There was a large amount of hesitation clear on Vani's face as the mad old man began walking towards Vani, a distinct feeling that he should run away taking hold in his stomach as it turned itself over and over, knots tying themselves into new knots that he never would have thought could be untied. What the hell was wrong with this old coot!?
"H-Hey, I'm not just going to kill someone for not praying today. Lolan's not that kind of god!" Vani argued, backing slowly away from the Godmonger himself. Vani felt his hands subconsciously reaching for his sword to defend himself before his scaly companion bellowed the phrase: "Shut the fucking up".
...Vani may have been un-educated, but he had a feeling that wasn't correct. What was probably correct though was his decision to slash the old man across the chest, probably killing him instantly. And if not, Kaze
With his eyes adjusted to the light, Vani would slowly approach the heap that he would now identify as being a mound of corpses, the odor of which would cause the unproven Paladin's stomach to churn and lurch, before he leaned away and vomited onto a pew, making a disgusted groan. "How the fuck...does someone do this!?" he would question, eyes growing beady as he looked, unsure of what Kaze even expected him to do aside from say a prayer. But, a prayer would be offered as Vani clutched his amulet, hurriedly saying a few prayers for the departed before hearing a..."shifting" in the corpse pile. Tensely, the paladin would use his shield to try and move the mound a bit. Was someone still alive in there?
"Hey! If you're still alive in there, its okay! We got the old bastard," he would shout, hoping that whoever was stuck under there wasn't too badly wounded. He intended to smite the pile and cremate the bodies, but killing an innocent...that was beyond unforgivable to him. He had to admit, he was glad Kaze had more nerves than him.
...He was a good man. And a damn fine warrior. That much was apparent now.
Caught off-guard due to the arrival of the new, barely-clothed woman, neither Krenna nor Hawklen were prepared for the curtain of thick, black smog that Locke had conjured up. The two shouted and cursed in response to the unpleasant plume of smoke, though due to the billowing black mist's density, it was impossible for Cecilia, Artemisia, Ciel or Locke to see just how the other party was responding to this development. Locke's beam of light, aimed for Glum, didn't seem to accomplish much though, as mere moments after it had passed through the veil of smoke, the wizard's own response came flying back.
Namely, a fireball the size of a fully ripe watermelon. It whizzed past the three nobles, but headed down the alleyway that the invisible boy had used to monitor the two groups from afar. With a loud explosive bang, it struck against one of the ruined walls of a crumbling building, sending fire and stone and brick flying in every which direction. It also destabilized said building, and unless the boy wanted to be buried under a pile of rubble, he'd make sure to move forward rather than backwards.
Ciel knew that there was no way out of this scuffle, as much as he just wanted to be left alone. And if there were one of the few things that had been burned into Ciel’s muscle memory was how to respond to brawls. Pick a side Pick a target Win (although in tavern brawls it was doubtful that anyone was a winner) The first step was already chosen for him in the form of a screaming fireball. Although the group that he had tracked also threw a rock at him, Ciel doubted that they could even see him, save for other similar magus with magic detection. The boy reflexively ducked past the fireball, squinting slightly with stray embers sizzling past him, then flurried into his rebuttal. With a hissing sound, a sharp blue aura defined itself around the mute mage in Ciel’s vision, shining even through the thick black fog. Then, dropping his invisibility, Ciel swiftly closed distance to the group, using the fog as a traditional cover. Finally, he threw a suppressive aura against the enemy mage, hopefully hamstringing their arcane abilities in preparation for his strike. He doubted that it completely disabled their magic ability, as it was usually to counter magic detection, but it could certainly buy more time.
Annabelle had initially been faced with the prospect of two groups of four coming together and becoming one. It would have been easy to decide who to join if there was only one option, but in an instant she then had two options, both of equal size. They did not gun for her head for the brief moment, and so she at least had an opportunity to deliberate. The black-haired girl looked down at her minion, who only offered a featureless glance upwards at her. No help there.
Fortunately for the indecisive girl, fortune would once again make the decision easy; a young boy would throw his lot in with the group to her right, turning a four versus four romp into a five versus four. She knew whose side to get on good graces with, then, nevermind that further bolstering their numbers would mean a more quickly-ended battle.
Once more drawing her knife, she sliced at her hand more severely, dropping a full cascade of blood onto the dirt. Carpenter bounced off into the fray as the earth spirit materialized at her back, readied for a far more prolonged battle than blowing a sewer wall out.
Annabelle drew her greatsword and shouldered it as she followed several steps behind the stubby little minion, running for the blackened cloud enveloping the bard, barbarian, and wizard. In sync with each other, Annabelle and Carpenter wordlessly broke into a combined action. The blood elemental hopped up several feet in front of Annabelle and morphed into a thin, long flexible shape. Her hand caught the whip-like strand and threw her arm with a crack, sending the red rope in a violent arc into the cloud. Even if she couldn’t see their positions, she could strike out long and horizontally to cover as much space as possible.
Artemisia had some choice words for the stalker that had caused the entire dilemma, but that would be a concern for later. Now, her attention was wholly occupied by the need to assassinate the glum looking wizard, before he could wreak further devastation against her, and her impromptu allies.
It seemed that others had joined the battle, and if she was getting the right assessment of the battle, they were joining forces against the other adventuring group. Satisfied with this conclusion, she raised a detect magic spell, using it as her fire control radar to hone in on the magic sources on the other side of the smoke screen that was enveloping the area, before returning the favor with a fireball that was hopefully aimed at the gloomy wizard.
With seemingly all their focus directed towards the wizard Glum, the party of five had made a fatal mistake - Glum wasn't the only member of his party who had access to magic. A string of melodic words rang out over the plaza, and in an instant, a strong breeze blew, causing the black smoke that had previously engulfed the enemy to now blow over the ones who had been using it. The thick smoke made it extremely hard to see, and just as it had been a nuisance for the original recipients, the difficulty and irritation it caused to one's breathing would now affect the group of Locke, Artemisia, Cecilia, Ciel and Annabelle instead.
Further adding to their problems, was the suddenly whistling noise of a fired crossbow bolt. Over by the ruined palace tower, Norbe had somehow managed to find a perch or small outcropping of some sort on the ruined structure, from which he had now turned his attention back to his own companions, likely after hearing the blast caused by Glum's initial spell. Interestingly, he was firing his weapon at Artemisia, or rather, her horse. Likely because it was a bigger target and likely because, once he hit, the spooked critter would most certainly panic and succumb to beastial instincts, making its rider all but useless.
Annabelle's whip would strike nothing, sadly. Blindly throwing an attack into a curtain of fog, not knowing where your enemies were standing or had moved to, proved to be a futile effort. In response, now that the billowing black fog had changed targets, Annabelle was instead greeted to a most unsettling sight. Leaping to meet her in the air, was Krenna, eyes shot wide and her face twisted in blind rage. The woman snarled and made noises that you wouldn't think a human was actually capable of making. With a reared back arm, the tattooed berserker delivered a gut-punch to the black-haired woman in skant clothes, promptly sending her flying back down onto the ground with a painful thud as she struck the cobblestone street. After which, Krenna landed on the ground as well, and with wild eyes, sought out a new target... And found it, in Cecilia, who she rushed like an angered boar.
Annabelle spat out as the fist met unprotected stomach. Her body was punted into a short slide, leaving her on her back upon the street. It took her a moment to recover, pained but still quite ready to fight, rising to her feet to assess the situation. By the grace of some god, Krenna thought it fine to leave her be, and go torment someone else.
Artemisia's fireball suffered much the same ending as Annabelle's whip.. While detecting magic indeed gave her an approximate estimate of where Glum was, the many small magic crystals in the area seemed to be interfering and making judgement hard. The only reason Glum had been able to spot Ciel, most likely, was because Ciel was in the opposite direction of the tiny crystalline constructs. And speaking of Ciel, he would soon find himself face-to-face not with Glum, but Hawklen, who had pulled his rapier and was sneering viciously at the boy.
"Time to die, kid." The bard said with cold, uncaring eyes.
At once after this, Hawklen began to sing. While his voice was pleasant and his melodic prowess was undeniable, something about his song made those who had chosen to fight him feel... Uneasy... Something in the words he used and the melody of the song made their skin crawl, as if some kind of looming, inevitable disaster was just on their heels. A song that lowered your defenses and decreased your overall battle-prowess... A means to weaken all your opponents as long as they could hear.
Still singing, Hawklen darted forth, intercepting Ciel with surprising skill and speed, unleashing a flurry of prickly, pointed stabs with his very sharp-looking rapier.
Artemisia clicked her tongue. It seemed like she had found her target, but the presence of the dense magic crystals impaired her ability to hone in on Glum, and her spell went wide, smashing against some distant stonework. She was about to move to try again when a whizzing sound and a small blur caught her attention as a bolt buried itself in one of the bags attached to her saddle. It had nearly struck her or her horse; her ward had marginally slowed and deflected the missile.
Leaving the projectile where it landed, she began to scan for its source, but was soon distracted by the suffocation fog that was finally beginning to envelop her and her party. Urging her horse to move, making sure to not present a stationary target, she generated a pulse of wind radiating out from her, using the minor wind spell to attempt to clear the strange miasma around them.
Cecilia, just like Hawklen’s group, had been caught off-guard by the appearance of a new fellow. Not the invisible person that none of them were aware of, but rather someone who wore very...interesting clothing. Super interesting, even. Interesting as in, wasn’t clothing like that functionally even more skin-baring than one’s underclothes? The woman didn’t even have the co-
Oh, Locke was casting, Artemsia was casting, the shameless, raven-haired girl was swinging, now there was a disgusting smokescreen being blown back at them and WOW TIME TO RUN!
The meaty impact of fist into stomach was a sound that spoke a thousand words, spurring Cecilia into action before Krenna even landed. Turning towards the palace ruins, the spellblade shot off, high on adrenaline and Accelerate. At her heels, the barbarian showed off her barbarian nature to its fullest, and she couldn’t help but grin. Bad situation? Of course, but at least it was interesting!
“Locke, wizard!” Cecilia managed between breaths of air. Her Aria swirled around her, her Boon crackled in her hands, and as she sensed Krenna closing in, she leapt into the air. One jump, two jumps, and…
“Light Step.”
In mid-air, Cecilia photonized, reforming even higher up into the air than she already was. With only a second of time to spare, she reared her arm back and tossed her crackling spear towards Norbert’s perch. With the scream of a thunderbird, the weapon shot off towards the crossbowman. At best, it would impale and electrocute him, but even at its worst, it’ll destabilize the area around him and force him to move.
Now, how was she going to land?
...hopefully not in the arms of the barbarian princess.
Meanwhile, Locke was relegated to the one who had to do everything around there. By some miracle, not a single person targeted him through the scuffle. Though, he hadn’t done much but attempt to blind an old man and throw smoke. With the cover of his own smoke back on him, he had to quickly deal with everything happening in the fight. He continued to hurl his magic in an attempt to support his so-called allies. Sensing the magic emanating from the bard’s voice, he pointed his right hand directly at his head.
“Hollom.”
As fast as an arrow, a small black orb no larger than a marble sped towards the bard. If it struck, his voice was sure to be stolen. At the same time, he pointed once again at Glum. If he could avoid being blinded directly, then perhaps a more environmental method would work. Without any hesitation, he pointed to Glum with his left. The words that left his mouth were simple and brutal.
“Destroy.”
But what was terrifying in words wasn’t exactly horrific in action. With the fairy channelling a great magic to follow him, a pillar of light blasted down directly onto glum. It was just that: a pillar of light. It would rob one of vision and obscure one’s magic sense even more than the crystals already did, so to speak. It wasn’t really going to do much, but it would at least force the wizard to not focus on Cecilia. He’d at least need to waste his time dispelling it.
As his final act, he snatched the black smoke that had come back over. It began to quickly absorb into his tattoos that littered his right arm.
Annabelle had already begun to step backwards from the black fog when it had suddenly surged inwards to Locke’s position. The battlefield was once more left a clean slate, so to say, though the same likely couldn’t be said for Glum now. Her eyes darted four different ways in quick succession, evaluating the new state of the fight. The only person she’d engaged was itching to take on Cecilia, and with Glum and Hawklin both inundated with spells, Annabelle took it upon herself to busy one more person.
Releasing her grip over her belly, she dismissed the lingering pain and chased after the barbarian. With a shout behind, she commanded the earth spirit to prepare her approach. The phantasmal hulking entity of cloth and bone lifted one of its skeletal hands towards Krenna, and as its fingers curled, beckoning the ground beneath her to rise, a crimson energy circled at her feet. Vines of blood and thorn threatened to ensnare Krenna’s feet, winding in and out of the stone pavement like a pit of serpents.
Carpenter reformed into his little blob self to break into a run ahead of Annabelle, and leaped up to meet Krenna’s backside as he quickly swirled into the shape of a pointed spear. But a blink of an eye in succession, Annabelle’s own sword followed behind the ichorous piercing attack, as if driving the shape harder into its target.
As it was though, Norbe had spotted Cecilia's ascent into the air, and the ranger had quickly deduced why the woman was trying to get airborne. By the time she had launched the thunderous javelin, the crossbowman had begun to slip off his little outcropping. The spell would have hit, had he not moved - though now he had slid all the way back down onto the ground. Infuriated, the man had raised his crossbow and, with steady aim, fired at the wizard who was absorbing the black mist.
The bolt flew straight, but didn't hit Locke. Instead, it slightly tore pasat his shoulder. A few inches to the right, and Locke would've had suffered a head-shot. Instead, he was now just suffering a bleeding shoulder instead.
Annabelle's attempt at immobilizing Krenna proved futile. The Barbarian was moving, running at full speed with her berserker rage pumping through every fibre of her being. She moved quick, far quicker than Annabelle, though not as fast as Cecilia when using her movement-enhancing spells. Still, it was enough to both move out of the way of the circle of blood-vines, and out of the path of the chisel and oncoming slash. After all, Krenna seemed dead-set on beating on the lightning-sorceress...
That is, until the beam of light rained down from the sky and struck Glum, and the ball of black hit Hawklen, causing him to stop singing - though he didn't exactly seem to notice, or care. Her head turning quickly, she saw the source - Locke. A cry erupted from the tattooed woman. A cry that felt like a banshee's wail, terrifying and ear-piercing. Dashing back now, she surged past Annabelle, ignoring the woman completely - even if she suffered a cut or slash, she didn't care about the scantily clad blood-mage at all.
The creature that Annabelle had summoned though, found itself in the barbarian's path. With another snarl, Krenna raised her fanged club, and with a single, mighty blow, brought it down and utterly crushed the creature's head - shattering it's entire body with a rippling, cascading effect. Obviously, she had used some kind of martial move or attack, coupled with her enraged state. There now was nothing between her and Locke. The mage only had precious few seconds before the wild bitch was upon him.
Glum on the other hand, wasn't dong great. The pillar of light seemed to have caught him off-guard and he had stumbled backwards a bit, shaking his head and putting his hand on his hooded forehead. The spell had managed to do something at least. Still, it wasn't like he was out of the fight. Sight impaired and senses dulled, there was only one thing a mage could do when they couldn't directly target others. The same thing Locke relied on. Summons. Speaking a wordless chant, he held out his staff, pointing in the general direction of the other group. Soon, a skeletal warrior clad in a metal hauberk appeared, holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The creature didn't even wait for orders or directions, sallying forth like an autonomous doll. But Glum didn't stop there. His mouth moved and more magic flowed, seeming to surround him in some sort of translucent, blue-ish bubble, followed by a golden aura enveloping his skeletal servant. Some kind of defensive and enhancement magics, apparently.
The skeleton moved to attack Artemisia. It's jaw creaked eerily as it drew closer with bony, clattering steps and movement.
Hawklen, who had been - thankfully - silenced for the time being, continued his relentless assault on Ciel. Rapier darting back and forth like a sowing-machine's needle, poking, scratching and causing severe damage to the boy's attire. It was clear that the bard was a capable fencer, and unless Ciel did something, or somebody helped him disengage, the boy wouldn't last much longer.
Ciel had only barely kept up with the bard, none of the hits scoring a direct pierce but all of them biting a sizable portion of skin and drawing blood before the boy managed to twist away through sheer reflex. Although Ciel managed to Mark the man while he was delivering the little one-liner, Ciel was at a great disadvantage. He had never seen such a weapon before, much less a fencing style of attack. Most of his opponents were slow moving knights that a dagger could quickly flash a hit before retreating back, and even if they were aggressive, Ciel could easily weave through their sweeping arcs with his smaller stature. But the fencer barely gave him a chance to regain posture before launching another flurry. Worse, Ciel instinctively pulled away after each strike, letting the bard gain ground and initiative each time Ciel suffered a glancing blow.
On a cursory view, Hawklen had the absolute advantage, with Ciel only just hanging on by deflecting blows at the last minute. But with every blow, Ciel’s movements got faster, blood trailing his arms while his daggers flashed to trap, deflect and riposte the rapier. He was gaining momentum, both in focus and in knowledge. Step in, not out. Don’t block, deflect. When he pulls back, be aggressive. The blue hue of the mark slowly staining crimson, Ciel’s movements gained a dangerous momentum as Ciel started to strike back. As soon as Ciel heard the dreadful song end, he Vanished momentarily, only to appear with a dagger mid-arc, aiming to sink its teeth into the bard’s neck with all its lethal tempo.
Ciel would unfortunately learn the hard way that, even with his increased momentum and surprise attack, there was a world of difference between him and the bard. With a simple but graceful pirouette, Hawklen dodged the incoming dagger-strike, ending up positioned behind the young assassin. With a quick thrust of his rapier, the blonde man tore through the left side of Ciel's abdomen, and finished by giving the youngster a undignified kick tot he actual ass, promptly sending the kid flying forward and onto the ground.
Sneering, Hawklen approached ans tried to say... Something... But, as no words escaped his mouth, the bard's eyes went wide like saucers, apparently only realizing just in this moment that he had no voice. A series of comedic flailing and soundless yelling unfurled as the flamboyaant pretty boy lost all concept of the battle around him, completely absorbed in his own dilemma. Luckily, this meant that his focus had been drawn away from Ciel, who was now lying on the coblestone with one big gash across his side and many small cuts and wounds everywhere else. This was, however, the perfect time for the boy to crawl away, or get picked up by a friendly samaritan.
Krenna wasn’t waiting for when she landed, so all Cecilia needed was a quick activation of her Aria. A burst of wind softened her descent, and she dropped into a roll to redistribute the rest of the impact. Behind her now, the barbarian was rushing back at her party, but Cecilia couldn’t afford to stop. All she could do was hope that Locke had another spell for this situation.
Her spear hurtled through the air and she caught it, grasping it in both hands as she charged forwards. No Boon graced her this time, but her Aria manifested once more, the air around her funneling into a transparent armor. With Norbert on the ground and the situation with the rest of her party growing more urgent by the second, the lilac-haired Spellblade couldn’t waste anymore time. As she closed in upon the crossbowman, mana coursed through her spiritual veins and her eyes gleamed bright.
“Flash.”
A paralyzing flash burst before Norbert’s eyes, hopefully incapacitating him for the couple seconds it would take to complete her attack. At maximum momentum, Cecilia twisted and swung out with her spear, aiming to shatter his dominant arm and break his crossbow upon her spear’s haft, rather than slice him open with her spearblade. They were enemies, but still…
That was no reason to kill them.
It was clear to Annabelle that she wasn’t able to keep pace with the barbarian. The rugged woman was simply too fast, and too bull-headed to even pay attention to anything she threw her way. She had to change tactics if she wanted to contribute anything more to the party than behaving like a fly buzzing around a cow.
Chaotic flailing caught the corners of her vision, and the sight of Hawklen’s helpless scrambling before Ciel gave her a resolve to help. If anything, it’d at least be her best opportunity yet to put in some useful work.
Annabelle rushed to Ciel’s side, stopping short to stand between him and Hawklen, sword raised.
“Get up!” she urged, standing guard for the boy to make it to his feet. Carpenter circled wide around the bard, and threw out a long whip of blood from his body to snap at his feet, and hopefully snag him onto the ground.
As the battle continued to rage around Artemisia, she found herself becoming annoyed. Eminently annoyed, it would seem, as she watched the skeleton warrior lumber towards her and her horse, her periphery momentarily narrowing as her emotions flared. She had long desired to maintain her reputation and her appearance as a gentile, noble exile. Artemisia never had but the purest intentions in dipping into necromancy, but the arts were inherently inimical to the societies and opinions of the common man. And yet here, was this gloomy mage casually sending a skeletal warrior to dispose of her.
Outrageous, really.
She stirred her horse away from the skeleton, thankful that it seemed to be more of the lumbering variety. While she assessed that it was powerful enough for her to be unable to influence it with her own powers, a good cavalry charge could likely break it apart with ease, but she did not have a cavalry horse, nor a suitable weapon. Running circles around it was fine enough, but if she wanted to properly back up the rest of her party, that would have to stop. She sent along a couple choice incantations to see if she could put the skeleton truly to rest.
Ciel skittered back on his feet, glancing at the large gash from his side. It didn’t hurt so much, only a dull acknowledgement - but Ciel knew that it would come back to bite him much harder if he tore it even further, whether he felt it or not. He was reluctantly dragged into this fight in the first place, and his priority was to survive, not to take these contacts down. Ciel looked confusedly at the strange woman who stepped in front of him, as if to protect him. He hadn’t seen her with the trio he had tracked - was she with them? Nonetheless, this was not the time to thank her, as much as Ciel wanted to. Ciel noted the bard was...flailing? If it was some strange new way to cast spells, Ciel was foreign to it - but Ciel couldn’t miss an opportunity like this. Ciel retreated to put some distance between him and the bard, then took his time to take out his shortbow and Mark the ranger. If he was planning to switch to a ranged attack with a shortbow, a little bit of prophylaxis should help.
Meanwhile, Locke gave an audible moan of “oh shit” once he saw a shrieking banshee in the form of Krenna charge him. Then a grunt of pain came out as an arrow sliced through his shoulder. A glancing blow, thankfully enough. He didn’t have any time to act. No big spell, nothing highly intelligent. He could only rely on his base, primordial instinct to keep him safe in this moment.
“Izh icha sa sek!”
He felt as though he had never spoken that fast in his life. Within an instant, a coil of black wire sprung forth from his right palm. One end shot to Krenna’s neck, the other to her foot as it reached the apex of its gait. Only, this wire didn’t increase in size to become rope. Instead, it reinforced itself the best it could. Concentrated magic power to create a binding shackle if it hit Krenna. Use her strength against her, if it worked. Otherwise, he’d just look like an idiot.
He wasn’t done there. He employed his forbidden technique, only used in the most dire of circumstances.
He spun and hauled ass away from the charging barbarian, leaping over mounds of rubble in the way in an attempt to avoid getting his skull caved in.
How long could he keep this up? His borrowed mana was considerably higher when compared to another mage of his caliber. The only difference was he was merely a vessel for it. To pervert the flow of magic in his body so much, his body would rip and tear itself open trying to contain it. It would only be a matter of time before that’d happen, especially since he was casting so much. Plus, he had just completed a long sprint.
Krenna didn't seem to change her expression much, even as her legs and neck were bound together and caused her to come flying forward like a thrown rock, rather than a charging bull. Even as she crashed onto the cobblestone street with a meaty thud and slid a bit forward, scraping her skin and becoming covered in small bruises, the angry wildwoman didn't even seem to notice. Jerking and struggling like a snared beast, she tugged and stretched at her restraint, single-minded bloodlust urging her on to keep moving. Whether by her own strength, Locke's increasing exhaustion or some other force, the black length of magic soon dispersed though, and the barbarian was on her feet again, chasing after the fleeing mountain-mage.
Despite the debris and obstacles Locke was traversing in order to put more distance between him and Krenna, it seemed to actually be backfiring, as the woman moved with such speed and agility that she might as well have been running in the more open areas of the plaza. With an outstretched arm reaching ahead of her, Krenna eventually caught hold of Locke's elaborate garb - and the chase was over.
With a pull and an arcing motion of her arm, she swung the man back and over herself, sending him onto the ground with incredible force, slamming him like a ragdoll against the hard surface beneath their feet. She roared, her head completely freaking out as it shook and spasmed as if she was having a seizure, before she leapt onto the floored man and began to deliver knuckle-sandwiches to his back and the back of his head. Strangely though, she didn't seem to be using her club... Which made sense, since she had dropped it after her initial fall due to Locke's prior snaring. So, instead, she seemed fully content with bludgeoning the man to death with her fists.
Unless someone got the berserker off of the poor man, he would soon either black out or die from repeatedly having his head collide with the cobblestones beneath his face. He wouldn't have the chance to speak or cast spells either, as Krenna didn't let up in her blows, giving him not time for respite.
Meanwhile, Norbe had spotted Cecilia approaching, dropping his crossbow and reaching for his sword - only to be surprised at the blinding light that suddenly appeared. Forgetting himself, he had tried to shield his eyes, making himself open to the spear-haft that now raced at him... Only that, since he had dropped his crossbow and shifted the position of his arm, it didn't strike his hand as Cecilia had planned, but rather his elbow. A strange, popping and crunching noise could be heard, as Norbe let out a pain gargle and fell onto his side, clutching at his arm while kicking pitifully with his legs at nothing in particular. It was hard to tell, but it seemed he was interchanging verbal insults and random garbles of pained noises as he lay on the ground, most likely shouting at the Spellblade before him.
The skeleton that was sent to deal with Artemisia wasn't quick enough to keep pace with her horse. But due to the area's layout, it also meant Artemisia never could get too far away from the undead as it lumbered around after her in the most ridiculous display of tag you'd ever seen. Glum, on the other hand, seemed to have recovered from the pillar of light that had struck him, likely by casting some sort of restorative or other type of mending-magic on himself while everyone had lost interest in him.
The gloomy mage surveyed the battlefield quietly, seemingly trying to determine what his next move should be. By all accounts, his team was winning - Hawklen had battered the sneak from earlier and Krenna was busy introducing the enemy spellcaster to her fists.. The only one not doing well was Norbert, who seemed to have been taken down by the enemy's spearwoman. Hawklen had stopped singing though, which the mage considered briefly, before realizing what had happened.
Pointing his finger at the bard, an unspoken spell was spun and soon, Hawklen was engulfed by a dome of green, glittering sorcery, which disappeared just as quickly. After which, Glum began to move from his distant and safer location, making way towards the palace and tower, where his ally was lying on the ground.
Hawklen's flailing stopped as soon as the green light enveloped him. Once it was gone, he let out a chipper 'Thank you!'-shout to Glum, before spinning around and facing Annabelle. He tipped his hat to the girl and made a series of - excessively - impressive swipes with his rapier, before pointing it at her and speaking with a grin.
"Ah! What a sight! To fight against a muse such as yourself? I cannot say if it makes me excited or melancholic!" Either he was trying to flatter her, or he was just making light of her lack of clothes. However, he did not engage or attack, which was strange. Instead, the bard merely stood there, pointing his weapon at the woman, with a cocky smirk on his lips.
It would be correct to say that Annabelle was on the slower side sometimes, but even as she relaxed her stance before Hawklen and offered him a disarming smile, she was far from simply forgetting the fight. She couldn’t help but at least return a welcoming demeanor to their coming battle. Still, she wasn’t exactly catching on to his arrogance there and then.
“I do not think I’ve showed a very good example of myself so far, but thank you,” she said genuinely, “I do hope I can make a good showing against you instead, rather than get thrown around like that tough woman before you.” Annabelle’s eyes darted side to side then, as if checking to make sure Krenna wasn’t coincidentally coming for her. Shouldering her greatsword, Annabelle’s free hand once more retrieved her dagger, and a quick slice across her arm drew blood.
It was never painless, but she had learned to ignore it -the act of drawing her own blood to summon the earth spirit. Nowhere near as plainly tough as Krenna, she still had quite the constitution to her, and it served her well given the type of magic she utilized. As the blood spilled onto the ground, her ghostly compatriot once more materialized at her back, standing tall over the average girl.
If Ciel could get up, injured as he was, Hawklen faced four opponents. Good chances, Annabelle mused to herself.
“Were it not for your shorter numbers, I might have sided with your team. You… well, most of you lot seem nice enough, and adventures with you would never be quiet,” Annabelle said. Whether or not she was being truthful, her smile at least reflected a genuine attempt at being friendly to the bard, though it promptly faded into a ferocious glare as she readied her sword.
A broken bone was a broken bone, and as Norbert fell, Cecilia followed through with a kick to the jaw that sent the ranger tumbling further away. Time was of the essence still; she hadn’t a second more to spare on him. With a quick thrust of her spear, the Spellblade cleaved apart his crossbow before snatching up the shortsword he had dropped as well.
Locke was in trouble, Artemisia was busy, and the two newcomers had occupied Hawklen’s attention for the time being.
Twirling around, Cecilia allowed magic to flood her veins, coursing down from her arm into the shortsword she pilfered from the fallen ranger. Her arm cocked back, her eyes sighted Krenna’s back, and with arcane energy crackling beneath the surface of the weapon, she threw it upwards.
“Thunderer!”
Flying up then curving down, it dropped like a meteor, burning red and flashing blue to strike into the barbarian’s back.
Cecilia too flew, her legs propelling her towards the wizard that had separated himself from the group. In a moment, the distance shrunk; in the next, her spear would shoot out, a flurry of blows to distract, disable, and debilitate. The spearwoman didn’t know how long she could keep this up, of course, but it didn’t matter.
Norbert was down. Glum was to follow. It may not have been ideal, but so long as she could run amok in their enemy’s backline, everything else would work out fine.
As the battle continued to rage, Artemisia let out an exasperated noise. The fact that she was playing an absurd game of tag with the skeleton soldier was not lost on her, but it seemed the best she could do at the moment was an exercise in yakety sax. The skeleton couldn’t reach her if she kept her attention to it, but at the same time, it seemed her magic wasn’t being as decisive as she wanted it to be.
Far from being willing to play this silly game for much longer, as soon as the skeleton passed under the ruins of a stone wall, she used a spell to pull down part of the stonework onto the unnatural warrior.
Ciel noted the ranger at the back had been knocked down, and while they were still not entirely neutralized, there were plenty of threats on the field. For one, the bear of a woman smashing the summoner into the ground with blind fury. He had retreated to the opposite side of the field, and as fast as he was, Ciel doubted he could make it before the berserker was finished with the summoner.
Ciel had gotten in some practice with his bow on the farm, being able to hunt small game from time to time. Compared to rabbits that darted through the thicket, Krenna’s massive frame was unmissable. And considering this was an open battle far beyond the stage of an ambush, the precision requirements were far lower. With less focus on precise targeting and more on firing speed, Ciel let loose as many arrows as he could. If the berserker was blinded enough by her rage, his attacks should functionally be catching them off-guard.
Cecilia's attempt at charging Glum proved foolish though. With such high speed and the woman focused on using her spear, she was travelling in a straight line towards the magus, who had plenty of time to see her coming - despite her speed. As soon as she was just moments away from delivering her flurry of thrust, Glum simply held out a hand and - to Cecilia's horror - a wide umbrella-shaped jet of flame shot out of the wizard's hand. As she was moving so fast and was already so close, there was no time to dodge, no time to stop and no time to utter a counter-spell, there wasn't even time to kick off the ground and try and leap over the attack. Instead, the Spellblade too the gout of fire straight across her entire body, her face, her torso, her legs, her weapons, all of it got covered in the searing, burning blast of pyromancy that had been unleashed.
After which, Glum simply stepped a bit to the side and watched the now-on-fire and burning spearwoman charge past him, no doubt in tremendous pain and panic.
Krenna didn't seem to notice anything other than the peculiar satisfaction she was deriving from punching a man in the neck, back and back of the head though. Preoccupied with his, the barbarian didn't stop until the falling shortsword tore into her lower back, embedding itself there, causing her to shriek like a stuck pig. In addition, the arrows fired by Ciel also landed on her, getting stuck in her right shoulder and arm, as well as her thigh. Letting out a horrible gargled cough, the woman spat a large globule of blood down onto Locke's head, before trying to stand up. However, it seemed her injuries had finally made it difficult for even her berserker rage to ignore. Gritting her teeth and standing with slouched posture, her right leg looked wobbly and about to buckle, her breathing was ragged and she wheezed heavily. Her eyes stared wildly at Ciel, primordial hate practically oozing out of them. Fortunately, it seemed the combined attacks had left her in a state unable to use her freakish speed to close the distance, and instead she began to slowly shamble towards the boy - apparently dead-set on delivering some payback even though it seemed a fool's errand.
Artemisia's plan to crush the skeleton worked partially. The stonework collapsed and knocked the skeletal being to the ground, though it didn't outright crush it. Instead, it did partially bury him, causing the undead to become stuck and unable to keep chasing after the woman, thus putting their game of tag on hold.
"Fewer numbers, is that all?" Hawklen said smugly as he watched Annabelle summon up her spirit. "If that's all it took to choose your side, look around you." The bard said with a cocky expression.
He swept his hand over to Glum, who had just set Cecilia on fire, and then pointed his rapier away from Annabelle and at the battered body of Locke, and the wounded Krenna who was still up and now moving towards Ciel.
"Their group had the numbers, but they're crumbling like a burnt piece of wood. At this rate, you'll just end up dead for no reason, my dear." He said, nonchalantly. And just as Annabelle had been given the chance to summon her blood-summon, Hawklen spoke a few words in a mystic tongue and held out his free hand. A blue light enveloped the distant Krenna, pushing the shortsword from her back out of her body along with the arrows Ciel had landed on her. Her wounds were by no means healed or gone, but they had been lessened. The bard smirked.
"But, I understand your plight. It's not easy choosing your friends when you don't have any time to do so. So, why not switch sides? It's not like you know those people anyway, and it's clear my comrades are far superior. With you and your little friends, we can end this little twist all that much faster. So what do you say?" He shot the girl a charming smile.
Of course, if she had the gall to decline his generous offer, he'd probably unleash the same kind of attack that Ciel had faced before..
Battered and bloodied, Locke was awake. His clothes were torn, his mask cracked, and back pulped, but he was not broken. He could think. He could assess. He could plan. A horrible buzz filled his ears and a terrible shifting colour washed over his eyes, but lucidity still occupied his mind. His fairy, confused without orders, was still watching the fight unfold. With an almost silent whistle, he called for her and she sneakily came to his side like a faithful dog. His next order remained a whisper.
“Wizard. Go. Doz nith irush doq sa vu.”
Like a corpse, he kept his body unmoving and his hand on the ground. A black tendril stretched along the ground, following the fairy’s shadow. It was fast, matching the fairy’s flight speed. The fairy did what Locke had told her to and flew towards Glum. She, perhaps by its own whims, decided to warp the light around herself. No more than a distortion flying with a dark tendril in close pursuit, his objective was simple. Cecelia could handle herself. That was the gambit he put on. He had no idea that she had been set on fire or roasted. He just knew that they were close. An opportunity was all that they needed. Once under Glum, the tendril was set to burst into a set of bindings meant to corrupt and pervert the defences he had since placed on himself.
To Cecilia’s credit, she didn’t scream when a cone of fire surged out from Glum’s hands, the wizard’s casting completely moments before she was in range. Through willpower alone, the Spellblade held in her breath as fire consumed her. Her enchanted dress, with the physical properties of leather, did not char in the hot flames, but the same could not be said for her hair, or what clothing she wore beneath the battle dress. She could feel her skin begin to blister, peel back, her eyes shut against the fire that enveloped her even after the spell ended.
If Glum had cast something else immediately after, she’d have no counter.
But because he didn’t…
“Zephyrus!”
In an instant, the barrier of air around Cecilia, which had fueled and oxygenated the flames licking her body, surged outwards, exploding with a grand force. The flames followed, flashing out; brightly enough that Glum, who had only sidestepped, was caught in the radius of the sudden explosion. In an instant, the fire that clung to Cecilia was deprived of air, her Zephyrus Aria forming a vacuum around her when it burst.
She could see. Glum was still there. Every part of her body hurt. But he was within range!
Her boots found purchase against the ruinous terrain, and Cecilia kicked off, reversing her momentum in a display of sheer athleticism. Their distance was negligible, and her spear drove into the mage’s defenses, Storm’s Boon scattering paralyzing sparks as Glum’s arcane barriers manifested.
Manifested, only to weaken as dark tendrils, hallmarks of Locke’s curious magic, seeped into the magical framework.
Cecilia pushed.
Annabelle’s head tilted, her thoughts muddled and difficult to grasp. What the Bard was saying seemed… true, as she looked about. Had she truly made the right call? There was no way she could have discerned their difference in skill beforehand, nor could she have idly waited by; one of these groups was clearly well-knit, and historied together. She would have no doubt been immediately considered an enemy by Hawklen and co. But here he was, offering her a chance to not die. It was very tempting. So tempting, in fact, that she could not fathom why now of all times she felt this draw towards the offer.
One thing was certain; Annabelle was no betrayer, even if she had yet to know any of these adventurer’s names. A silent lot was cast, and in that was a kind of promise. Annabelle was simply not one to turn her back on those she sought to help, no matter how pitiful they were. If she switched sides as readily… then she would be no better than those distant phantoms in memory. It was because of this, that her draw towards switching sides could not be natural. She was not fearing for her life, scrambling to survive, so this offer should not be so powerful, should it?
Annabelle lifted her head proudly, her smile turning to one of neutral resolve. She would help these people, unto her dying breath. Another adventurer once told her that it was only those that embodied that spirit who would truly make a name for themselves that could stand the test of time. To Annabelle, notoriety meant sway, and sway meant additional hands who could help her on her quest.
And most of all, if she were to be the kind who sought shelter beneath stronger wings out of fear, she would never be the one who could in turn shelter others.
“I’m sorry, mister, but I simply cannot,” she said firmly, “You would never betray your own, and when I joined in this fight, I decided who ‘my own’ were as well. I can’t go back on that.” Annabelle lifted her sword in two hands, and channeled an enchantment into it. The cut upon her arm, which had once been bleeding normally, suddenly gushed out, the crimson ichor drawing into the air in a swirl before settling along the length of her greatsword. The ridges and grooves in the blade were filled with a solidifying blood, and the air about it glowed menacingly.
“Gaian Penance. Nature’s Curse,” she uttered softly to herself, bestowing a magic dampening effect upon the weapon.
This was a level of self-draining that truly damaged her, unlike before. She could not sustain such an enchantment for long, much less to empower it harder than it was at the moment. But it was her best, and with both of her summons readied and waiting, she was at the peak of her capabilities at that moment.
No sooner than she had cursed her blade did she set upon Hawklen, any pretense of civility and friendliness quickly breaking apart. Hers was a trident of attacks, the greatsword wheeling through the air for Hawklen, whilst her summoned spirit lay a bolt of ruinous energy towards him from just behind her height. The little blood summon lashed out with a flurry of whips, at the very least a distraction to the ringleader.
Glum seemed surprised at Cecilia's recovery, obviously having expected the dainty girl to fall over and scream profusely in pain. The sudden backflip and stabbing had caused the wizard to take a few steps back, though the magic bubble around him had both prevented any harm from the Spellblade's self-created explosion, along with stopping her spear from reaching the actual man's body.
The arrival of the tendrils was at first a boon, as with their help and Cecilia's pressure on the defensive sphere, it began to crack and pulse in a manner suggesting it was close to breaking. However, Glum pointed his staff at the snaking veins of black, uttered something wordlessly, and as if sucked into a vaccuum cleaner, the magic barrier absorbed the tendrils, seemingly repairing itself and undoing whatever damage the Spellblade and Mountain Mage had managed to cause.
With this, Cecilia could feel her spear being pushed back out of the protective shell, and no amount of her physical or magical force could seem to stop it. It became apparent that Glum's defenses were strong enough to withstand a lone Cecilia. With that becoming obvious, Glum pointed his staff at the spearwoman, and suddenly a purple-glowing orb, roughly the size of your average ripe orange, flew out from the tip - striking the young noble and exploding in a small burst of magic energy, which sent the lady flying backwards. He unleashed another, and then another, each time the magic missiles struck, Cecilia would feel like someone was throwing balls of glass filled with fire at her.
Eventually, Glum ceased his attack, standing still and looking at the girl. He then made a motion, both with his free arm and staff. Although it was hard to tell, it seemed he was communicating with the girl. And eventually, it became clear what his message was.
"Surrender, or die."
Meanwhile, Hawklen let out a playful 'Oop!' as Annabelle swung at him. With the grace of a lynx-like cat, he backpeddled to avoid the initial swung, as well as the projectile - though, his forearm did take a couple lashes from the tiny blood-glob's whips, somehting that made the man tsk and shoot the tiny critter a mean look. Raising his own hand, he aimed past Annabelle and spoke a few melodic words, before a gree dome of shimmering light enveloped her blood spirit - the big one.
In an instant, the creature dissolved, crumbling away as if it was made from sand. Apparently, Hawklen knew a Dispel-spell as well. Still, even with the extra combatant gone, the bard couldn't quite engage the female blood mage as he had with Ciel. For one, Annabelle's weapon had greater reach, and while he was able to side-step and avoid most any of her clumsy swings, the fact that she had her little munchkin pet around, who ceaselessly threw about blood-whips, was making it most difficult for the man to counter and get any good stabs in.
As it were, the two were locked in a relative stalemate. The winner would only be decided by who could outlast the other in terms of focus and stamina... Which would likely be the bard, seeing as how he had yet to break a sweat and wasn't channeling a life-draining curse to his weapon.
Ciel got Krenna’s attention, alright. Ciel couldn’t help being rattled by the shambling brute squaring up with a single-minded vengeance. People like her were Ciel’s easiest targets, easiest to trick and easiest to ambush with a well coordinated team, but there was something primal about her rage that unsettled him, like a squirrel against an angered bear. Ciel steeled himself as he quickly knocked another arrow. The squirrel would just have to bite back.
Ciel knew that he couldn’t risk a melee, at least, not yet. Even if he was pretty confident that he could dodge most of the attacks made by the slower, less finessed barbarian, and pretty confident that he could hamstring the woman with a few well placed strikes, there was when his confidence stopped. “Pretty sure” and “most”. And if the summoner that had his face beaten in was any indication, one good hit from those fists half the size of his head would send Ciel straight to the crags. But with the battlefield fragmenting into duels now, Ciel would have to face his opponent one on one.
The situation was dire, but his opponent was injured; not quite as much as before, not quite as much as he would have liked, but enough for options to start opening up for the rogue. He shifted the Mark from the ranger at the back to the barbarian shambling towards him, let loose a few more arrows against Krenna’s legs, then sprinted back further to again put more distance. If Ciel could kite the barbarian down, he would not only risk less interference from the smarter, more unpredictable enemies but also pull the woman into an execution range. Ciel just hoped that he had enough arrows and enough speed to keep away from being clubbed to death.
A spell-absorbing shield?
Cecilia knew as well, that with his arcane defenses bolstered, there was no way for her to break through with brawn alone, not when she had hardly built up any momentum. But in close combat, spellcasting was a step slower than physical movement; the Spellblade disengaged before Glum could cast and, with distance between them, she alleviated the impact of, if not wholly evaded, the magic missiles that were shot towards her. Dashing diagonally, the lilac lancer blocked the first arcane bolt with her spear, the impact enough to jar the spear out of her burnt hands. The second bolt she took in her left shoulder, spinning with the impact rather than being blasted back by it. And on the third, Cecilia leapt twice, shooting past Glum as his missile caught her midair.
She tumbled, crashed, stone scraping at exposed skin, before collapsing in a heap. But she was closer, again, to the palace ruins than Glum was.
Cecilia clutched her chest. Something had broken on that last bolt. Couldn’t breathe properly, but well, she couldn’t breathe properly anyways, not with her throat having been burnt previously. Nice to see that Glum wasn’t instinctually a murderer though. Surrendering now would be alright.
But time and time again, this band of adventurers had proven themselves scattered, only a step above Cecilia’s own motley crew. Norbert’s gotta be pissed after all, and Hawklen was a creep. And still, there was the treasure that was the meteorite, awaiting her eyes. There was no guarantee that she might not die even after surrender.
And Cecilia was a stubborn loser anyways.
She clutched at her chest, and this time felt the Blasted Wand hidden underneath her battle dress. Didn’t want to use the spell, after all. It was a boring one, unpleasant and gross. But it was essential too. If you knew magic, you didn’t leave home without it.
The noble woman, singed and battered, sighed.
“Dispel Magic.”
Glum’s magical shields fell.
And before another could be raised, the shortsword that Cecilia had hurled at Krenna completed its return trip, burying itself into the aged wizard’s back.
Although the skeleton was still ‘alive,’ Artemisia was quite satisfied with her handywork. Pinning the wretched creature down was more than enough for her, and everybody else; it was out of action.
She took the time to scan the battlefield once more; There was still a brutal melee, but both sides seemed to be injured. Cecilia looked a bit worse for the wear, although she was doing a number on the wizard; others seemed to have joined on her side, for some reason. More concerningly, Locke seemed incapacitated on the ground.
Muttering idly at the situation, she soon transitioned to muttering an incantation under her breath as she gathered magical and life-force from the aether around her, distilling it as she raised her hand into the air. Directing this energy towards the crippled looking man, she slowly healed his wounds. There would be no hope for his mask, though. She wasn’t a miracle worker, after all, or her town would have looked a lot prettier before she left it.
“Get up, Locke. It wouldn’t do to see you dead.”
Annabelle growled as she felt the presence of her summon fade away, and even as the bard had put focus into eliminating that threat, he still remained on his toes enough to dodge her swings. Her advantage was quickly wearing thin, if she could even call it such given the ease with which Hawklen was peeling it apart.
The spellsword continued her strikes until Carpenter broke away from his whipping to create what was hopefully a much better strategy for Annabelle. She retracted her weapon closer to her body, clearly preparing to strike again, but hesitated. The blood minion suddenly lunged into the narrow space between Hawklen and Annabelle, before morphing into a plain, stretched sheet of red. He became as a flimsy curtain between them, obscuring both of them from one another for but a moment, and before the animated sheet could fall away, Annabelle thrust her sword through, the angle and timing obfuscated to Hawklen.
A clever plan it had been, to try and hide her attack and make it impossible to determine from where the strike would come... Unless you took into account that Hawklen seemed rather fleet on his foot and was quick to think. As soon as the blood-sheet had appeared and seperated his view of Annabelle, the bard piroutted to the side in a semi-circle, moving out of reach of the greatsword and deftly avoiding the attempt at a make-shift sneak-attack.
Meanwhile, as the shortsword embedded itself in Glum's back, the wizard staggered forward, letting out a strange, breathy gasp - though since he couldn't speak, it sounded more like a choking singular cough. However, rather than crumpling to the ground and keeling over, the man staggered forth a few steps, raised his arms and unleashed something akin to blast of kinetic force - subsequently throwing Cecilia backwards, slamming her against the ruined tower's wall. In the next instant, Glum's hand darted into one of the pockets on his robe, as he slumped to one knee and used his staff to keep himself upright.
Pulling out a small glass bottle, he skillfully uncorked it with a flick of his thumb, then moved the flask to his lips and chugged the contents. Almost instantly, the sword in his back began to slide out of his frame, as if pushed out by an invisible, internal hand. Once freed, it clattered to the ground harmlessly, and even the bleeding from the wound seemed to stop. Glum breathed a few ragged breaths, before rising to his feet. However, he did not pursue Cecilia. Instead, his head turned northwards, as if he had suddenly seen something. Or perhaps sensed?
Turning his back to Cecilia, apparently no longer interested in fighting her, the man walked over towards where Norbert was lying, growling and swearing like a lumberjack who'd just axed his own leg. Kneeling down beside the ranger, the wizard opened the face-guard to the crossbowman's helm, and retrieved another potion from his robe, before forcefully making the other man drink it. Once done, the gloomy mage helped the ranger up onto his feet, with Norbe giving the elder a curt 'thank you', before narrowing his eyes.
"What's wrong, Glum?" You can still fight, right?" "..." A series of hand-gestures followed. "What? Something disturbed your ward in the north? Could just be a different group." The ranger suggested. "..." More gestures and then a finger directed to the west. "Really? That's... not good..." Norbe said, putting a balled hand to his chin and looking concerned.
After their brief exchange, both men looked over at Cecilia, only to then have Norbert do a loud, sharp whistle. The sound echoed through the plaza and caught the attention of Hawklen immediately - who leapt back from Annabelle and Carpenter, tipping his hat to the both.
"Well now, it seems something's come up! I'm afraid I must bow out, my dear lady. Pray you not be the type to shoot a helpless man in the back~" The bard said, before spinning on his hee and making a unhurried jog over towards his two other male friends.
At the same time, Krenna who had been following Ciel - and who had been just barely avoiding getting turned into a pin-cushion by the grace of her still naturally high agility, despite being nowhere near as quick as before - ducked behind a fallen column as soon as she heard the visible. Her head, covered in sweat and frozen in a perpetual snarl, glanced back at her allies and from whence the whistle had originated. Seeing their group reassemble, she let out an angry grunt, before beginning to run-hobble back towards her own compatriots, apparently not so single-minded as to keep chasing after the boy - whose side must have been killing him by now, what with the gash and bleeding and all.
Strangely, they made no moves to attack Cecilia, who had been flung into the nearby structure. It seemed their will to fight had either been lost entirely, or something else was up. As Hawklen and Krenna fully joined the others, Glum began making his strange gestures again, and the bard raised an eyebrow, turning to look west then north, scratching the back of his head and then nodding.
".... Fine, guess it can't be helped." He sighed, before doing a flourshing spin and bowing towards Cecilia and looking back to where the rest of the rag-tag team were. He cleared his throat.
"Ah, dear adversaries!" He called out, loud enough for them all to hear. "It seems you've bested us, bravo! We shall take this defeat with humility and grace, and leave you to your just rewards! We bid you adieu, until our next fated encounter!" He called, smiling as if they were all the best of friends and hadn't just been moments ago been engaged in a heated conflict where they'd attempted to off each other.
Giving their opponent no time for questions or interuptions, Hawklen and his group began heading towards the east, the bard muttering his melodic words and casting restorative magic on Krenna as they walked. Strangely, they had left behind both Norbert's shattered crossbow and sword, as well as the fanged club that Krenna had dropped. It seemed they were in a great hurry to disappear...
Hawklen's group moved as fast as their wounded would allow. Krenna was complaining and swearing something fierce, while Norbe kept rubbing his elbow and muttering under his breath. Glum walked slightly behind the other three, likely as a means to ward off any ill-begotten attempts at a sneak-attack by their adversaries from earlier. Meanwhile, Hawklen was busy running his mouth, singing his own praises and retelling the tale of their battle, even though it had just ended... And everyone had been there... Not that he seemed to care.
As the group wandered off, they took a path through the eastern plaza's more narrow and likely less busy alleyways and backstreets, avoiding the larger main road. Whatever it was that had put them in a rush to retreat, it was clear that their little run-in with the rag-tag cadre of loosely allied adventurers here at the center of the ruins had made them vary of any additional battles. Most likely not helped by the fact that Krenna had dropped her weapon and Norbert had had his both stolen and broken. Soon, the group of four had vanished into the ruined buildings, leaving the other five combatants to lick their wounds and settle any personal affairs and issues they might have...
... Such as interrogating a certain young boy about why he had been following a tribunal of nobles. Or why there was a woman parading around in her underwear who could summon nightmare-fuel by engaging in self-mutilation. Or maybe heal their bruised and battered bodies. Or perhaps decide on who should try and climb up the tower and reach the promised bounty that lay just a hair's width out of reach?
The possibilities were endless!
Meanwhile...
Forgotten Ruins, The Church:
The gaunt, middle-aged man roared in pain and agony, as he fell backwards in an unpleasant bend, slamming onto the ground with a thud, arms limply smacking onto the dusty floor alongside his crumpled form. Other than the inquiry from the Paladin, aimed at a small hill of corpses, there was no further noise or words... Just silence. Even the strange female elf who had come running into the chapel sat quiet and stared - first at the collapsed figure of the deranged priest, then at the brutish lizardman and finally at the strangely concerned paladin.
That is, until a sound, like a whispering wind was heard, and she suddenly let out a surprised gasp and her eyes shot wide open. Her posture went rigid and her arms fell down along her sides, straight and tense, like steel bars. With labored, unbalanced poise, she rose from her kneeling state and stood, staring with her horrified expression and large, staring eyes at the two men before her.
"Mhm... Mhmhm... Mhmhmhmhm...! HYAHYAHAYHAAYHYAHAYA!" An at first unpleasant snickering suddenly turned into a morbid, psychotic laughter. And it came from the collapsed priest.
Suddenly, his legs were bent up towards his chest, then thrown back, and the man was once again on his feet, like he was some kind of reanimated acrobat or something. His expression was no less bizarre than before, both eyes twitching and darting around the area wildly, a lunatic's grin on his lips and his arms, thrown up towards the ceiling, fidgeted and squrreled with his fingers, before they fell limp along his sides and he cocked his head sideways, staring at the lizard.
"... No salvation for you. Only death." He said the last part entirely deadpan and without enthusiasm, by the way.
In the next instant, the man threw his dirty, ragged robes off - as if with practiced and rehearsed skill - revealing an even more bizarre sight. The man was clad in bones. Yes, bones. Several human, or humanoid, bones had been somehow fused together and combined to form some kind of strange, macabre suit of armor for the man. There was even a rib cage covering his torso, which seemed to not even have been nicked or scratched by the lizardman's attack! Meaning, the old coot had just been faking it when he was initially struck down.
That didn't really matter though, as soon a pair of long, blade-shaped bones materialized in his hands, like wicked, curved scimitars. The man's head snapped back to a regular position, though not before licking the length of one of his weapons, then pointing it at the girl who was behaving strangely.
"Child! Go! Go! Go! Kill! Do your duty! Serve! Heathens begoooooooooooooooooooooone~!" He cried out, in the familiar hoarse and nasaly voice from when Vani and Kaze had first met the man.
Trembling, as if in convulsions, the girl reached for her bow, plucked an arrow from her quiver and turned to face Kaze. Nocking the projectile, she soon let loose the first of what would be many arrows, all aimed at the lizardman, ceaselessly hounding him with shot upon shot, and whenever he drew near, she would use her elven agility and speed to - in a strange wobbly and shaking fashion - retreat and put distance between the two.
At the same time, from the mound of carcasses, a bunch of moaning and groaning couldb heard. Soon, the top-most bodies slid and slumped to the side, as three figures rose within the very center of the heap... But, they didn't seem well.. For one, they all had blood coming out of their nostrils, ears and bottom of their eyes, secondly they seemed to very much lacking in both pulse and the whole, life-department. Only regurgitating foul, pained sounds, the three very cliché zombies began to trundle and trudge their way through the obstacle-course of corpses, all three intent on greeting their savior, Vani...
The strange, bulgie-eyed creep was just standing with his weapons, laughing maniacally as events unfolded. The church filled with his deranged cackling.
Kaze's eyes narrowed when his sword bit through the robes. A man that fragile looking...wouldn't have had that kind of resistance. He had felt his blade hit something hard. He kept his eyes on the old man, only his secondary eyelids, which were transparent, kept his eyes moist. His ear flicked towards the surprised gasp of the woman. Those steel eyes narrowed when the old man just started to laugh, obviously psychotically since he had no more screws left.
The giant reptilian man swing his sword down, barely missing the old cleric by an inch. His sword shattering the stone beneath the older man. "I don't need salvation, runt. Especially your brand of it" He growled out as the cleric tossed off his cloak to reveal the bone armor beneath.
The elder talked to the woman who had dashed in, was she under a spell? He glanced at her finally, noticing the lack of grace and more rigidness to her movements. He snorted as she nocked an arrow and fired it at him. The arrow pinged off his pauldron, not even scratching the heavy steel. His Iron Body worked well against arrows, the second one barely scratched his abdomen. He ignored her, despite her jerking movements she was faster and she was further away. He didn't enjoy cat and mouse.
Kaze did hear the groans of the undead, he looked and saw the zombies. Great...him without a good dose of fire. "Take care of them, paladin." He said as he lunged at the older cleric. That great sword of his whistling through the air, the edge finally sparking into life with electricity. The rest of the blade glowed with an orange hue. "Sunder." He snarled, aiming to break the mans blades and armor with a powerful hit. Strangely...he was wielding that massive blade with one hand.
With a grunt, Cecilia pulled herself out of the wall she had crashed into, just in time to half-heartedly wave at the retreating group. “Yeah,” she called out, her voice cracking from all the injuries sustained, “Let’s do this again some time.”
Bits of stone tumbled out of her hair as she slowly strode over to her fallen spear. She crouched down, found that she almost couldn’t get back up, and with a slow, halting gait, strode over to where Artemisia and Locke were. Though Cecilia had taken no small amount of damage herself, it paled in comparison to the sheer punishment that her compatriot endured. Plopping down beside the two, she rummaged through the folds of her clothing for a small vial. She uncorked it, drank half of it, then passed the rest to Artemisia. It was a regenerative concoction, working more slowly than the one that Glum had drank, but for the purposes of sitting down and recovering, it was fine. Gradually, the burns and bruises on her body receded. Soon enough, her fractured bones will mend themselves as well.
Probably shouldn’t use any magic to heal up faster, huh?
Resting her spear against her shoulder, Cecilia pulled out a small blade from her boots to snip off the burnt ends of her bangs. “Think that went as well as we coulda hoped,” she said, pulling out a small bag of (now toasted) cookies and passing it around, “Think with a bit better teamwork, we totally coulda taken them down!”
She leaned back then, waving at the other two strangers.
“Hey, don’t be shy now! C’mon over here; we’ve got snacks!”
Annabelle was certainly not the type to shoot someone in the back, but it wasn't like she was entirely happy that the challenge she'd faced was suddenly spirited away by Hawklin's fleeting attention span. Left alone bloodied and sweating, she stood amidst the center of the battlefield as the tip of her sword fell over and onto the ground. Catching her breath, she watched in silence as the enemy combatants fled for an unknown reason. Carpenter trotted over to her side and offered a blank look up in her direction, apparently similarly confused. When they had at last disappeared from sight, Annabelle maintained a vigilant gaze in the direction of their leave, cautious of all of the predictions she had buzzing around in her head. They weren't coming back, and a giant griffon hadn't suddenly swooped down upon them; for the moment, it appeared they were safe from... whatever was going on to spook them.
She sheathed her sword at her back and retrieved a roll of bandages from the small pack on her hip. While not life-threatening, it was wasteful to let her blood continue dripping about. She had already begun walking to the others when she was readily offered a place in the circle. Her smile was faint, but it was clear Annabelle was quick to forget about the stress of battle. She strode up to Cecilia's side, giving her face a once-over.
"You're suggesting we make this... permanent," Annabelle said half to herself before sitting down, "Before I had joined with you all, I had assumed you might join with that other group temporarily, if only for the sake of finding that fallen light."
A figure, covered in a thick, dark brown, hooded traveling cloak seemed to charge through the madness right at the bone-blocked entrance of the church. But what was their goal? Who were they? How would they even get inside of-?
"Holy Bombardment!"
The darting figure extended a hand at the entrance, before the name of a spell rolled off of their lips. In an instant, a pair of holy magic projectiles shot out from their extended hand, shooting through the air and slamming into the bones that blocked her path. They seemed to blast away the barricade, at least for just long enough that the running figure leapt over them and into the church before they regenerated back.
As she skidded to a halt on the floor, managing to stick the landing well, the figure pulled back her hood to reveal...an actually rather attractive High Elf. Pink orbs with white irises stared out at the scene erupting within the Church, a light shudder rolling down her spine as her lips pursed into a grim countenance. Yet then her features seemed to notably shift, moving into a far more stoic and more mechanical expression as she regarded the necromancer and this pile of...disgusting-ness.
"Summon Lesser Angel."
In front of the holy mage, a small magic circle appeared in the air briefly as a lesser angelic being descended from it. It appeared like a suit of armor, glowing through the gaps and helmeted visor with holy light, bearing a shield and a flaming sword in its hands. The being's feet clacked on the floor as it took a step forward, looking about the room for only a moment before rearing its weapons and outright charging at the zombies that were trying to come towards the wood elf Paladin.
With the other party fleeing, a wounded Locke managed to turn into his back. It wasn't hard to figure how messed he had become. His breath escaped through the cracks, only to be replaced by the stagnant air of the walled ruins. It didn't help that the subtle stench of ancient sewers was noticeable to him. Oh, how he longed for the fresh mountain air once more. Really, he wasn't one for senseless combat. If his two sociable teammates could have sweet talked Hawklen and his gang of horribles to go away, that would have been much more appreciated. Unfortunately, because of a certain someone, that didn't happen.
"I'm going to wrap my hands around that boy's neck," Locke said to no one in particular. Certainly it was a joke, right? He did say it in a rather serious tone, but most of what he said was serious.
Artemisia's healing worked well. His brain no longer hurt from it rattling around his skull and his spine no longer felt like someone took a hammer to it. His clothing was still ruined from the fight. Though, the current situation gave for a brief moment of respite. With a wave of his finger, the iridescent fairy by Cecelia spun out of the mortal plane like the others and was replaced by a much more naturalistic fairy by Locke's side. To call the fairy primitive would be accurate. It seemed much more in tune with nature than the others. Without so much as a word, the fairy got to work. It flew around Locke, carefully inspecting the extent of damage to his gear. With a dull glow between the fairy's hands, it began to mend his gear. The cracks in his mask seemed to slowly unform, dust collecting and filling whatever gaps were made. Similar could be said about his clothing. Threads once torn and broken had strung together once more, filling the gaps from before and the ones left from the fight.
For now, he remained on the ground. The time to choke out the boy would have to wait. He just had to keep his life and not die because of some invisible twat. Keep at the pace of the other.
"WHAT THE HELLS!?" would be the first words to burst from Vani's mouth at the sight of the three shambling corpses making their way out of the pile, their decayed, rotten visages nearly driving the paladin to gag again if the contents of his stomach hadn't already been emptied out onto the floor prior. He stared in abject horror, having never known the true face of such dark magics until now. This was the truest essence of necromancy; To break men and women under the heel of unholy energy, and then making monsters of them. It was beyond disgusting, beyond revolting, and to Vani...
It was beyond acceptable, even to a half-baked paladin such as him.
"Lolan, give me the strength to right their suffering," he would say, deftly cutting the hand of the first undead to reach out for him. Undaunted, the undead mess of men would approach him despite his gradual retreat, the Paladin backpedaling slowly as he made superficial cuts to limbs, but nothing seemed to be working. A trying stab at the hearts of one of them only lead to the zombified human sinking further onto the sword, walking towards Vani as if the sword in its chest didn't matter. Vani would kick with all his might to knock the zombie free of his sword, now slick with crimson, and bash away the approaching hands of the second with his sheld. The third however managed to grab his shoulders and with rotting breath beating against the elf's neck, attempted to bite at him. Pressing his sword against the teeth of the corpse just in time, Vani was growing fearful that he'd be unable to slay the beasts. He had no taxonomic knowledge of monsters or magic, and as such he knew not that simply crushing their heads would be enough.
Not that "crushing" was easy with a sword.
Just as he started to feel cloying, decayed hands grab at his ankles, Vani would hear the sound of a wall being blown apart. A woman's voice cut through the dust filling the church before a being nothing short of the most divine thing Vani had ever laid eyes on cut through one of the zombies, the one that he'd knocked over prior. Vani was stunned, not just by the angelic suit of armor, but also from the visage of the high elf that had summoned it. With his shorter sword now at a slight amount of attention from a mix of adrenaline and the sight of an elven maiden kicking ass with magic, his long sword could finally find purchase as he slammed his gauntleted fist against the zombie who's breath was turning his own sour. In that moment with its head turned, he would plunge his sword's tip into the zombie that had been crawling and grabbing at his ankle, kicking himself free of it before shoulder tackling the zombie in front of him, plunging his sword into its neck and decapitating it in the confusion.
Exhaling, Vani would feel the adrenaline at work as he smiled ever so slightly, before turning to look at the archer that had been charmed. Dropping his sword for fear of harming her, Vani would slowly approach before his voice boomed all throughout the church, as if a supernatural force possessed his vocal chords as his unignorable Challenge of the Adherent of Thunder resounded.
"By the hammer of Lolan, the fragments of your mind that remain, and my honor, STAND AND FACE ME!" he would bellow, his words especially resounding in the mind of the archer. "I swear, I will save you," the paladin would say, before approaching rapidly, shield at the ready in his left hand, and clenching his right hand to try and knock the living daylights out of the archer. He hoped that Kaze and the mage that had arrived could handle the necromancer...but some part of him, probably the part that felt honor-bound, deemed that his duty was to save this woman from the curse that ensnared her mind.
Ciel leveled an arrow at the retreating figures, maintaining his aim as the bard retreated off into the distance. The Mark's aura still hung over them, the purple-crimson shades tracing their movements like echoing shadows. Tempting him to let the arrow fly, tempting him to exact the old saying, 'eye for an eye'. They cut him and are getting away with it. Picked on others and walked away. Hurt for unhurt. It felt like sharp flint digging into his stomach, demanding to be fixed, demanding to see the red aura savour their wounds and sate its vengence.
Ciel held on tight on his bowstring, crushing the crude arrow's fletching as he fought to swallow his own adage. No, he had to be better than this. The bowstring saggged, the arrow uselessly dropping on the ground. Only as he put his bow back did Ciel address the growing dullness in his side. His side had continued to spill blood, now staining the entire left side of his clothes wet with crimson. He didn't acknowledge it too much, not out of any form of stoicism, but that pain was much quieter to him. Like muffled screams under a cloth, desperately trying to reach the other side but only going to far as to make distant acknowledgements. Was it a blessing or curse? For now, at least, Ciel could keep on his senses rather than kneeling over in pain.
Ciel tried to recall the last time he had to use a triage spell. It was in basic training, every Lalune had to learn some form of emergency healing spell. But as Ciel tried to wave the daggers' casting amber over the gash at his side, he could only muster a weak simmer and nothing more. Ciel whined in frustration. If there was any skill he shouldn't have forgotten...! He'll have to fall back to what he knew - physical remedies. He ripped off some of the tattered remainders of his sleeves (Ciel had to admit, that bard had done some very clean cuts) and tied it around his waist. It wouldn't necessarily heal the wound completely, but it would at least serve to stopgap the blood for now. Luckily, it missed tendons so it shouldn't affect his mobility too much, provided that someone didn't decide to exacerbate his wounds any further. Speaking of it, though... Ciel should probably thank the stranger who covered for him when he was downed. He didn't know so much about the other people in the group. Same sides in brawls rarely meant anything more than "I don't hit you, you don't hit me". But the least he could thank those who meant he was still alive right now, even if he was just a bystander who got roped in.
Then it occured to him that Ciel had missed his previous chance to introduce himself. To them, he was just a stalker who suddenly jumped into their fight. But surely they wouldn't attack him now? Ciel was guardedly optimistic, but still nervously dug his heels. It was the right thing to do - he'll have to do the right thing. Ciel sheepishly approached the spellblade, then bowed slightly in thanks. He didn't have anything to offer, but if they needed his skills, he would be happy to oblige. If only he could say these things, rather than stumble on every second word. Instead of making a fool of himself, Ciel decided to keep silent and hope that his body language conveyed no hostile intent. Better they mistake him for a mute than a fool who couldn't keep his train of thought straight.
With the little melee finally over, and with the enemy party making good their escape with their backs turned to them, Artemisia let out a sigh. Pulling through on the rest of her healing spell on Locke, she dismounted to get a better look at the man, since he truly seemed to be in a sorry state. Although his clothes were torn and his mask cracked, it seemed that he would live.
Compared to him, the rest of their impromptu party seemed to be fairing quite well. Sure, some of them were bloody and bruised, but they were all ambulatory and talking, although she shot a suspicious glance towards the pair that had shown up uninvited, even if they did help on their side during the fight. She glanced over as Cecilia made her way over, raising an eyebrow at her hobbling gait.
Artemisia almost offered to have a look at her wounds when her noble companion produced a regenerative potion; although she thought differently on the matter, preferring to use magic over exhausting consumables, she shrugged and took the bottle. She’d come out unscathed during the skirmish, despite the best efforts of Glum and his skeleton, so she passed the vial on to Locke.
“Maybe,” she replied neutrally, giving her two companions a look-over once more. Cecilia was pretty positive for how beat-up their little group was, Misia herself notwithstanding. Gladly accepting one of her cookies, she shrugged. “I think this entire fracas could have been prevented with some better diplomacy on our part, though.” Artemisia glanced towards Ciel, the cause of the entire mess. It seemed she didn’t truly believe in those words.
Her eyes then fell on Annabelle as she walked over. She too received an eyeful from Artemisia. “If you’re making this arrangement permanent, I would suggest you get some clothes to wear.”
The giant buster sword of the lizardman crashed down with tremendous force, and could easily have split a man in two... Yet, even with the orange glow and the reptilian's incredible strength, as soon as the blade collided with the now crossed bone-weapons that the madman was wielding, it came to an abrupt halt. The enchantment upon the metal weapon allowed it to make small cracks appear on the boney weapon it had primarily struck, but it didn't seem to be enough to actually shatter or break it outright.
With a twirl and a flourish of the hands, the psychotic priest withdrew his blades, only to then deliver a scissor-like counter-blow, which cut the lizardman across his snout, leaving an 'x'-shaped cut upon it. Even with his bolsteered defense and natural scales as protection, it seemed the bone-scimitars had no problem cutting through them. Now, the wound was neither deep nor dangerous, but it did sting and hurt, and if not treated it'd leave a rather humorous scar.
However, before the priest could launch into another attack, he let out a gasp-choked shriek, as the bones at the entrance of the church were temporarily breached, and another intruder flew into the place. As she summoned forht an angel and had it attack one of the deranged man's zombies, he swayed from side to side and let out a breahy, wheezing cry, as if somebody had grabbed hold of his nuts and was now twisting them around painfully.
"M-m-m-m-m-m-MISCREANT! Defiler! Corruptor! Pervert! Heretic! How dare you? HOW. DARE. YOU!?" He let out in a gargling growling call, as if his throat had been replaced by the vocal ability of a large toad. "Death....! Yes, death... Death. Deathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeath! DEATH TO THE VIOLATORRRRRRRRRRRR!!" He cried, before raising both arms skywards and letting out a barrage of strange, foreign words that honestly sounded more like jumbled pig-latin than anything else.
However, as soon as he finished, three more of the corpses from the heap began to slowly rise. This new triad began to walk towards the high elf maiden, moaning and slobbering all over themselves as they approached, arms and hands stretched out, while their heads and necks rolled lazily on their shoulders.
The zombie that had lost an arm to the summoned angel didn't seem all too concerned about it. It kept following Vani, now just with one arm. It didn't seem the angel's burning sword had actually set the undead ablaze - rather, it had just cauterized the wound it had inflicted upon it. The zombie that Vani had cut the head off was now lying on the ground, snarling and growling menacingly, while it's body stumbled around comically, bumping into walls and tripping over small holes in the floor. The paladin's shout at the mind-controlled archer caught the target's attention though, but unfortunately for Vani, not in a 'oh brave hero, come sav eme'-way.
Instead, the archer drew her bow and aimed it at the now disarmed and slowly approaching paladin. She said something in a choppy, forced voice that was low and inaudible. However, as soon as she let loose one of her arrows, the meaning behind her words became clear. Like a bolt from a ballista, the arrow slammed into Vani's shield and shattered, but stopped the elf dead in his tracks. There was now a massive dent in the young paladin's shield where the arrow had struck. In addition, the archer moved further back, increasing the distance between the two, before unleashing another arrow that repeated the first one, creating another large indent on the holy warrior's shield.
Seeing things dealt with, the madman's gaze returned to the lizard and he let out an excited 'woooooooooooooooooo~!'-sound, before charging at the larger of the pair, swinging his blades in a flurry of cuts and slashes that seemed to come from every single angle possible - and impossible - that the lunatic could imagine. It seemed the man had not just called upon more undead when he had been casting earlier, but had also given himself some kind of dark blessing. Oh, the humanity!
'Destroy the head,' the Angelic Mage silently communicated to her Angelic summon, the animated suit of angelic armor silently responding by now going for cleaving apart the head of the zombie it had just chopped off the arm off.
Yet Yinha's eyes were, for a moment, inevitably drawn for a moment towards the raving of the insane old man in the back of the church as he shouted aloud. Apparently he didn't take too kindly to her summoning an angel in the room.
While the ranting and raving at the end might have sounded like just that, however, she had learned enough of magic to at least tell the last jumble of foreign words the man spoke aloud were an incantation of some sort. Her lips pursed in slight concern at the sight. That couldn't be good. Indeed, as three corpses arose from the heaping pile, now shambling towards her in particular this time, the mage let out a small and quiet sigh as she extended a hand towards their heads. Though when she opened her mouth-
"Holy Mirror Image....Consecrated Ring."
-things changed.
Yinha's visage became blurred to others, shining bright and somewhat blinding whitish light even, and three additional illusory duplicates of her seemed to arise around her with the same type of appearance. For simple zombies, it would be impossible to tell her apart from the images, as only striking them would allow them to 'figure out' what was fake and which was real. The shining light would also make her and the images harder to see and just visually target. These images would also shift each round, however, obscuring her true body until the illusions had been destroyed. A second tier spell to be sure, albeit costing a little more to cast than the traditional mage spell of "Mirror Image" that it was aping.
Though she had not left her defense at only this.
She would pause briefly, until the zombies got closer into range, before casting a second spell. A white light seemed to erupt from under her feet and cover the ground with a 5-foot radius around Yinha. A lower second tier area-of-effect spell, cheaper to cast and simply dealing holy damage to enemy creatures within...and with a minor secondary effect of setting undead immediately on fire within range.
Kaze's eyes narrowed when his sword, strength, and the electricity just caused slight cracks in the dual swords. They were either purely magical or they were heavily enchanted blades to be able to withstand just the heft of his giant blade. Nevermind the fact the old man didn't even get knocked back by the strength of the blow. Those blades moved his own to the side before they were brought down on his face, which he moved with the blow to minimize the damage inflicted. Shallow cuts that he shook off.
Growling he stepped back as the geezer got distracted. Yes he could have just blindly struck, but that armor and those swords weren't natural. So it was time to prepare further. his sword was slung over his shoulder to rest in its specialized sheathe. Slamming his fists together he started to glow with a soft light. "Invulnerable Body. Pace of Wind. Flow Acceleration." He growled out, that white light sinking into his body before he took on a deep purple glow. He'd have to thank the new comer for distracting the elder. These skills needed good concentration to pull off and weren't easy to do in the middle of a fight.
The other two could play with the archer and new zombies, Kaze's target was the anti-cleric. Was he a necromancer? Meh it didn't matter. Moving into a stance with one hand leading, the other held back in a loose fist at his waist he watched. The man was focused back on the reptilian man and just went buck wild. But strangely Kaze kept up, that one hand swatting the flat of the blades, knocking them away and making the old man over-extend repeatedly. The thick metal of his gauntlet barely getting scratches from those strange weapons.
When the older man rushed in again is when Kaze went on the offensive. He batted aside the blades once more and stepped into the geezers dead zone, the area where the weapons were completely useless. His knee came up to strike the mans midsection. Twisting his foot planted itself and he twisted into a corkscrew punch that was aimed to take off the insane mans arm by destroying his upper pectoral/shoulder. As that fist retracted his footwork shifted, the other one now leading so he could add torque to the oncoming haymaker for the old mans face. Kaze was Comboing Blows at a speed his size and build honestly shouldn't have, but monk skills allowed him to get to.
Annabelle took a cookie from Cecilia as well, seeming almost skittish to even reach out at the girl. A few munches, and she found her gaze drifting down to her own attire. Artemisia wasn't wrong, but it was an opinion. Annabelle had gone through quite a lot in these clothes, minimal as they were. She was no knight, no aristocrat. Her natural hardiness had done most of the work in keeping her protected, and perhaps a good deal of luck here and there. She wouldn't deny to herself that they'd be difficult to part with.
But in the end, she'd been told the same sentiment as Artemisia's several times already. Maybe it was time. She certainly didn't want to annoy the group she was possibly going to fight alongside for however long. The black-haired girl nodded up at Artemisia.
"Okay, but... I don't have very much money," she said. The truth of it was partly the reason she was so bare in the first place. She didn't dare talk about the second reason, at risk of embarrassing herself in front of the others forevermore.
“Well, wouldn’t say that we make all this permanent, but…”
Cecilia’s eyes flickered up and down Annabelle’s body. She may have been scandalously underdressed, but her complexion was smooth despite no obvious signs of powders, creams or illusion magics, while the combination of black hair and red eyes gave a bit of a gothic edge to the woman. With some work, her interesting looks and somber personality could pull off a look that Cecilia couldn’t, hm?
Then Locke said something dark and vengeful. Right, he also had that sort of look, didn’t he? They’d make a good pair, for sure. Vengeful mask-count man and his lady, the demon-summoning sword-mistress. How romantic~
“Don’t worry about money too much,” Cecilia waved, offering another cookie to Annabelle, “Not like we can do much in terms of shopping until after we get out of here…but once we do, you must go shopping with us. Alright? Entrance fee for joining the winner's group and all."
A blink. Ah, there was the invisible boy that caused so much trouble and that Locke wanted to strangle.
“What’s your names anyways? I’m Cecilia, by the way. Cecilia Tonitrus. That’s Artemisia, and down there, lying down, is Locke.”
As the paladin was knocked back a fair amount, he couldn't help but wonder what monstrous strength this archer had. He was by no means small, and as such being sent nearly flying off his feet was more than shocking. It was scary. His prized shield had a massive dent in it now, the likes of which his father would grumble about needing three days to fix. And before he could even move, his shield was hit hard again, the arrow managing to cause a massive chip into the side of it, narrowly skirting the edge of the metal. With his back now even further pushed, Vani wasn't able to see the undead approach from behind and drape an arm over his right shoulder. Freezing at the rancid touch placed upon him, Vani shuddered as the breathe of the undead drew closer, before the paladin would use his free hand for its most god-given purpose...
Slamming it straight into the jaw of the undead before it could bite his neck. Another arrow slammed into him, nearly forcing the Paladin onto his back if not for the "support" of his undead "friend". "Here's an idea: YOU! Make yourself useful!" he would shout, quickly slamming his shield into the bloodied face of his hanger-on to stun it, before wheeling it to his front and grapping his free hand around its neck. Now, he had a second shield. A very heavy, squishy, smelly, and moan-y shield, but any amount of flesh was usually enough to stop an arrow. Hearing the thunk of another arrow was Vani's signal to charge, screaming his lungs out as if it would make him fly faster towards the archer. In a church of this size, she couldn't out-run him forever by backpedaling. Once he was close enough, Vani's shield would come alive with lightning, the holy symbol of Lolan sparking blue as the paladin lunged. The archer already had her arrow nocked, but Vani didn't care.
"DON'T YOU DARE DIE FROM THIS! THUNDERING SMITE!" Vani would say as he slammed the shield against the archer's head, sending her flying just a moment too late as the arrow flew, its full force unleashed and sending him flying back as well. Hurtled with the full force of the arrow finding purchase in his right shoulder, Vani would be flung back into the crowd of the undead, slamming into them and knocking over his sword that he had laid aside. Fumbling, he crawled towards the sword, huffing and panting as he coped with the pain in his shoulder, trying his best to ignore it while defensively waving his sword as he slowly crawled backwards. "WANT SOME MORE!? PLENTY WHERE THAT CAME FROM! LOLAN'S MERCY IS BOTTOMLESS!" Which, sadly for Vani, wasn't true at all. His ring had scant regenerated enough MP for that smite to not outright knock him into unconsciousness, his vision already blurry. Even if he wanted to smite again, moving his right arm was agonizing with the arrow in it. He hoped that he had at least managed to stop the archer without killing her, even if it meant that this might be where he died.
"...It wasn't so bad of a run. I guess. ...Lolan, if you can hear my prayers...smite that bastard. Or give that lizard the strength to do it. ...Some partner I was. Its just like always. ...Just like always," Vani said, his inner thoughts struggling to remain any degree of positive in the face of pain and injury, the paladin's green-ness shining through, even in what might be his final moments. But, he did have one thing he could do that cost him little to no effort to do. Shakily standing, he would point his one good hand at the crowd of undead, before shakily saying: "Come choke on me, you bastards. I'm more meat than the lady," trying to use his taunt once more, to at least distract them from the maiden with angels at her command.
The unfortunate thing about zombies, and indeed most all undead, was that they didn't actually see using their eyes. Sure, some higher level cretins, like Vampires or Ghouls might, but low-level minions with rotted eyeballs, or empty eye sockets, didn't have much use for the whole 'sight'-thing. Naturally then, as sight was the primary sense that was effected by illusions, it stood to reason that such magic wasn't very effective against them... Which the high elf angel-summoner would quickly realize.
Outright ignoring her duplicates, and shambling straight for her, it wasn't long efore two of the gentleman in dire need of a dentist, and gravedigger, would pass into her range. Of course, her spell that caused holy damage was effective at harming the creatures of the night, but without any ability to feel pain, such an aura didn't really stop them, and it was hardly powerful enough to evaporate the meandering corpses as soon as they entered the field. What's worse, even though the spell set them ablaze, the walking corpses didn't seem to noitce that either, gurgling and hissing as their already stanky bodies began to emit foul-smelling smoke and the stench of singed hair and flesh. But perhaps the worst part was that the one of the creatures clutched onto the high elf's arm... While on fire... And gripped around it as if trying to wring out a wet rag.
Meanwhile, the male elf's attack on the archer had proven successful! ... Too successful. After having slammed a full metal shield into the woman's head, and added lightning to it, not only had he managed to fracture her forehead, but also crack her neck and caused electrocution. After flying backwards and crashing onto the dusty floor, the woman lay mostly motioneless on the ground, with the occassional muscle-spasm in her limbs. Her bow was dropped though, and from the looks of it, she wasn't going to get back up, so at least that threaty was averted! ... Though, the possiblity also existed that she wouldnt get back up, ever, from here on out...
The lizardman's fancy footwork and increased speed seemed to catch the deranged priest off-guard. The continued flicking aside of his onslaughts and the pararying of his swift, manic blows kept the madman focused and growing ever more and more agitated with his opponent. Spilling out insults mixed with his lunatic ramblings and preachings of nonsensical gibberish, the cleric was cleverly caught in the trap that the berbarian-monk had laid. And when the counter-attack came, it seemed all waas over! ... Except, it wasn't. As soon as the blow came racing towards him, Maxwell somehow unnaturally shifted his decripit-looking form, taking the blow, but having both adjusted himself and rolling with the punch, it didn't quite have the effext Kaze had aimed for.
Sure, the cleric was flung backwards and skittered across the floor like a wooden toy soldier thrown away by a child in a tantrum. But within moments, the priest threw his legs up onto the air, arched his back and flipped onto his legs once more, like he was some kind of monkey-man-acrobat or something. He craned his neck from side to side, made weird, wavy motions with both arms and flexed his struck shoulder, an unpleasnt, crackling, cartirdgey-noise resounding from it. His twitchy eyes flickered over to the beaten-down archer, before returning to look at Kaze. A look that was some kind of mix between disgust, mortification and fury was plastered all across it. Basically, he was looking like even more of a psycho than before.
"In-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n.... INCONCEIVABLE!" The man shouted, slashing around himself with his bony blades, before stopping suddenly, as if freeze-framed. His neck twisted almost 90 degrees as he stared at the lizard. "Enough games. There's no more to see. Heretic. Heathen. Ffffffffffffffffffffrog!" He sputtered, a very annoying sneer spreading across his lips.
And then, he muttered some of his strange, pseduo-latin-sounding words again.
And that was it, for Kaze.
The lizardman could see nothing. He could hear the madman cackling like.... Well, a madman. But he couldn't see. And it wasn't like in those comic books or fantasy-novels you read, where when you lose one sense, your other senses get stronger. Kaze's hearing and sense of smell were no better than before, but he was now blind. Completely blind. Of course, neither the Paladin nor the Mage could actually see any difference, since his eyes looked fine from an onlookers outside perspective, but Kaze had been robbed his sight, struck by a Blind-spell. And as this was neither an affliction caused by physical interference, nor some kind of injury, no matter what abilities the lizardman had to recover from naturally inflicted status-ailments, unless he knew how to dispel magic, or pray for a cure to blindness, he would not be seeing anyhing anytime soon - at least not until he found someone who could remove the effect.
Vani's taunt, meanwhile, did manage to draw one of the zombies towards him. But apart from the one lying a ways away - that had been used as a human(?) shield - and the one that the angel mage's summon had cleaved, the majority of the remaining corpses were still heading for the busty spellcaster, rather than the ragged, worn-down knight.
Meanwhile....
"General!" "Report." "Yes, sir! Our forces have managed to push forward and claim the northern gate! We're still having trouble in the south, but it doesn't look like there's much resistance further east. Once we claim the east gate, our forces will be able to pincer the south and-" "Enough. I know how things will work out, son. You don't need to explain simple tactics to me." "Y-Yes, General, forgive me." "Let's just hope whatever's in there is worth all this extra work... " "Should I relay orders to begin heading for the center of the ruins then?"' "No, not yet. Capture all the gates first. Make sure there's nowhere anyone can escape outside. By now, I'm willing to bet someone's already found whatever this prize is supposed to be. We'll simply have them hand it over to us when we find them." "... What if they don't want to relinquish it, sir?" "..." ".... S- Sir?" "Then we attain it the way the Empire always obtains what it wants." "Oh... O-of course, sir."
Name? She was asking his name. They were obviously nobles, most likely from a foreign land. He hadn't too much experience with the lands to the east of City, but he recognized the melodic accentuation from a travelling map maker. Illiserev, the land of flowing riches. The land that was Nivinia, once, before it turned into a husk. Ciel noted it was unusual for people of their stature to be stuck in a mess like this, but nonetheless, they were undoubtedly of high importance. That meant Ciel had to make a good impression.
"C-ciel." The boy stammered, trying and failing to keep his twisted tongue straight. "Ciel L-lalune." He kept his head down, trying to hide his embarrased face under the folds of his tattered cloth. "Cie-l Lalune...ciel-l..." he murmured, trying to get the pronounciation right. Every time he stumbled upon something new, like trying to push down the air on a badly sealed pillow. His embarrasment was two fold. First was that he still couldn't speak straight, even though he had secretly practiced it in his lonely days. And yet here he was like a toddler, struggling to even recite his name in front of strangers. And his pipsqueak voice combined with common tongue didn't help at all. Second was that when he was pressured, he still resorted to his Lalune name. A bloodied name, an accursed name, yet in the deepest and most honest recesses of his thoughts, he was still a Lalune.
His face felt hot, and his mind lurched to a half-baked solution. He should advertise his skills, no? That way, he should be able to distract them from his horrendous speech. "I-I can cl-imb and um..hide w-well. I can scou-t if-if you need." That was good enough right? No, no it was not. But Ciel was a turkey if he was going to broadcast his horrendous speaking skills further.
Kaze stomped his foot to stop himself from continuing after the old man. He had felt him go with the powerful hits, you didn't chase someone who reacted that fast. It meant the elder was stronger, or had better reflexes, than the lizardman. "Okay, everyone stop screwing around with the zombies and help me with this fuck." He called out, the zombies were slow and obvious and honestly they just didn't have the feel of a threat. Honestly he had figured the paladin elf would be more...holy than lightning.
As the cleric recovered from being flung back, those fancy flips did not suit that armor at all, Kaze shifted his stance. His arms came up as his knees went over his toes. One foot moved back, giving him what could possibly be perfect balance. He was in his Defensive Stance while he watched the old man rant, rave, and seethe about what had just happened. Then he was called names again, strangely he was called a frog. Frogs weren't reptiles, what was this geezer smoking?
But while Kaze stood there, waiting for the guy to rush him again, he instead started chanting. Ah fuck, more magic. Suddenly his vision was completely wiped. All was black, but he could still hear and smell what was going on around him. "Yeah, you lot need to hurry up. I can't see shit now and my blind fighting isn't nearly as good as my able to see fighting!" He exclaimed as he tucked his arms in close, covering his vitals further. As strong as the anti-cleric was swords weren't meant to cut through armor with ease. So Kaze was banking on more thrusts, probably aimed to the face and the front of his torso.
The bestial man couldn't think of any more of his abilities that could fit this situation. He was already as buffed defensively as he possibly could. Of course only a couple related to magic so he'd need to work on that in the future. Assuming he had one at this point.
1x Laugh