[IC] The Horde of Evil - Tresspassing through treacherous tribes' territory! (RP closed)

[BBeast]

Not as nimbly footed as D'Artagnan or capable of flight like Clotho, Torrens fell to the back rank of the scouting party, scurrying around boulders to try to keep up with the rabbitfolk warrior he had put in the front of the party. In vouching for D'Artagnan, Torrens realised that he had slighted Clotho, although he had no intent to apologise. Not yet, anyway. D'Artagnan had shown himself to be surprisingly capable during the raid on the dwarves, despite his diminutive stature, and Torrens saw potential in him.

Eventually, D'Artagnan rounded a large boulder, and when Torrens reached the corner and rounded it, he saw the orc tribe. Evidence of its presence had been littered throughout the narrow valley leading up to this point, but its appearance still took him slightly by surprise, since Torrens had been travelling quickly to keep pace. He reversed back behind the boulder as quickly as he had arrived. Then, carefully this time, he poked his head around the boulder to see more clearly. It looked like a typical orc tribe. Quite flammable. He also saw the small figure of D'Artagnan, a mere blotch of fur at this distance, sneaking into the camp.

Torrens smirked, and slipped back behind the boulder. Torrens was the kind of fighter to burst in and shoot everything with reckless abandon. However, he had enough tact to know when that was not appropriate, and until D'Artagnan or one of the others alerted the orc guards Torrens would lurk by the sidelines, waiting for the right time to strike. So he settled in to watch and observe from a gap between two boulders, a location he hoped would not be too revealing of him and his incandescence.

[Cyclone]

Faeles silently regarded D'Artagne, the rabbit having unilaterally proclaimed himself leader and then charged off, before stopping to apologize and wait just long enough for them to catch up before he went on again. The two abyssal eyes from within his hood turned towards Clotho, and for a moment his burning gaze locked with hers. Perhaps she sense a small fraction of the disdain and mockery that dwelled within his thoughts, but then the fleeting moment would be over in an instant once Faeles slunk off.

He kept a distance from the others and always hugged the canyon walls where they existed or kept low to the ground where there was no cover, obviously skilled in this sort of stealthy work. His movements were deft and skillful even as he traversed the roughest terrain, his feet both fleet and utterly silent. So it was that he crept along in the shade, always just within sight of the others.

While the rabbit D'Artagne crept forth, Torrens hung back, and Clotho looked on from far above as an invisible speck in the sky, three orcs sat in the crude tent near D'Artagne, the opening wide open for the scout to peer in. The trio of orcish warrior growled to one another in their characteristic gutteral speak, already in the middle of a conversation. "...elders speak well of Gormlag. Say he already great shaman. Gonna lead tribe to glory! War! Finally sack lowlands!"

During his bellowing, that orc chugged from a horn of grog so strong and foul a medicine that its overpowering odor killed any of the buzzing flies that came too close.

A second one sat nearby, fletching a wicked set of arrows with jagged tips of rusty iron, dipping their heads into a pot of some sort of oily poison before tossing them into a quiver. It was a third one that spoke, however, this one roasting a boar over an open fire. "Strong orc, maybe, but dumb one. Set own hands on fire! Fused them with stone!"

"Smart orc! Good warlord! Better than old shaman," the drunken warrior roared back, seemingly taking personal offense.

"Old shaman better! I go right up to top of hill and tell Gormlag, then smash his face!"

"No, I smash your face for shaman! He reward me for your head!"

"Da king laugh when I give him skull of both you and Gormlag! Gormalg no deserve da powers king gave him!"

The petty argument quickly devolved into a drunken brawl, and the pounding of footsteps heralded the impending arrival of what would most likely be more belligerent orcs. It might be best that D'Artagne find Torrens and the others now, before he get caught in the middle of that fight...

Meanwhile, outside the orcs' settlement Faeles sat near Torrens. Lazily he glanced towards the dying light of what little crack of dusky sky there was to see from where they sat at the bottom of a canyon. At last, his set of sharp eyes spied Clotho far above. Oh, if only she knew how much danger she was in up there. A light chuckle escaped from Faeles, the thought of the orcs' king coming down from its throne atop the mountain to squash the fly that dared trespass through his domain in the clouds.

Awkwardly glancing towards Torrens, Faeles attempted to start a conversation. Laughing ominously to himself would do no good. "I do believe that I heard some peasant farmer mention these orcs having a king, once I held a knife to his throat and started asking questions," he spoke in a low tone so as to not draw the attention of anything that might be near. Upon mentioning his knife, he procured from within his handwraps one of his hidden blades and began to skillfully flick it about with one hand.

He continued, "Yes, there was something unusual about this 'king' though, from the way I recall...I think that their king is a giant bird, one of the windrocs of legend? Or no, perhaps his little tale had their king a great bat, the way he spun it. Oh, if only my memory would serve so reliably as this blade..." The demon chuckled again, his echoing laughter somewhat disconcerting. He actually remembered quite well what their king was, and he eagerly awaited seeing the look on the face of that fool that all these called 'Master' when he learned just what sort of being had managed to terrify these orcs to the point where they served at its whim and worshiped it as a god of war. Oh how they would all cower when they beheld the true lord of these mountains!

Suddenly, the sound of the brawling orcs caught Faeles ears. He looked towards Torrens with what seemed an amusement of amusement and pity, incorrectly assuming that D'Artagne had caught the orcs' attention. Still, he would probably prove to be right in anticipating that the rabbit might soon find himself in dire need of help."Shall we?" he whispered, already skulking towards the village in that effortlessly dexterous manner of his.

[BBeast]

As Faeles sat next to Torrens, he gave Faeles a nod of acknowledgement. When Faeles shared his intrigue, Torrens replied, "A king, eh? If he becomes a problem we may have to kill him." As Faeles elaborated, Torrens stroked his chin for a few moments as he considered this information. "Sounds like a creature of flesh, either way. Easier to deal with than the other sort." Torrens looked skywards, following where Faeles had looked earlier, and managed to spot the tiny speck which was Clotho, high above. There was no sign of this flying orc king yet, although he felt a twinge of concern for Clotho, who would have no idea that perhaps her greatest threat came from above.

The distant sound of a brawl snapped his attention back to earth. He couldn't see D'Artagnan, which didn't mean much at this distance, but there seemed a good chance that this warrior had started fighting the orcs. To Faeles he responded, "Let's."

Between his hands he generated a fireball, roughly a meter in diameter. Holding the fireball in his left hand, he took the pointer finger of his right hand and twirled it around the fireball, from top to bottom, binding it in the magical green flame and compressing it to the size of a baseball. Torrens took another look at the camp, took a few steps back, then threw the ball with a running overarm throw towards the camp. The fireball streaked across the sky like a comet, flying in a smooth parabola until it hit a tent across from the tent where the brawl had broken out. On impact the magical bindings were shattered and the fireball exploded, covering the entire tent in flames in an instant. If that didn't divert attention from D'Artagnan, nothing would.

As Faeles slunk across the ground towards the camp, Torrens broke cover and also advanced on the camp, intentionally going in the opposite direction to Faeles. Glowing like fire in the dusk light, Torrens would be plain to see to all who looked in that direction. This was, of course, his intent. The orcs would see him and blame him for the fire and go after him, leaving their backs turned to the others in his party. At least, that's what Torrens hoped.

[Lugubrious]

As unconstrained as she felt in the air, Clotho could not help but feel ever so slightly ill at ease as she lofted far above the orc settlement. Not only did the savages never casually look upward, but they also sported no visible sentries whose jobs it might be to compensate for this oblivious tendency. For a troupe of mongrels neither stealthy nor subtle, the orcs appeared to be awfully comfortable out in the open like this, at least compared to human armies. Logically, this was some sort of flaw of the species, but Clotho decided not to make any definite assumptions just yet.

Far below, things began to heat up in the camp. Threats spewed, tempers flared, and melee ensued. The Swarm Queen, witnessing this display, cringed. To her, or indeed any commander worthy of being called such, self-destructive behavior like this constituted one of the gravest offenses a soldier could make. She

More disturbing, however, was the event that followed. A surge of brightness and color caught her attention, drawing her eyes to a tent reduced to cinders. Clotho’s eyes widened; such instant immolation could be the work of none other but Torrens, but why would the demon compromise the scouts’ stealth so recklessly? Looking back and forth, she saw nothing that warranted an attack, and only grew more dismayed to see Torrens and Faeles engaging the foe. A furious despair pricked her. The Overlord expressly assigned a scouting mission, not some mindless attack that could lead to the discovery of the entire Horde. Incredulous, Clotho scanned the ground again, and found nothing to explain her allies’ folly. Sure, D’Artagnan had snuck his way into the camp’s interior, but took no further action. Her mind raced to find a way to solve this problem, but only a few seconds later, Torrens had exposed himself. The lips of the Swarm Queen curled into a disdainful grimace. There would be no easy solution to this mess.

From what she could see from her bird’s-eye view, however, Faeles and D’Artagnan had yet to show themselves. The essence of a plan popped into Clotho’s mind, one that hinged on nigh-impossible speed and precision to pull off. Folding in her wings, she began to dive, assuming a streamlined posture to shoot, bulletlike, toward the ground. In the gathering gloom, she would be difficult to spot, especially with a smelter demon practically prostrating himself before them. Now that the hothead is fighting, this entire operation can end only one of three ways: the camp is destroyed, or Torrens is, or Torrens and the rest of us are. Better a single soldier lost than an army detected. Clotho carefully unfurled her wings, spreading them to glide, and she swooped over the camp in a preconceived path. First she landed next to D’Artagnan, braking painfully hard and pressing herself against the ground to avoid detection. ”Do not engage the enemy. Torrens has picked a rash fight; we cannot avoid risking the Horde by revealing ourselves as well.” Clotho then rolled to her feet, crouched, and sprang directly up. She twisted around and darted toward the position of Faeles, using as circuitous a route as possible to remain out of sight. When she appeared by his side, she hissed, "D'Artagnan is still hidden. Everything was fine. Torrens is fighting, and you are engaging, for what reason exactly?" She then remained crouched next to him rather than fleeing again.

[Eviledd1984]

@Cyclone

D'Artagnan was listening into the conversation taking in as much information as he could,"Shaman?King?How interesting...." He thought to himself wiggling his cute pink button sized nose.Their seemed to be a distributes in their forces which could be wonderful if he or the others could disorganizes the tribe,However it seemed this would be a bit tougher then he thought with Torren making a big mess.

"It is fine i know he can look after himself...he is a big boy" D'Artgnan responded thinking that Torrens could look after himself and it would make for a good cover for himself.The small rabbit was hopped as quiet as he could to find this shaman and have a word with him,Or if he could find this so called king of theirs.

[Cyclone]

Faeles stopped upon spying Clotho as she darted towards him. "I had thought to save the rabbit, but now it looks as if the fire demon is the one that might need saving," he answered Clotho's sharp inquiry with an amused tone, as if this was some sort of game.

"Do you suggest that we remain hidden and let the reckless fool get himself killed?" Though the strange demon spoke with words blunt as a millstone, almost to the point of sounding sarcastic, his tone and the devious look in his eyes meant that he was considering it. Truth be told, he only cared for keeping up appearances for so long as he stayed in this 'Horde'. The fate of Torrens and D'Artagne was of little concern to him.

"Or do you hope to deescalate this disaster of a scouting foray and negotiate with the orcs? That would interesting, though we would have to move quickly to salvage this situation now." The Arch-Thief cackled at the idea, looking eagerly to Clotho for her response.

Meanwhile, the tumultuous brawl inside of the orcish village stopped as soon as it began. The sudden pyroblast launched by Torrens engulfed one of the tents immediately and immolated several nearby ones purely from the resulting heat and embers. In doing so it incinerated two or three orcs that had the poor fortune of being inside the tent or too close, and it singed a dozen more. Needless to say, a wave of panic swept through what were usually ferocious warriors. Undisciplined as the orcs were, the result was utter havoc. D'Artagne might be able to simple run through the village at this point without anyone caring; the orcs had greater threats to deal with than some sort of little rabbit-man in their village.

Most of the orcs rallied and moved to sally out and meet their attacker, but others were terrified to the point that they fought their way through the surging crowds to retreat deeper into the village. Upon setting sight upon the living inferno that was Torrens, the tide of orcs that were fleeing grew somewhat greater in numbers.

Torrens would find himself soon faced with about a dozen warriors charging at him in an attempt to defend their village, heroic to the point of stupidity. Countless others poured out as well (this was no small settlement, and it seemed that nearly every orc was a warrior of some sort) though they shied back a bit, too timid to approach a fire demon.

Meanwhile, atop a nearby bluff that overlooked the way up to the village, Captain Mog suddenly awakened to a pounding headache. His head throbbed; he looked down to his horn of grog and saw the thing dry as a desert. His fellow 'watchmen' were collapsed on the ground, slumbering for their mid-watch nap. As Mog peered down to see his village on fire, he blinked several times. His rather slow mind took several seconds to process the image shown by his eyes, though in all fairness his vision was glazed and his eyes tired.

With a start, he kicked the others awake. "Bad guys! Shoot them! Shoot them! I go get shaman!" The other guards stumbled to their feet, grabbed their warbows, and arranged themselves into a line to prepare firing on those below. By that time, Mog was already sprinting like a mountain goat down a narrow dirt path that led to Gormlag's hut; the ragtag mob might fall to the burning creature that was attacking the village, but the mighty shaman would not be easily bested. He even had the power to call the king!

It would be about fifteen seconds after the warriors charged at Torrens that the archers would begin to shoot. In that time, if Clotho moved she might too be seen from above and catch the attention of the archers above.

[Eviledd1984]

@Cyclone

D'Artagnan found his chance trying his best to be sneaky running form tent to tent until he would arrive behind one of the tents,The small rabbit-folk was listening into the conversation the orcs we're having."Interesting...." The rabbit said to himself moving form that tent to the one the shaman was in waiting to make his move and speak to the shaman.

[BBeast]

Watching the not insubstantial force of orcs assemble outside their village, Torrens was starting to have second thoughts about his plan. While the part of the plan where he distracted the entire village to the point that sneaking through would be trivial had worked, he had failed to properly consider his own exit strategy. "Well, I asked for a fight and I got one," Torrens said to himself. He stopped running in his arc and turned to face his challengers, crouching down to prepare to sprint towards them. "Bring it on."

In a burst of speed, Torrens charged towards the dozen orcs who were approaching him. About 10 meters away he brought up his hands and shot two of the orcs with fire bolts while maintaining his charge. Just before he was about to collide with the group he feigned to the right then tackled an orc to his left, smothering that orc in excruciating flesh-melting heat before letting it go. At this point the other orcs closest to Torrens would probably try to strike him down, but to their dismay or even horror they would find that their weapons failed to wound this demon among them. Torrens would get knocked around a little, but that didn't concern him. Now inside the scrum, Torrens released a cone of fire from each of his hands and spun around, engulfing the group in orange flames which weren't particularly hot but still enough to make hair, fabric and maybe even flesh alight.

Then Torrens inhaled. The fire on any of the orcs which hadn't scattered after his last attack, however small, grew in size and ferocity until they covered the entire body of the affected orcs, immolating them. Torrens took a moment to stand there and savour the heat, walking up to each of the burning bodies in turn, since he would need every joule he could get if he was going to have the best chance of making it out of this fight. All the while, he was oblivious to the archers above who were aiming their arrows at him.

[Lugubrious]

Had she been human, Clotho would have furrowed her eyebrows in perplexed frustration. Perhaps this Faeles failed to grasp her meaning. ”Obviously.” Any reasons of his to ignore or even debate such a proposition escaped her. Torrens had his uses, of course, but she saw no reason to extend any sympathy for a being as despicable as a demon, whose primary function in battle could be accomplished by a sufficiently volatile firebomb. Pyromancers filled the world, and one as dull, cruel, and unlikeable as Torrens did not warrant any sort of special favor in her mind, particularly risking her life for him. Faeles’ next statement only furthered her ire with him. ”These brutes would slay me as soon as I stepped out, not that I’d even consider trying to reason with them. To salvage this situation, we must indeed move quickly: away from here, to let the bonfire sort things out for himself. Either he dies or the orcs do; either way, the Horde remains undetected.”

In a high place a squadron of archers amassed, presumably to rain biting steel upon Torrens, and Clotho witnessed their formation. A moment too late she realized that by not escaping when she had the chance, she doomed herself to easy detection should she so much as flutter. Ultimately, however, she knew that remaining still would end up being just as foolish as making a scene. She waited, silent and stooped, while Torrens fanned the flames. Not seriously challenged so far, he had seemingly swelled in power, emanating a searing aura and brilliant, sunlike radiance. Now, Clotho reasoned, was the time; all eyes lay on the red-hot spectacle in the settlement’s center, and none but perhaps the arch-thief’s on the dirt-colored insect. Beating her wings, she took off and flew hazardously low to the ground, zooming in between tents and panicked orcs in a risky bid for speedy departure.

[Eviledd1984]

D'Artagnan was now close enough to the tent hearing the voice of the shaman,He was alone so the rabbit would have time to convince the shaman to let the group pasted Torren be damned.The only problem would be if he could actually convince the shaman if not then he would have to try another method.

"Damn it i hate talkin..." The rabbit-folk spoke to himself walking though the back of the tent behind the shaman,"Hello Sir elder" He said bowing his out of respect tapping into his knight days.

[Cyclone]

"Great One! Da village under attack! Fiery thing comes burn tents!" a voice called out from within the shaman's hut.

"THEN SLAY THE INTERLOPERS!" a monstrous voice roared back, its diabolical tone harsh like the grating of metal.

"Warriors charge out to go bashin', but dey be needin' yer hel-"

D'Artagne would walk in to see the shaman in all his horror. This being was no longer a mere orc; magic had twisted and warped his body into something even more insidious. Wild horns spouted out from all parts of his body, magical tattoos in the likeness of beast and meaningless lines alike adorrned his stony flesh, and where a normal orc had hands this shaman had claws that resembled molten slag.

With unnatural ease and quickness the shaman moved to grip by the throat that worthless guardsmen that had disturbed him. Cackling as the searing heat of his massive hands charred and melted flesh, from within the shaman's helmet he roared, "A warrior that flees to his shaman rather than fight is a warrior that is not worth the grog he drinks!" In one violent motion, he hurled the pitiful orc across the room. The sudden arrival of D'Artagne was the only thing that allowed the barely-living respite from the shaman's full wrath.

"And what is this?!" he roared at D'Artagne, his heated breath steaming out from the confines of his helmet as a smoky haze. Clearly he was not happy at the preposterous notion of his village being attacked and the rabbitman before him managing to sneak in, but at least he wasn't trying to kill D'Artagne yet. Still, the rabbitman would probably have only a few moments to think of some sort of answer before the raging and unpredictable shaman had another fit of rage.

-~=~-

Bemused, Faeles watched as the ever-irate Clotho flew away as hastily as she had appeared. He so no need in taking the time to immediately depart; rather, he would wait and see exactly what became of this mess. Opening a small vial of what appeared to be some dark fluid, the arch-thief let loose vapors of pure darkness, and in doing so rendered himself invisble to the weak-minded orcs. Laughing as he stood unseen whilst in plain sight, he watched as Torrens incinerated those warriors that challenged him, only to immediately after fall prey to a barrage of arrows from the unseen guards above. Before the last of the jagged blades had collided with the demon's fiery flesh, another volley had been knocked and loosed. And then another. With frightening speed and accuracy, the determined invaders turned Torrens into something as a firework as arrows after arrow tore into him, unleashing blasts of fire and depleting him of his energy.

Whether this would prove fatal or if he would manage to escape remained to be seen; whilst a good deal of the arrows would have struck true, if he reacted quickly enough he might be able to find cover or quickly retaliate with a fireball or two of his own.

[BBeast]

The glory and destruction of Torrens' battle was rudely interrupted by the hail of arrows. He turned to see the archers positioned above the valley, who had already released their next volley. One or two arrows he could ignore, but this continuous barrage could prove deadly.

With a shortage of immediate cover, Torrens decided he needed to make his own. With a sweeping motion, Torrens conjured a wall of fire between himself and the archers, obscuring himself from view and allowing him to sidestep the arrows. Given a moment's respite, Torrens prepared another fireball of a similar sort as his first one. With the firebomb ready in his hand, Torrens allowed the wall of fire to fade just enough for him to see where the archers were. With his target in sight, Torrens lobbed the fireball, which streaked through the sky and landed right in the midst of the archers.

This particular fireball exploded into a wave of slightly sticky flames, which would cover all the archers in fire and set them alight. With the clifftop ablaze and the archers dealt with, Torrens dispelled the wall of fire and turned back to orc warriors. He rubbed his hands together and walked towards them with a sadistic grin on his face. "OK, who's next? I'm hungry."

[Eviledd1984]

@Cyclone

D'Artagnan thought this was very unexpected but understandable since the shaman would be angry with some random people attacking his village,"I am Sir D'Artagnan of Coniglio and i was sent here by my group for safe passage...we are but lonely creatures compared to your mighty stature.We only as for safe passage though the village and will be off on our way...away form your village" The smaller rabbit said bowing his head in respect wanting to play on the shaman's ego if he had any in this form.

If the subject of Torren comes up then he would have to throw him under the ox cart for the group and himself to survive.

[Cyclone]

"You'll have your safe passage if you help butcher the thing attacking my village!" the shaman answered. Then he pushed past D'Artagne and stormed down the path from his hut. Several of his guards stomped forward to push D'Artagne along as they followed him out.

With the dead already in dozens and the village starting to catch fire the mob of orcs disintegrated into a wild stampede as they tried to flee. This was short lived; after only a minute something caused them to near instantly find their bravery again. It would seem that the arrival of their leader had that effect; they feared him more than they did Torrens. They moved back a ways closer to where the fire demon was, but this time they made no effort to attack Torrens. A raucous cry began to take hold amongst the throngs of orcs. "Gormlag! Gormlag!" they roared in unison, cheering at the arrival of their champion, the shaman.

Gormlag suddenly burst out from the crowd and charged towards Torrens with an unnatural speed for a brute of his size, searing claws outstretched. Unlike the other orcs, he didn't show the slightest hint of trepidation upon seeing the fire demon, nor the charred remains of all the fallen. No, it only drove him into more of a rage.

Meanwhile, the other guards were quick on Gormlag's heels, and one of them threw D'Artagne out into the field.

"Go kill da fire devil!" one ordered.

"Help da big mighty shaman!" said another, which quickly started a small argument over whether the shaman was mighty enough to handle his own fights.

"Kill it right now or we eat you, little rabbit thing!" roared one last orc, who unlike the others seemed willing to force D'Artagne to do it. Raising his spear, he moved to prod the rabbitman forward (or perhaps outright impale him) if he didn't go on his own volition.

[Kangutso]

Flashback

Kangutso and Cyclone

Flashback
Within the dwarven mining colony

"Well, be done with that fool and help me find the explosives. They must be kept somewhere around here, and the Horde will not leave empty-handed!"

Mar looked at the new arrival, most definitely not a dwarf, more of a human. Yes, it was a human, a seemingly powerful one at that. His eyes narrowed, or at least the eyes of his host did, at the stranger, sensing the power he gave off. They stayed like that for a couple moments, the sounds of battle and something colossal outside the building. Soon a scream of something monstrous outside resounded through the city as it died, and the new arrival opened a portal that summoned a great many imps into the world. As Mar opened his host's mouth to speak, the person turned and warped away in a sudden burst of flames, leaving no trace save for the red tide of imps that were pouring out of the portal he'd conjured.

Slowly and warily watching the little creature move about the room and grab everything, Mar was surprised when a vial of liquid was smashed against his host's shoulder, splattering the liquid inside over his host's face and upper chest. It only took a moment before the liquid was proven to be acidic, burning the skin and turning it red as other chemicals inside of it worked into the body's system. It was the old alchemist's last mistake, as Mar used his claws to tear and rip out his throat in rage, leaving the dwarf to drown in his own blood as it pooled around his body. Finally, his oily form absorbed itself mostly back into his host's body, immediately begining work to repair and cure it from the inside out. The host's body falling to the floor, onto an unfortunate imp, with a black, oily substance covering the areas affected by the acid.

The other imps glanced over with curiosity and a few of them let out short cackles. They didn't know what was better: the alchemist's grisly fate, or what had happened to the poor imp that stood too close to Mar. Not paying much mind to Mar as they routinely encountered all manner of horrors in their particular line of work, they set about business. For a good twenty seconds they scurried like little ants, rapidly plundering everything in sight and systematically ransacking the building in search of the explosives that they came for. But the instant that they sensed their Master was preoccupied 9the warlock outside speaking with his champions and silently wondering where his demon had gone off to), in unison they all stopped working. The lazy runts slouched down and a few began preparing to take naps.

Then a short time later, without warning flames flashed through the air and the Master reappeared. Befor he could so much as blink, much less take in the scene, the imps had snapped back to attention and pretended to be hard at work.

"Get a move on!" he yelled upon noticing that they had yet to find the explosives. Then he suddenly noticed the corpse of the alchemist, the thing mutilated to the point that it looked like some sort of beast had savaged it. His gaze shifted back to the feral elven lady, the one that he had thought was in his Horde. Now noticing the strange black oil that caked her upper body, his curiosity was piqued. This wasn't one of his minions; he would remember one like this!

Sensing that the elven lady was half dead, a mere shell being inhabited by some other strange being, the Master warily raised his staff. "What have we here?" he mused aloud. A moment passed before a response came, "A wounded being, controlled by me." It sounded as though the figure had yet to fully learn control of the mouth.

The keeper scoffed. He had already observed as much. "But what are you, and what are you doing in this wretched hole in the ground? I hope that you didn't come for the explosives; I'll be taking all of those!"

A triumphant cry came out from one of the imps, who had discovered a hidden room that contained their prize. The workers began to haphazardly toss the vials of the strange alchemical explosives into crates and then carry them back through the portal from which they had arrived. It was a wonder that they managed to not blow up the entire building.

"I do not care for the explosives, right now my primary concern is my host. I have no memory before many weeks ago, the earliest one being my taking of this body and the killing of her comrades..." A pause as Mar sorted through the host's memories, "I receded after, into a trance while she passed out. It would seem she has been a slave for some time now..."

Some sort of parasitic beast that lost his memory and inhabited the body of an elven slave? This day had been off to a rocky start, but it was getting better by the minute! "Indeed. Well, turn your gaze through this door," the Master said, flinging open the heavy door with an effortless blast of telekinetic magic. The streets outside were had pools of blood, the corpses were strewn everywhere, and a few members of the Horde still rampaged through the streets looking for any survivors. Others were already moving to dispose of the fallen and go through with the plan to cover up the attack.

"Have your pick of bodies, if that scrawny little elf's frame is proving defective! My army cleaned up this little colony well," he snickered. "Might you be interested in joining my Horde? Clearly you are a capable killer, and I could use your skillset."

"On the contrary," Mar responded to the Master's former offer, "This elven body is still stronger than any in this situation, likely due to her once being a warrior. And it is not that simple, unless she were to actually die I can not leave this unless temporarily until I have more... of myself." Silence for a few moments once more, "I wonder if I was more than a killer before..." While the host did not move, the Master would feel him look to him, "I will join your... Horde. It is more likely that I will get stronger then, rather then being on my own."

The sappy talk about his forgotten past irritated the nefarious Overlord, but of course the promise to join the Horde alleviated that. "Very well, then. I am Master of this Horde, and I have more than just these wretches in my service," the Master said as he kicked one of the imps. "Come; I shall show you to our center of operations. Perhaps you will want to become acquainted with the others..."

Current Time

The days passed, Mar now being a member of this horde and residing in its den of evil. It felt a little like home, admittedly. Despite meeting each of the others, he was rarely in contact with any one them, simply being a silent observer of the goings on in the dungeon. Very few had any interest in him anyway, well, aside from a couple of the more intelligent sort. He had been permitted a room of choice of his own, and he chose a very large cave a little further in than the others, it felt right to him.

Then came the Master's orders, to march the new army off to battle against a new rising evil. To the not so strategic minded it wouldn't make sense, but in truth it made perfect sense. Couldn't have a rival Master competing for long, and what was more was that the humans and elves were mustering an army to face this new foe. Before they set out, Mar gave a request, or his own order, to some imps to convert a large part of his room into a library, so that he might learn and perhaps remember.

Despite having his host in a comatose state most of the time, Mar was able to keep up with the horde. After another two days they finally stopped to set up camp, and he joined the other in attending the Master's meeting. He was the only one present that couldn't go on the assigned mission. After some walking through the camp, Mar found that there really wasn't much he could do, as his host was still recovering from her injuries prior, even with his help. Finally, just at the edge of camp in the direction the scout left, he sat and waited patiently.

He needed a temporary host to reside in, until this one could recover, so that he could get stronger.

[Eviledd1984]

@Cyclone

"Well no hard feelings..." The rabbitfolk shook his head hopping forward towards Torren his sword unsheathed,The small rabbit was moving quickly towards Torren moving close enough to to speak to him."Listen they want me to kill ya...now play along and we can all get out of here alive.." The rabbit whispered to the demon quickly moving backwards him away taking a slash of his sword to the demon's chest missing of course but looking real to the orcs.

[BBeast]

With bold confidence Torrens strutted towards the village, with the orcs cowering from his fiery aura. Torrens laughed haughtily. These orcs were no match for him. He would burn their village to the ground and the Horde would be able to march through unmolested, all thanks to him. His plan was working well. Too well, perhaps.

That was when Torrens saw the shaman, with skin of stone, breath of smoke and claws of molten metal. The sight of this shaman wiped the smile right of Torrens' face, not because of the shaman's intimidating form, or his strength or speed, but because-
"Why do they always have to be BLOODY FIRE-PROOF!" Torrens shouted in exasperation.
Not one to give up without trying, though, Torrens aimed his fingers at the charging shaman and shot three fire bolts in quick succession. He also lowered himself into a fighting stance, ready to dodge aside as needed.

Then came a person who caught him off guard. D'Artagnan? What the hell is that rabbit doing? were Torrens' initial thoughts when he saw D'Artagnan advancing on him, out from the orc ranks. Then realisation struck. He looks fine though... hang on, if he's fine, then he didn't need help, and... aw damn it. However, Torrens did not have time to consider the error of his choice, as the shaman was approaching fast and would be bearing down on him at any moment.

((I'll cover my reaction to D'Artagnan after I deal with the initial clash of the shaman))

[Cyclone]

Without hesitation, the shaman charged into the path of his fireballs, reached out, and caught the orbs of fiery energy one by one. Through virtue of his unnatural hands or a rather impressive amount of magic. he had somehow managed to prevent the fireballs from simply exploding upon contact. Smashing them together in the crushing grip of his stony hands, the combined fireball grew even bigger as he added his own energy to it.

He hurled the projectile back at Torrens and the resulting explosion shook the ground and sent the dry, dusty earth billowing into the air. It was during this time that D'Artagne managed to find Torrens as the dust began to settle and subside, but hardly a few moments passed before the hulking figure of the shaman came flying into sight. He seemed intent on grappling with the demon and fighting in close range, his hate-filled eyes practically boring holes through Torrens. Fortunately, he seemed to not pay any heed to D'Artagne; he was so preoccupied that he might not have even realized the rabbitman was there.

[BBeast]

When the shaman caught the fire bolts, then hurled them back at him as a fully fledged fireball, his face turned to one of bemused surprise, even as he was hurled backwards and knocked prone by the fiery blast. That's a cool trick. I should try that trick some time.

Before the dust had settled, the rabbitman hopped up next to Torrens and spoke to him in a hushed whisper. Torrens replied in kind, "A rouse, eh? Tricking those orcs into liking you. I-" he was cut short as the shaman tore through the cloud of dust and Torrens had to quickly roll aside to avoid the initial lunge. Quickly, Torrens sprung to his feet so he could nimbly attempt to dodge aside from the shaman's claws.

In the shaman's eyes he could see a fiery rage, a fury fueled by Torrens' destruction and fuelling his rampant attacks. To one grab Torrens side-stepped and countered by slashing the shaman with a wave of fire from his hand. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?" Torrens goaded. While Torrens was fairly nimble, there was no way he could keep dodging the shaman for long, who had superior speed, strength and martial prowess.

[Eviledd1984]

@BBeast

The rabbitfolk was now working along side the now demonic shaman slashing at Torren's.Of course his attacks were not meant to harm Torrens and could be easily doge by the demon.Although the rabbit was trying his best to keep up the act slashing and stabbing with his sword at Torren making sure that the shaman was close to him.

His wolf Feninr was waiting for his master to give him the signal and would attack the shaman.