Clinging to the side of the ramparts, the Walker listens to the sound of the moving guards. The rattle of armor, the hiss of breath, the patter of rain displaced by their bodies. As one of the guards comes by where the creature is hidden from sight, the Walker moves with the sudden alacrity of a predator, springing up over the wall. It appears for only a brief moment as a glistening black shape with wide jaws of dagger-like teeth.
The creature's maw snatches the guard by the shoulder, sinks into armor enough to secure a firm hold, and then hoists the guard off of his feet and hurls him bodily over the side of the wall, screaming on his fall to the courtyard below where he lands with a clatter of armor and a sickening crunch of broken bones. By the time the other guard has a chance to look back, the tarry beast has already receded back down below the wall and out of sight.
Walking through the courtyard, soaked from head to toe and draped in the shredded remains of one of the Brandescar cloaks, Drisella pauses in mid-stride nearing the gatehouse. She reaches inside the cloak and draws out the knife that Barnabas had given her in the guard tower, gripping the handle tightly. With her face concealed by tangled black bangs, Drisella waits for a moment before the sound of a scream rings out.
She sidesteps, right as one of the guards from the third story of the battlements comes flailing through the air, crashing down beside her with the clattering impact of armor and the meaty snap of breaking bones. Looking down at the guard, Drisella is momentarily static before suddenly leaping down on him like a wild animal, dagger held backhanded in both hands as she tries to stab down through his armor, gnashing her teeth and grunting with each forceful strike.
Murmurings of something like a cornered animal come from the young woman's lips as she ineffectually works out her rage and frustration on the crippled guard, her knife eventually finding purchase through his armor, then once in the side of his neck. The stab wound is small peck of a puncture-wound, but weeps a thick rivulet of blood.
Moving silently, Ethaniel, black sword in hand, enters the gatehouse through the newly created window, courtesy of their benefactor's magical veil. As soon as he is through, the magus reaches into a pouch hanging from his belt and grabs hold of a handful of multicolored sand. Quickly uttering an incantation, he throws the sand in the air and in a fluid motion cuts through it with his sword, the weapon drawing a horizontal arc through it. Then the red, yellow and blue grains cease to be and in their stead there exists a veritable burst of color and light, overwhelming the guards' senses. Only one of them manages to stay focused enough as to withstand the magic's effect.
As Kergh sidles along the narrow rampart past Ethaniel to Mikhail, he swings the heavy mace in a wide circle but the guard desperately ducks....just in the nick of time.
"You will die!" he spits at the last man standing on the wall.
Lumbering forward through the rain and wind, Grumblejack carries with him the last remaining barrel of lantern oil. Above him, he watches as Barnabas dashes forward and slaps the magical patch against the side of the Gatehouse wall creating with it an opening that leads within. Hefting the oil infused barrel, the ogre runs forward through the muddy courtyard, the pools of standing water splashing up against his bare feet. Seconds before he reaches the wall, a man screams out briefly as he is ripped from the third floor of the battlement and falls to the ground with a sickening crunch!. Guffawing, the ogre grabs the barrel tightly and begins to spin, building momentum like a discus hurler. Faster and faster the monstrous being spins before releasing the barrel against the giant double wood doors that lead to freedom.
Releasing the barrel with a roar, the ogre takes a quick step back before Kaynen releases the juggled flash with a flourish and tosses it towards the oil soaked doors.
Suddenly amidst the lightning and rain, the courtyard is lit up like a winter's night festival. Rocking those the forsaken who are still in the courtyard a half step back, the prison entrance is suddenly aflame with black oily smoke and the rancid smell of refined whale oil.
Then, as the Ogre makes his way back to cover, he yells in pain as an arrow streaks out from the third floor of the Gatehouse and strikes the lumbering beast in the back.
__________________________
Walking through the courtyard, soaked from head to toe and draped in the shredded remains of one of the Brandescar cloaks, Drisella pauses in mid-stride nearing the gatehouse. She reaches inside the cloak and draws out the knife that Barnabas had given her in the guard tower, gripping the handle tightly. With her face concealed by tangled black bangs, Drisella waits for a moment before the sound of a scream rings out.
She sidesteps, right as one of the guards from the third story of the battlements comes flailing through the air, crashing down beside her with the clattering impact of armor and the meaty snap of breaking bones. Looking down at the guard, Drisella is momentarily static before suddenly leaping down on him like a wild animal, dagger held backhanded in both hands as she tries to stab down through his armor, gnashing her teeth and grunting with each forceful strike.
Murmurings of something like a cornered animal come from the young woman's lips as she ineffectually works out her rage and frustration on the crippled guard, her knife eventually finding purchase through his armor, then once in the side of his neck. The stab wound is small peck of a puncture-wound, but weeps a thick rivulet of blood.
Oswald stands as he cradles Rosaline with one arm while the hand of the other holds his club. The mad doctor laughs into the wind as he watches the ogre and firebug set their fiery payload into place and set it ablaze. He moves his poppet around so she can get a better view as he motions forward with his club, "See my dove! Did I not promise you the deaths of many of the bad men? Soon there shall be nothing but ash and dust left of this place then we can go find your mother and brother... Yes, yes, we'll be one big happy family again!" He swivels his head to study the two ladies with him while they wait for the first wave of death to engulf the gatehouse, his eyes settling on Drisella, "These Mitrans are truly cruel despots to imprison children in this horrid place. When the last of our gaolers expire in the flames, we'll be free once more. I'm sure we can find your parents after that and reunite you with them. No child should be without their parents." Oswald strokes his poppet's patchwork hair lovingly as an odd smile creeps upon his face.
Lumbering forward through the rain and wind, Grumblejack carries with him the last remaining barrel of lantern oil. Above him, he watches as Barnabas dashes forward and slaps the magical patch against the side of the Gatehouse wall creating with it an opening that leads within. Hefting the oil infused barrel, the ogre runs forward through the muddy courtyard, the pools of standing water splashing up against his bare feet. Seconds before he reaches the wall, a man screams out briefly as he is ripped from the third floor of the battlement and falls to the ground with a sickening crunch!. Guffawing, the ogre grabs the barrel tightly and begins to spin, building momentum like a discus hurler. Faster and faster the monstrous being spins before releasing the barrel against the giant double wood doors that lead to freedom.
Releasing the barrel with a roar, the ogre takes a quick step back before Kaynen releases the juggled flash with a flourish and tosses it towards the oil soaked doors.
Whistling quietly to himself, Kaynen waited patiently for Grumblejack to set the large barrel into place while watching the shadows dance along the ramparts as the various Forsaken moved into position.
Perhaps this melee will last long enough for me to finish my song this time?
Continuing to juggle the flask between his hands, Kaynen gives a final bow to Grumblejack once the ogre has moved a safe distance away before lobbing it.
Suddenly amidst the lightning and rain, the courtyard is lit up like a winter's night festival. Rocking those the forsaken who are still in the courtyard a half step back, the prison entrance is suddenly aflame with black oily smoke and the rancid smell of refined whale oil.
Then, as the Ogre makes his way back to cover, he yells in pain as an arrow streaks out from the third floor of the Gatehouse and strikes the lumbering beast in the back.
Clinging to the side of the ramparts, the Walker listens to the sound of the moving guards. The rattle of armor, the hiss of breath, the patter of rain displaced by their bodies. As one of the guards comes by where the creature is hidden from sight, the Walker moves with the sudden alacrity of a predator, springing up over the wall. It appears for only a brief moment as a glistening black shape with wide jaws of dagger-like teeth.
The creature's maw snatches the guard by the shoulder, sinks into armor enough to secure a firm hold, and then hoists the guard off of his feet and hurls him bodily over the side of the wall, screaming on his fall to the courtyard below where he lands with a clatter of armor and a sickening crunch of broken bones. By the time the other guard has a chance to look back, the tarry beast has already receded back down below the wall and out of sight.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Barnabas sprints along the wall, keeping a eye out for arrows from the roof. Reaching the gatehouse wall, he slaps the window patch against the rain-slicked stones. Not waiting to watch the magic take effect, he turns back towards his fellow escapees, waving the onwards.
Moving silently, Ethaniel, black sword in hand, enters the gatehouse through the newly created window, courtesy of their benefactor's magical veil. As soon as he is through, the magus reaches into a pouch hanging from his belt and grabs hold of a handful of multicolored sand. Quickly uttering an incantation, he throws the sand in the air and in a fluid motion cuts through it with his sword, the weapon drawing a horizontal arc through it. Then the red, yellow and blue grains cease to be and in their stead there exists a veritable burst of color and light, overwhelming the guards' senses. Only one of them manages to stay focused enough as to withstand the magic's effect.
Against the backdrop of the fire, Mikhail squeezes through the magical window that Barnabas has planted on the wall. Knowing the time is of the essence, he wastes little of it approaching one of the guards. The man has an arrow nocked and is aiming through the arrow slit - likely at the giant ogre outside. The massive beast's silhouette should be clear against the flames. He steps up to the guard - one of four - and takes advantage of his attention being focused outside. He thrusts forward with Blackerly's finely-crafted blade, driving it forward through his back. The guard cries out in terrible pain, not quite dead from the grievous injury. He hopes that they can cut down most of the guards before they have the ability to react
As Kergh sidles along the narrow rampart past Ethaniel to Mikhail, he swings the heavy mace in a wide circle but the guard desperately ducks.... still, the strike is enough to send the man reeling to the floor, a pool of blood spreading around his shattered skull.
__________________________
Mikhail steps over the dying guard to the others rendered fools by Ethaniel's magic. Coldly calculating even in the heat of battle, he notes the usefulness of the sword-wielding wizard. He moves to the nearest guard, gurgling wordlessly on the floor, and brings his sword down upon the man's head. The sharp blade cleaves through his skull, sending blood and brain pouring out onto the stones. He shudders once before breathing his last. "Finish them! I will get to the horses, then meet you!"
Kergh follows the orders and there on the wall, in the dark, his spiked mace rises and falls over one of the guards, its evil flange aiming at the concussed temple.
The mace gets stuck in between two stones, so hard did it go through the skull, that Kergh uses all his strength to pull it free.
Once more the Walker appears out of the darkness like a shark breaking the surface of water. The shadow-shrouded creature, glistening from the rain, latches on to one of the guards with its toothy maw and yanks him clear off of his feet. Screaming and kicking, the guard is drawn backwards over the crenelated battlements and hurled bodily to the ground below. He screams, arms windmilling as he falls...
Hearing the scream of another guard, Drisella looks up from where she is hunched over the bleeding body of the first of Walker's victims. Rainwater turns blood spattered on her face into pink rivulets that roll down her cheeks while she watches another person fall with a sickening crack of bone and muscle to the cobblestone courtyard. Slowly rising to her feet, Drisella pads across the rainy courtyard, bare feet treading through a growing pool of blood.
"This one smells of rotten meat," she notes in a lilting, sing-song tone of voice, gripping her bloodied knife tightly in one hand, "time to cut, and cut, and cut." The young woman straddles the prone, battered man and swings down with her knife, plunging it square into his chest with a twist at the end. She stares, wide-eyed, dark hair plastered to her brow and lips trembling from the cold.
"Sshh," Drisella whispers, teeth chattering together, "sleep. Sleep, it's all over. Sshh."
From somewhere out in the courtyard, Kaynen resumes singing the ballad he began earlier, the light of the fire dancing in its reflection in his eyes.
Kaynen smiles and takes a couple steps forward to full bask in the heat, turning his head ever slightly to listen for the screams of the surprised guards from within the barracks.
Barnabas squeezes through the window. Seeing the mop up operation well under control and hearing the wail of the guard falling off the rampart above, he noses about exploring the gatehouse.
With a soft sigh, Ethaniel joins the others in disposing of the unconscious guards. As Mikhail and Kergh go about their deadly business, the magus moves closer to the last guard, the fallen man thankfully oblivious to his fate. Pausing for but a moment, he casually plunges his blade into the man's body, the latter's blood starting to pool under him as soon as he draws the curved sword back.
"We are done here," Ethaniel remarks matter-of-factly as the four guards on the floor are now dead or dying.
Oswald shields his eyes temporarily from the explosion of fire at the gatehouse doors before letting out a cackling laugh into the swirling wind, "Marvelous, is it not my dear sweet Rosaline? We burn this place down to root out the corruption like lancing a boil... Yes, they are dying as we speak, I'm sure." He glances around a moment to notice that Drisella has sauntered off to play 'doctor' with the guards dropping like pancakes from the walls above. He strolls over to see what she is doing, giving the first guard a quick glance to make sure the man is on his way to see his maker before stopping by the young woman sinking her dagger into the second guard. Oswald sees the man isn't completely gone as he starts to move his arms to stop Drisella. The mad doctor steps up beside the man's head, smiling a very creepy smile as he holds Rosaline down to watch while he swings his club right into the side of the guard's temple. The crunching of bone and meaty thwack of wood upon flesh sends a shiver down Oswald's spine, "Yes, a truly marvelous night, my dear."
Amid the falling of rain, crashing of lightning and the whimpering of the dead and dying the Forsaken made their assault upon the last bastion of their incarceration. Sargent Blakerly in his greed and Warden Richter in his ignorance and laxity allowed the unthinkable to happen: The release of seven of the most degenerate, vile and terrible criminals that Talingard had known. Each and every one of the Seven criminals, forsaken under the enduring and perpetual light would go onto do great and terrible deeds.
Yet with their freedom, questions remain. Who was Blackerly working for, that so desperately wanted to meet Barnabas? What purpose did Inquisitor Matthais Harkon serve? Why had he ordered the incarceration of young Drisella DiAmonicia and demanded that Ethaniel Tessarin's sword be handed over to him. Despite these questions, despite the threats in the future for now, one unequivocal fact remained among all others.
The forsaken were free.
Gazing from the windows overlooking the rain soaked bridge that led to the mainland, Mikhail Halancoun gave the briefest nod of satisfaction. There was still work ahead of the Forsaken, a guard had managed to escape the purge of Branderscar carrying the secret of the prisoners escape with him. And there was the issue of their mysterious benefactor who claimed to be waiting for them in a manor house on the old moor road. But here and now as the waves splashed along the causeway bridge, the forsaken had taken their first step in reclaiming their shattered lives.
And so the seven Forsaken, having put Branderscar to the sword and left none alive, watched from shore as the Branderscar prison who was was known as Castle Brand, seat of the Hellknight Order of the Brand, burned in the night. To their left was the road leading to Varyston, to the north through the trackless moors was the nearest route to their benefactor. In Varyston was a quiet chapterhouse of Knights Alerion , pompous and proud. To the north was a sanctuary of sorts. Behind them two horses, unsaddled and sheltered within a small stable, stamped and snorted at the unusual smells.
It was time to choose.
Moving up towards the nearest horse, Arianna paused, running a hand along the beasts mane. We have reached the shore. she announced coldly. As I said before. I will go my way and you may go yours. The haughty and arrogant magi proclaimed.
As Kergh searched the eastern first floor room, he could see knocked over chairs, a single table scattered with a smattering of copper, silver and gold pieces as well as several flagons of untouched wine and a box holding four bottles of cheap whiskey.
::Through the darkness and rain, Bertram Holt, hugged the neck of his steed as they raced along through the muddy and slicked path between Vayrston and Branderscar Prison. The horses hoofs beat along the mud, spraying brown filth up onto the soaked blue and white tabard of the young guards uniform.
"I should be there by now." Bertram through, and indeed on a sunny and clear day he might have been right, but between the rain, mud and darkness the terrible spring storm had slowed his travel considerably. Frantically the young warrior looked over his shoulder. As he had left the causeway he had seen the Great Hall burning in the darkness. "Evil had been released." Brother Harvin had said before Blackerly ordered him to warn the nearby town.
Shivering as the rain continued to fall upon the man, the warrior again glanced behind himself fearfully. "The worst of the worst. That's who they send to Branderscar." Bertram whispered to himself, through he could have shouted into the wind and none would have heard him. Swallowing his fear, the guard continued to push forward on his steed. I have to warn the others, by Mitra's holy light they have to know what happened.::
Mikhail grabs the reins of the horse that Ariana's hand brushes. "I'm afraid not. We have a prisoner and we need the second horse so as to not tire out the ogre during the trek. I am taking the first to find the messenger, unless you'd rather allow the guard to reach the nearest town and bring the whole of Talingarde upon us immediately rather than a few days from now." He looks over to Barnabas and Kergh pointedly as he speaks, rather than speaking directly to Ariana.
Kergh hears the last interchange as he leaves the gatehouse. He frowns at Mikhail and sidles up behind Ariana at distance waggling his mace threateningly for a second.
He quickly stops when the girl turns and changes the motion into an attempt to wipe saliva off his chin and down his tunic. Kergh grins back at her and nods vigorously in agreement with Mikhail. The dwarf waits for the girl to look away so that he can meet the dark eyes of that vampireblood.
"Yea, prisoner."
Barnabas looks up from sorting through the various odds and ends they've managed to pick up during their whirlwind escape of the prison.
"Hmm? Oh I think Grumblejack should be fine with Blackerly. I do think we should stick together until we meet up our mysterious benefactor. They went through a lot of trouble to get us out of here and I think we owe the at least the curtesy of seeing what they want with us."
Eyes narrowing, Ariana takes a step away from Kergh. The deformed brute slides closer ominously waggling his mace while Mikhail keeps a firm hand on the reigns of the horse. Glancing between Mikhail and Grumblejack the woman frowns and then her eyes widen the shock evident in them. "You.. you don't care about the ogre at all Mikhail. You would see him die if it served your purpose. So that it is then? Either I am with you or against you? Hand shaking, the arrogant woman suddenly realizes the situation as it is. Mikhail, I ask you now in front of the others who you seem to lead. Can we part ways here peacefully? Nervously licking her lips, she glances at each of the party in turn, before withdrawing a pilfered scroll that had previously belonged to Warden Richter. I know the messenger is important to you Mikhail and even as we speak the gap widens. I may not be able to kill all of you, but I could kill the horses. She says gulping. Then as she backs up, no more than ten feet from cliff that leads into the churning water below, her face hardens. Don't come any closer. She barks at the menacing form of Kergh, who has now seemed to have become Mikhails right hand man.
Kergh shakes his head like an elephant swaying the heavy mass from side to side. He gives Mikhail a quick look of apology and transfers his attention to the girl.
"I not attack you if you not take horse. Or hurt them. Yes?"
His big feet slide a little closer while he waits for something to happen.
Mikhail looks at the horses and out into the stormy darkness. The messenger is the immediate threat to their freedom, while she is not. Inwardly, he seethes at himself for letting the situation come to this. He should have her killed at a much earlier junction, instead of waiting until the last moment. "You can leave with your life, but go as far from here in whatever direction you please. If you are caught, you tell them nothing about us. You will not receive a horse, for you are in no position to make demands." He sees that he has little success in instilling fear on the arrogant sorceress, whose face foolishly shows no signs of fear. He pulls the horse's reins and hands them to the closest person - Kaynen. "We will take both and run down the messenger. You ought to pray that we are successful, as it will give you days to flee instead of hours. Make your decision and live with the consequences."
Some time during this discussion, the shadows reclaimed the Walker in Darkness.Now an inky shape in the already dark night, the predator stalked around the periphery of the group, in the long, dark shadows cast by flickering torchlight, through the puddles of rainwater swirled pink with blood. A single, sinuous tail lashing back and forth in silent procession from a creature that is nearly more shadow than flesh.
It doesn't make a sound, not even when Drisella notices it has gone off on its own. Looking up from one of the dead soldiers she crouches over, the young woman withdraws her dagger from his face and stares wide-eyed at the empty space of courtyard where she'd thought it just was. "Hello?" She sweeps her hair back from her face, rainslicked hair clinging to the shape of her skull as she strides barefoot over to where she hears conversation, a freshly bloodied knife still in hand.
Behind Arianna, the shadows have teeth.
____________
Despite not seeing Walker in the Darkness as he creeps along the rain slicked cliffs, Ariana, proud and prideful nods to Mikhail as he hand the reins to Kaynen. Very well, take the horses and go. The woman intones, while still holding the scroll clutched in her hands. Keeping her left shoulder to the cliff Ariana begins to back away slowly from the group, keeping the pilfered scroll ready in her hands incase of a betrayal. Then after backing away perhaps sixty feet, she turns and a crack of lightning outlines her form and figure in the drizzling rain. The wind blows her hair up around her, and it seems to dance wildly in the wind. As she glances back, the forsaken can see an ivory smile in the darkness before Ariana flees into the night along the path opposite in the opposite direction from Varyston.
Mikhail pulls himself into the saddle of the horse. It recoils slightly as if it can sense his unnatural heritage, but settles itself quickly. He stares down at the others, imperious and haughty. "Kaynen, we may as well double our chances at catching our prey if you're holding the reins already. The rest of you, I will see soon. Good hunting." He taps the horse's sides, getting it to canter to the gateway. The lightning flashes on his fangs as he gives them one more look and slips into the rain, starting the hunt for which his blood calls out.
""What I do now?" the dwarf calls after into the empty storm.
First frowning at the continual rain, Kaynen begins to pick out a pattern in the pitter-patter falling on his shoulders.
Tip. Tap.
Kaynen glances down at his hand, wondering how he's ended up holding the reins to a horse.
Tip. Tap.
Shielding his eyes, he glances up at the horse and makes a clucking sound to get it's attention.
As the horse whinnies, the half-elf shrugs, waiting patiently and wondering why the gods couldn't have graced them with a rebellious stablemaster as a prisoner for a situation like this.
Oh right, Mitra blah blah blah.
Stifling a yawn, he wonders how long the parting with Ariana is going to take, since it feels like it's taking an eternity.
Tip. Tap.
The half-elf wonders how Mikhail can possibly still be hungry for more blood tonight, and vaguely remembers something about the dhampir of Ustalav never sating their thirst.
Tip. Tap.
Shrugging, he climbs about the horse, allowing the drumming of the rain to instill a final marching beat into his heart, and knowing his elven blood makes him as good a candidate as any to bond with his mount and find the fleeing guard.
As Mikail disappears into the darkness, he gives others a smile before circling his mount about.
"Can someone toast some marshmallows while we're away? It's been a while since I've had something sweet, and the rain's stirred something of a craving in my gut."
Knowing full well there are no marshmallows handy, he departs over the hill humming a march to himself.
"Bah, let her go. She's no threat to us and she doesn't know anything that could be used against us. It's not like she's going to run to the authorities."
Mikhail. Kaynen. If you're going to catch that guard, you had best be about it. I'm off to the rendezvous point. Maybe we'll see you there."
Leaping up onto their mounts, Mikhail, proud, noble and deadly and Kaynen, idealistic, ruthless and brilliant, charged off into the night in pursuit of the fleeing guardsman. From the recovered map the two men knew that that the trip between Vayrston and Branderscar would have normally taken an hour, but with the horrendous weather conditions it could take half again as long. Still, it did not take a genius to know that time was not on their side.
If it had been sunny and clear it may have been a different story, but the ominous weather that had begun to form as the Forsaken had made their escape continued to help them just as it hinder their foes.
As the horses rushed through the darkness to the beating of their own hoofs, Mikhail with inborn ability to see flawlessly in the dark was able to make out a copse of trees in the distance directly in their path. As their mounts charged forward in reckless abandon, the dark knight pointed with one hand to his compatriot who nodded. The harsh and howling wind had knocked several of the trees over, leaving splintered stumps and massive logs strewn across the path ahead. It looked as if the path continued onward on the other side of the copse, but it would take sharp eyes to spot it in the bleak darkness and bitter rain.
Knowing the limits of his vision, in which he holds no more detail than any man at a distance of a few dozen yards, Mikhail decides to navigate the fallen trees instead. Carefully and slowly, he maneuvers the captive steed through the fallen woods. His chain shirt jangles as the horse jumps over shattered branches and trunks. He loses sight of Kaynen as he makes his way across the obstacle. When the horse makes a difficult and high jump, Mikhail jumps upwards nearly out of the saddle as well, landing in perfect time with the horse. He smiles, knowing that his task is blessed by his destiny. On the other side of the copse of fallen trees, he takes a moment to remove the chain shirt and place it behind him on the saddle so it no longer hinders him. He looks around for Kaynen, but doesn't see them. He pushes his horse forwards, onwards towards the fateful meeting with his prey.
Kergh looks for Grumblejack and gives him a big slap on the shoulder, well more of a tap as far as the ogre is concerned. The magic he gave his monstrous friend is gone and the battle is won.
"We be free! Them guards is dead. You come wiv us or run like girly coward? Lots of bodies and fun where we go, lots more good eatin'" offers Kergh, trying to speak in the vernacular.
Whatever the ogre answers, the dwarf goes round to make sure everyone is unhurt, his wand at the ready until he finds Ethaniel.
"What happens now? Barnabas say someplace. I not know what to do?"
If he cannot be found then the priest returns to Barnabas for direction.
With the fighting over and freedom at hand, Ethaniel is once again relaxed, his sword once again returned to its scabbard. He does not involve himself with the seemingly tense situation between Ariana and Mikhail, though he finds he is at least a little relieved that the whole thing ended well enough and without any further bloodshed. He had no love for the woman, but she was one of them, however briefly.
With that affair resolved and with Kaynen volunteering to help Mikhail in his attempt to chase down the fleeing guard, the magus joins the others about to make their way through the moors. Not really bothered by the stormy weather, he actually seems to welcome it if his smile is any indication, a smile that persists as he turns to look at Kergh and answer his question.
"Now? Well, now we go on a little walk, it would seem. Someone somewhere is looking forward to meeting us, or so Barnabas says. I suppose it would be rude not to take them up on that offer, if for no other reason than the fact that are choices at this time are... limited."
Kaynen, feeling the exhilaration of the chase coursing through his veins, grows bold and presses his steed to both leap and swerve through the dense foliage.
He grins at Mikhail as he does so.
Knowing the limits of his vision, in which he holds no more detail than any man at a distance of a few dozen yards, Mikhail decides to navigate the fallen trees instead. Carefully and slowly, he maneuvers the captive steed through the fallen woods. His chain shirt jangles as the horse jumps over shattered branches and trunks. He loses sight of Kaynen as he makes his way across the obstacle. When the horse makes a difficult and high jump, Mikhail jumps upwards nearly out of the saddle as well, landing in perfect time with the horse. He smiles, knowing that his task is blessed by his destiny. On the other side of the copse of fallen trees, he takes a moment to remove the chain shirt and place it behind him on the saddle so it no longer hinders him. He looks around for Kaynen, but doesn't see them. He pushes his horse forwards, onwards towards the fateful meeting with his prey.
Kaynen, feeling the exhilaration of the chase coursing through his veins, grows bold and presses his steed to both leap and swerve through the dense foliage.
He grins at Mikhail as he does so.
Bursting through the copse of trees the two Forsaken riders thunder down the muddy path towards their quarry. The continuous rain plasters the hair of the two riders to their scalps sending a chill running down their spine. After another ten minutes of riding through a long open field, the muddy trail begins to curve into a small sloping hollow between two hills and the beginnings of a forest loom up in the distance. Galloping onward down the trail the trees on either side of the path begin to knit together forming a dark and verdant tunnel. Branches loom dangerous over the trail and the riders will have to be careful to avoid a collision.
Oswald continues to watch the prison burn behind them, holding up Rosaline so she can have a good view of all the blaze. The mad doctor giggles as he turns back toward the others after a few minutes, "Today has been a fine day. We have meted out punishment to the wicked and freed ourselves from unjust captivity. Would you not say so, dear?" Oswald looks to Drisella with the question as he gently strokes the hair of his stitched-together doll.
He smiles as he does so before tilting his head toward Rosaline to listen to something, "Thus the scales are balanced... yes, yes, my dear sweet child, now we shall have to throw them in our favor. Vengance upon the thrice-damned Mitrans that set this chain of events in motion. A message must be sent, scribed in blood upon the parchment of torment, that no more will we allow them to harm our loved ones without retribution. We shall find your mother and brother, my dear Rosaline, and damn any Mitran that stands in our way!" His eyes ablaze with focused madness, Oswald thrusts his fist into the air and starts to laugh. Minutes later, his maniacal laughter begins to abate as he follows the others across the moors.
As Mikhail and Kaynen thunder off into the night, the other Forsaken led by Barnabas begin their trek northward through the trackless swampy moors that have isolated Branderscar prison so well. Aided by the map recovered from the Wardens Tower, Barnabas takes the lead stopping to consult with the document every few minutes.
After ten minutes of traveling, the rocky ground gives way to a mire that smells of peat and moss. In the distance an owl hoots and the sound of an amphibian splashing in one of the stagnant pools can be heard. The is an ever present sound of croaking frogs and a thick fog begins to settle around the feet of the forsaken.
Gumblejack, continuing to carry the body of Watch Sergeant Blackerly trudges next to the ambling figure of Kergh. The ogre towers above the other Forsaken and with his sunken eyes regards the terribly deformed priest with smile. Gumblejack go wit u. The ogre rumbles, while readjusting the unconscious form of Blackerly. Not run like puny human I.. Grumblejack trails off as Blackerly groans softly and begins to stir.
Kaynen leans low, wrapping his arm's around his mount's neck, whispering in its ear.
"You know, if you could duck a little, it'd make this upcoming branch that much easier to avoid..."
Sighing as he narrowly misses being dismounted, Kaynen rises again and glances backward at the branch.
Now, where is that guard?
Mikhail gallops towards the tunnel of trees, watching as Kaynen slips through them effortlessly. He tries to emulate the half-elf, but cannot dismiss easily the regal bearing borne of almost a century's habit. Each of his alter egos was highborn, so he never tried changing his bearing. This comes back to slow him down now, as his tall frame can't quite stop hitting the bottom of the branches. He slows to a stop, trying to get past the trees as Kaynen thunders into the darkness.
[ In the Moors ]
Tired, cold and wet, Drisella is the picture of misery as she marches along with the others. The young prisoner had tried to steal boots off of one of the dead guards, but the sucking muck of the moors soon robbed her of those ill-fitted shoes. Now, barefoot again, she is blackened with mud up to her knees, hair matter down and rainsoaked, and her tattered cloak now waterlogged. She walks, ghostly pale and shivvering from the cold, behind the more surefooted stride of the Walker in Darkness.
The Walker is less concerned with the cold and with the muck from the moors that has collected in its clawed paws and along its oily flesh. It looks back to Drisella, occasionally, but seems content to wordlessly lead her along Barnabas' planned route...
To destinations unknown.
Seeing the bloodied Sargent stir on the big ogre's shoulder, Barnabas signals for a stop.
"Grumblejack, why do you put you load down on that bit of dry ground over there. Let's see if we can wake him up. No need to lug him all the way through the marsh, if we don't have to."
Barnabas rummages around and digs out the bloodstained healer's kit they pilfered from the mashed remains of the priest and goes over to Blackerly to see if he can get him to come to.
His desperation to obtain the information contained the brain of this man drives Barnabas to desperate acts of medical wizardry that he could hardly ever hope to reproduce. His heroic efforts completed, he sits back to see if his ministrations have any effect.
Thundering through the darkened wood, Kaynen leaned in low, wrapping his arm's around his mount's neck, whispering in its ear.
"You know, if you could duck a little, it'd make this upcoming branch that much easier to avoid..." Despite the tenseness of the situation, the horse whinnied in reply. Grinning to himself at the situation the half-elf, cursed as a branch came out of nowhere and nearly knocked him from his saddle. Sighing, Kaynen rose up in his stirrups and glanced backward at the branch.
Now, where is that guard?
Mikhail gallops towards the tunnel of trees, watching as Kaynen slips through them effortlessly. He tries to emulate the half-elf, but cannot dismiss easily the regal bearing borne of almost a century's habit. Each of his alter egos was highborn, so he never tried changing his bearing. This comes back to slow him down now, as his tall frame can't quite stop hitting the bottom of the branches. He slows to a stop, trying to get past the trees as Kaynen thunders into the darkness. Peering off into the darkness, Mikhail is able to see that there the forest path is littered with low hanging branches. Sizing up the development the highborn takes the situation in stride. Quickly dismounting, Mikhail grabs the reins and begins to escort the horse through the woods while looking for an open enough clearing that he could remount and continue onward safely.
Leaving Mikhail behind, Kaynen continued onward through the dark forest with its ancient, lichen encrusted trees. Leaning low with his hands close to his mounts neck, Kaynen felt the thrill of exhilaration flow through him. A nighttime prison break and a chase through a forest? It was very nearly a copy from the second act of Shopars: The Even-Tongued Conquest. Humming to himself a bar from the third chorus refrain, he built to a crescendo just as the forest path opened up and the ground gave way to a large muddy clearing that was dominated by a large and steep hill on the right. Despite the darkness, the moonlight was enough for Kaynen to see by and he was able to make out the shape of another set of horses tracks ahead of him.
It looks as if the horse tracks abruptly stop and then the mud has been heavily disturbed. Appearing in the middle of the mud is a set of human tracks that appear to wear high leather boots. Then the human and horse tracks lead off. Common sense would indicate that the guards mount stumbled at this point and the man was thrown off his horse. It looks like he then led the mount off towards the other side of the muddy field. Alternatively, you may choose to dismount. You will be considered to have failed this skill check and you will spend the next round safely guiding your horse through the muddy field.
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O'kay Grumblejack rumbles, dropping the wounded and bruised sargent Blackerly on top of a small dirty outcropping that seems to be higher than the rest of the swampy moor that the Forsaken are currently in.
Again in the distance the an owl hoots while all around them are the sounds of various insects chirping, buzzing and otherwise being a nuisance. As Blackerly drops to the ground with a meaty *Thud* The sargent gives another involuntary groan of pain.
Kneeling next to the corrupt watch sargent, Barnabas is able to find a small packet labeled "spirit of hartshorn" Taking a whiff, Barnabas takes an involuntary gasp as his eyes water. Nodding to himself, Barnabas looks over the rest of the wounds and lacerations that covered the man's body. While no doctor, Barnabas had spent years peddling flesh to offshore buyers and the difference between a healthy slave and a poor one could be hundreds of gold. And besides, occasionally a slave needed to be shown his place. But the first rule of being a slaver is to never damage the merchandise more than you could repair it. Frowning to himself, Barnabas ran a finger of Blackerly's chest, teasing open the vicious wound caused by the sword strike, Barnabas noted that the crimson slash oozed rather then flowed freely with blood.
Yes, he had seen men hurt worse than this and survive. The Mandingo fights could be brutal and ugly. But they did turn an excellent profit.
Rubbing his hands together Barnabas wrapped the wound tight, and then tore off the top of small white packet before thrusting it under the nose of Blackerly.
Coughing and retching, the man's eyes fluttered open and he looked up into the hardened face of Barnabas Wright who stood above him. Face going pale, the man looked around before glancing back up the the ex-noble. Well, F'me then, eh? Blackerly drawled, spitting into the dirt.
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Feeling the rush of the chase, and letting the melody of The Even-Tongued Conquest dominate his thoughts, Kaynen finally comes to a stop at the end of the muddy field.
Ah, and where has our field mouse fled to now?
Straining in the dim light of the night sky, anxiety finds purchase in Kaynen's mind as he rushes his scan of the field and sees no signs of passage by the fleeing guard.
"Hmmm, have we lost him then?"
Giving a final look in all directions, Kaynen continues his course, trying to pick out the more stable parts for his mount to use for safe crossing.
Mikhail dismounts and forcibly takes the horse by its reins. Angry at his inability to navigate the narrow passage except by on foot, and angry that his prey may be moving further away, he pulls the recalcitrant animal until he is through the tunnel. While he is glad that Kaynen's presence increases their chances, he is disappointed that he may not be able to sink his fangs into the fleeing guard and feel the hope drain out of him with the blood.
"We think this is an unnecessary delay," Drisella says from a distance, tugging the tattered cloak she wears a little tighter. From the periphery of Barnabas' vision, the young woman comes walking over to where he and Grumblejack have laid out Blackerly on the sodden ground. Her bare toes curl into the mossy substance underfoot, blackened with mud as they are.
She looks down to Blackerly, then back up to Barnabas. The Walker in Darkness isn't within eyeshot.
Out of spells and trudging through the muck and reeds, Kergh tries to avoid the worst of the prickly gorse. He has never travelled so far by foot and they are sore.
In selfish misery, the dwarf pays little attention to Drisella's plight and even less to Blackerly. In fact, stopping to heal the sergeant is just a relief. The rest of them walk freely and don't have one foot heavier than the other. No one helps him.
Finding a small tor rock to rest his aching limbs, Kergh watches impressed by Barnabas and his healer's kit. The man is a surgeon, professional and deft with the implements, the way that he teases out the last stitch in his wounds, they all make the priest find new respect for the healer.
Not sure how to say the right words, he doesn't bother, Kergh just slaps him on the back when the work is done. When Blackerly starts to regain speech.
Him take my job! I got wand but he got skills! Nana would like him - if she not burnt.