he grabs a few handfuls of thin silver necklaces, not as good as powder, but in the circumstances, they'll work.