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[ooo! Exciting. Luckily almost nothing he does is contingent on items...[/ooc]
Since his captors seem to have already noticed his waking Ashlion doesn't attempt to hide it. Instead he stretches as best he can and begins trying to work out the kinks in his muscles which have accumulated whilst lying on the cold, hard floor.
Ashlion cataloges his aliments. Most are minor, and it is obvious they merely heaved his body into the cell, resulting in a few scrapes and bruises. Otherwise he seems to be ok, despite the mud and muck of the cell.
It looks very old and worn, holding the damp not of years or decades but centuries. The iron bars while still thick and strong are corroded from old age.
One of the grippli's says to his companion, "This one is going to be trouble. He's a big one."
The other shrugs, the smooth shoulders rising and falling, 'All the better for the ritual. he says the stronger they are, the more the old powers are appeased."
The first turns a big, glassy eyes on Ashlion and says, loudly, "How do you feel?"
Ashlion hears nothing and the lack of connection is worrying. Was his friend simply out of range, was he hurt or.....?
The gripplis snort and the other one repeats, louder, 'I said, how do you feel, human?" he takes his spear and bangs on the iron bars, making a loud ringing sound.
Ashlion thinks he hears other human voices in the distance, from further down the hall.
Ashlion grabs the spear in his strong hands and jerks it out of the grippli's grasp. He tries to pull it into the cell but it gets caught on the iron bars and snaps, leaving Ashlion with a small rod of wood. The grippli cruses and takes a step forward but his friend grabs his shoulder and keeps him back.
"I told you he was dangerous. Lets leave him stew awhile."
The two grippli leave.
Ashlion looks at the pointed end sitting in the hallway. He repeats the words of magic, taps that inner well and....nothing happens. He repeats his actions, he had not misspoken a cantrip in years.
The same results.
Worried, he runs through his spells.
Nothing works, and he cannot even summon his blade.
Ashlion's curses ring through the small cell, echoing off the walls at him, mockingly. When he pauses to catch his breath he hears a slight scraping of rock, then a voice saying, "Hey, hey. Quiet down." The voice is male, tired and worn out and is coming from the back corner of the cell.
Ashlion can see a small part of the rock wall has been moved, just big enough to pass his fist through, perhaps. It leads to the next cell where another man is sitting by the hole, speaking quietly into it.
Ashlion notes it isn't a human, but an oread on the other side of the wall. A bulky type, with glowing blue eyes.
'I don't know. I can't use magic, so I can't test if they are all the same. They haven't explained anything to me." he grunts then adds,"My name is Trilla, I was a blacksmith."
"Do you have any idea where we are?"
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"Trilla. I met your master back in the city. He was concerned about you and I said I'd try my best to find you." Ashlion replies. "I assume we are still on the Dead side of the river. That is where they took me at least and I doubt two of their size could have moved either of us far."
"What has happened while you have been here? They spoke of sacrifices and strong ones being the best. Do you know anything of this?"
"Nothing has happened." he says in a despairing voice, 'they came on me in the middle of the night. I'd have beaten them off, but they got with me with some kind of sleeping magic, and when I woke up, I was here."
he waves a stony hand farther down the passage, 'There are others, I hear them sometimes. Once, a week ago or so, they marched a bunch past my cell, but they didn't let anyone speak. Other then that, nothing but the odd tray of stale bread, wild roots and dirty water."
The man shrugs, "There was a small hole, I've been making it wider to pass the time. So far no one has been in your cell."
The dark face falls at Ashlion's words, "You don't think we can escape?"
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"Not with what we have now." Ashlion replies, brutally honest. "We have a broken spear and anything you have been able to scavenge. It's not the stuff of daring escapes. So we must rest and preserve our strength. If only two of them come again then we would have chance - particularly if they unlock the cells." He considers for a while.
"If we could make the hole big enough then one of us feigning illness might do it... they'd almost certainly see the hole though."
The oread nods, "That is why I didn't make it any bigger, yet. I thought about escaping into your cell, but why bother? And like you said, they'd see it and probably do something...unpleasant."
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Sitting quietly in the dark Ashlion takes a last chance and reaches deep inside himself, searching out the place that he tries not to think of - the primal, dragon-like part of him. He scratches the surface of that power all the time, drawing upon its lightning for his magic and his weapons but to dive in... that is much more dangerous - for all the draconic might it affords him, things become less clear, more... dangerous.
Still - with no other options Ashlion breathes deeply and dives deep, into the darkness where the dragon waits.
Ashlion draws into himself, feeling that dark well of power that rests within him. Usually he merely grazed the surface, reaching it for magical power. Other times he went slightly deeper, with List as a conduit.
Now though, he vanished into that inner darkness.
It was a mistake.
A feeling of primal rage and power filled him, the heady feeling of authority and independence. Waves of sensations, almost like memory wash over him. The feeling of flying on the wind before a storm, the feel of prey in his talons bleeding out it's lifeblood, the scream of defiance against a foe....he had felt such things before, through Lisk, but they were pale shadows, pathetic imitations. These feelings were raw, unfiltered.
To feel this, while locked in a dark wet cell was unbearable. He was a wild animal, he needed space, sky, sun, to feel the air under his wings, and blood in his jaws. What could contain him? Why was he trapped here?
In a sudden bit of wild abandon, he throws himself wildly at the bars and there is a flash of light. Then darkness.
Much later he hears a voice, cutting through the velvet blackness that ensconces him "I would be dissapointed if you tried to kill yourself, human."
The voice sounds familiar.
Ashlion opens his eyes and finds himself still in the cell, lying near the bars. On the other side of the pitted bars is a grippli, staff in hand.
It is Master Ruue, the old grippli he met in the blacksmith shop.
The raw hate and rage in Ashlion's voice makes the grippli take a step back, despite the protection of the bars. After a moment Ruue leans back in, the massive eyes penetrating. " To use you for a higher purpose. A strong warrior, with a dragon at his side....It was destiny that brought you to me. The old days are waking, warrior. And you will help them. What higher ideal could you want? What else could you possibly aspire to?"
The old grippli smiles, revealing a wide mouth filled with a soft pink tongue.
"If I am lucky. May the day be today." Then Ruue shrugs, "For now, you need to calm yourself. I'm going to let you out of here, and you need to conserve your strength for the trials ahead. You shall soon need it."
he waves a wide green hand to the other gripplis, who fill the hall past him, 'We have other poisons then the sleeping drug. Some of which cause great pain. You will regret trying to use magic to escape."
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Trying hard to contain the fury bubbling beneath the surface Ashlion composes his face and stands straight, choosing to ignore the grippli as they unlock the cell. Inside his mind is whirring and he folds one arm across his chest, cradling his palm under his armpit so that the frog-spawn cannot see the sparks as he reaches for the merest hint of magic - just to see if it responds.
The grippli open the rusty cell door, nervously crowding around, as if swarm Ashlion under if he tries to break for it. Inside the cell Ashlion's magic is absent, as if he was blind.
As he crosses the strange runes and lead into the dank hallway however, it as if the blindfold is removed. It comes back in a flash and he can detect magic (faintly) on a few of the grippli. He does not hear Lisk in his head however.
Ashlion calls for his friend but it is like dropping stones into a dark, bottomless well.
Ashlion is quickly placed in a set of rusty iron manacles, chained behind his back. After this he is shuffled down the wet, damp corridor.
The stones are old here, and Ashlion has a feeling they are in the basement of the ruins here, the ancient city supposedly blasted by dragons millennia ago.
Behind him, Ashlion sees other figures being pulled out of cells and added to the increasingly large crowd being marched. Ashlion notes Trilla, the apprentice blacksmith is pushed into line. The way is dark and lit only by feeble, cheap torches.
Ashlion has a feeling they are headed up however, towards the surface.
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Fighting off the creeping fear that Lisk could be dead Ashlion concentrates on maintaining a stoic countenance. As he is marshalled into line with the others he tries to judge the captives, who appears strong, who might fight given the chance, who looks too weak.
As he looks around he flexes his arms behind his back, testing the strength of the restraints.
Ashlion flexes against the manacles, and hears the iron grin against itself. He can feel the old metal bend slightly under his strength but it doesn't break, although he has a feeling a bit mroe effort might burst his bonds.
The entire group heads upward, and the sir becomes slightly less dank and dark. Torches appear more regularly and then a few windows. Peering out, Ashlion is blinded by bright sunlight of what appears to be high noon.
"I have high hopes for you, human." Ruue says, marching at his side, the long soft feet making disgusting slapping noises on the stone. "I have a feeling you will be the victory in the ritual today."
The whole group enters a large stone room, seemingly on ground level. There are no windows here, merely dim twilight. At the far end is a single iron door, standing empty. Beyond the passage, much narrow, turns sharply hiding what lies ahead.
The grippli push everyone into the room, none too gently. Ashlion sees Trilla at his side, as well as about a dozen other people. The mindblade notes only one other human, a dirty wasted figure leaning against a wall, face hidden.
Ruue smiles, "Make your peace with your false gods, human. Even if you succed, you will behappy you did."
With that some of the grippli's move through the door, taking one prisoner with them. After a few moments of silence, another is pushed through the door. It seems they will slowly be oushed along, one by one into the unknown.
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"Does anyone here know how to fight?" Ashlion asks. "If you do, stay alive as long as you can. I'll be able to support a group of us when I get out there - whatever it is, we'll have a better chance if we stick together! Oh, and someone kill that Grippli bastard if you get a chance!"
So saying Ashlion pushes his way to the front of the line, intent on being the next one through the door, imbuing himself with magic as he goes.
Ashlion's words carry over the almost panicked chatter of the men. Even the grippli's seem surprised at the command in his tone. The dirty man against the wall turns toward him, but Ashlion still can't make out the face. The other prisoners seem to gain heart and stand up a bit straighter.
Instead he marches forward to be the next one in line. Instantly he is grabbed and shoved through the iron door. In a moment his manacles are removed, and he is handed a sack. Feeling it, he realizes this is all of his gear and belongings.
One grippli laughs at his surprise and says, in a soft, wet voice, 'You'll need it."
With that he is pushed out of the tiny room, into blinding sunlight.
It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the painful brightness.
Around him soars the ruined remains of a once mighty amphitheater. The black stones have that same melted, charred look as the blasted city and Ashlion guesses they are still on the dead side. The endless rows of damaged seats are empty, overgrown with plants and trees. Twisted columns lean drunkenly, slowly succumbing to time and gravity.
The floor was perhaps once sand, but now it is thick black mud. there are large pools of slimy water here and there, dotting the area floor and Ashlion mentally makes notes that such areas would be hard to travel through.
Around him, the few prisoners who entered first are clustered together. A few of them are openly weeping in despair.
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Not immediately seeing a threat Ashlion barks out orders to the nearest men. "Keep your eyes open, the moment you see anything dangerous shout. We must stay together to have a chance here! You!" he points to the nearest person, "help me put this on!" With a little assistance Ashlion shrugs into his chain shirt, reassured by the comforting weight. Once armoured he looks around the arena once again, trying to take in more details.
Ashlion looks to the ruined, overgrown stands surrounding the arena. At first he sees giant black shapes looming overhead, silently watching. After a moment he blinks it away and sees they are massive statues, old beyond beleief, worn by wind and rain. A deep sense tells him these are the old gods, the ones who once ruled this land...but they are not dragons.
One is an imposing humanoid of a rocky build, strong and tall. Another seems to flow with liquid grace, long hair at her side. Another holds a jagged flame in one hand, the edges smoothed by time.
Among the towering sentinels, Ashlion sees gripplis, women, and children watching silently.
Ashlion next glances at the other men standing near him, msot shivering in fright. Most are holding cheap weapons, clutching them tightly. It is hard to tell who can use them or not.
Then as the last are pushed out, the figure Ashlion couldn't get a good look inside is thrust out into the sunlight. As he half stumbles onto the sand, his hood is pulled back, revealing a proud face he knew very well.
Jeskartin, his old school foe. Usually a strong looking young man, he looks tired and pale, a relic of living in those pits for who knows how long. He stares up at Ashlion, confusion warring with distrust.
'Why are you here/" he spits out and, despite it all Ashlion smiles. So far from home, he hears the accent and rhythm of his home city in Jeskartin's speech. It had been a long time.
Behind the captives, the iron door clangs shut with a reverberating sound that echoes through the entire, silent arena. A few of the men start praying or wetting themselves.
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"No time for that now!" Ashlion replies, striding across to hold out his hand and help Jeskartin up. "First we have to survive whatever they have planned for us. I hope your mind is as strong as it was when we lived in the temple - I think we'll need all our strength for this!"
As his old foe rises Ashlion casts his eye around the arena, catching sight of the ruined walls. "Over there! We need to get to the wall - use the barrier to defend ourselves." He looks at his fellow warriors, first at Jeskartin, then at the rest. "We can fight this, and we can win - as long as we fight together! Whatever happens we must act together - strength in numbers! Now - to the barricades!"
Ashlion draws magic to himself, forming the reassuring weapon which served him so well against Raj. As he summons the will for magic he can't help but throw his mental call out again.
Ashlion's school yard enemy rises, and he can see Jeskartin has aged well. He looks strong, fit and there is a cunning in his eyes that troubles the mindblade. Whatever Jeskartin has been up to, it has made him a formidable opponent. However, perhaps that is good now. As Ashlion's suggestion of an hasty alliance h nods slowly, "Survival comes first, yes."
Ashlion's words to the others seems to encourage them, and the fact that someone has kept his wits is a good sign. Still, how will they hold up in actual combat.
He calls out into the void for Lisk, more out of hope then actual expectation. But then he hears that voice he desired above all others, his old friend.
Ashlion? Where are you?' but Lisk's voice is distorted and warbling, as if spoken through a long tube or down a long hallway. Something is interfering with it.
Before he can figure that out, or before any of them can move, a new voice rolls across the ruined arena. It takes Ashlion a moment to recognize it as Master Ruue's voice, magically amplified a hundred fold.
"We salute you, those who engage in this ancient ritual." The voice says, loud enough to silence anything else. The grippli's tone has a rote, routine sound to it, as if reciting from memory or long practice. "For centuries we have honored the god so, and despite this ruined age, we will continue to do it today."
"Today we strive and struggle, and to prove ourselves in the eyes of the true god, the God of fire, water, wind and earth. Many parts but one true spirit. May our sacrifice today be great and our triumphs worthy of our watchful protectors."
There is a pause then, "I uphold my own son as sacrifice, in order to protect our land, our spirits."
behind Ashlion the iron grate opens and a young, strong looking grippli walks out. He ignores the others, not even meeting Ashlion's eye.
"May this sacrifice be enough to rouse the God and his servants, to throw out the yoke of men and their foreign, heathen ways. May the fire fall on our enemies, the winds toss them, the earth devour them and the river rise up and swallow them."
"Bring forth the trial!" Ruue bellows, shaking clods of mud off the anicent stone walls.
At the other end of the ruined arena another door opens, larger then the one behind Ashlion. For a moment the mindblade wonders what will emerge from that gate? Some horrible beast trapped from the jungle? An unholy champion of long dead gods?
Instead a group of grippli emerge, pushing a huge wooden cart full of bones. Quickly, as if embarrassed, they empty the cart and place the bones in a giant heap on the muddy floor of the amphitheater. Without further talk they circle it and begin to chant some spell, too quiet for Ahslion to hear.
They look a bit foolish, standing around a pile of mouldy bones, chanting and sometimes waving their hands over it. TA biting fly lands on Ahslion's neck and he swats it, and feels the thick humid air. How long was he going to stand and boil here?
Then, one of the bones starts to move, as if an invisible raven was pecking at it, looking for marrow. Restlessly, the other bones start to shift, sliding and clattering with a growing tidal wave of sound. Then the grippli's break and run for the black iron grate. As they dart away the pile of bones starts to writhe and flow, piling on itself, growing higher and higher.
The grippli necromancers vanish behind the door, and even over the rattling bones, Ashlion can hear heavy iron bars falling into place.
Then all attention is on the rising pile of bones. A shape begins to emerge from the diffuse remains, a sleek serpentine shape, a hulking body....For a second Ashlion thinks it may be a dragon but then, he sees multiple heads, erupting from a bulky body. Raw tendons spin of nothing to bind them together, ragged muscles fills in the spaces between the bare bones, and pale, pockmarked flesh covers the entire revolting creature.
In a few moments, where there was an inert pile of bones, now stood a massive, undead, many headed creature. It lets out a screeching bellow loud enough to make Ashlion's head ring. From his side he hears Jeskartin mutter, 'A hydra. God's save us."
Ashlion recalls what he knows of Hydra, and undead forms of them. As with all undead this creature is probably immune to all mind-effecting spells and magics. Negative energy can heal such creature and it does not eat, breathe or sleep.
As far as Hydra go...
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"Jeskartin - it will be immune to mind magics! I hope you have some good ideas!" Ashlion shouts, his mind racing.
"Everyone, do your best to distract it and defend yourselves. Don't strike at the heads unless you can burn the stump too - or more heads will grow. Strike the body - one blow to the heart will still lay it low!"
Lisk - we're in an old arena! I really need your help!