Barnabas nearly swoons, as waves of agony beyond anything he has ever felt wash over him. Don't black out now you fool. If you do, you're a dead man Pushing back the darkness, he lashes out at the guard captain, scoring a vicious hit.
"How does that feel you bastard? If I die here, I'm at least taking you with me."
"Need help?" He shouts down.
Clinging to that spot on the wall above the entrance to the tower, Walker in Darkness waits in silence, tail lashing back and forth as its tri-fold eyes stare intently on its point of ambush. It has no intention of going to rescue the vanguard of the forsaken -- better to wait and lure the others to their demise.
______
Oswald listens to the sound of metal against metal, metal against flesh, and the roars of an enraged ogre down below. He grins to himself, his lips curling further with each sound of pain. The mad doctor turns his head to his poppet as if listening to the doll, "Yes, my dove, the bad men are dying down below... I'm sorry we don't have a better seat for the slaughter... don't cry little one, we'll go down and make sure the bad men die." Oswald turns to Kergh and Drisella as he motions down below, "Rosaline wants to go grab a better view of the fighting. I'll see how the fighting is going and be back soon." He clambers over Kergh's makeshift cover and starts heading downstairs.
Rocked back on his feet by the twin bolts of eldritch power unleashed by Ariana from Warden Richters pilfered scroll, Brother Harvin cries out in pain. Pushed back several feet by the sheer force of the blasts the young Acolyte of Mitra drops his mace into the muddy courtyard. Gusting wind buffets his robes as the man reaches into a brown satchel at his side and withdraws a wooden tube.
Taking the cap off the man reached a hand into the case and withdraws a piece of paper. As Harvin begins chanting, the hard falling rain begins to stain the ink and whet the parchment. Yet despite the gust and the man’s clearly apparent pain he continues to chant words of power in the clear clarion tone of the words of the divine. מיטראַ, האר פון ליכט, קיפּער פון פלאַמעס, פּראָטעקטאָר פון די שוואַך און דעפענדער פון די צדיקים. איך דיין אַניוועסדיק קנעכט רופן אויף איר. פּלאָמבירן מיר מיט דיין חן און באַשיצן מיר פון דיין פיינט אַזוי
As the words ring out, clear and pure through the howling, shrieking wind a for just the briefest of seconds the wind stops and moonlight breaks through the clouds wreathing the young priest if a halo of light. Smiling and giving a silent prayer to his lord the man placed the scroll case carefully away and looks towards the tower with a gleam in his eye. Pointing to the two guards the priest gestures towards the furious battle raging within. Go to the tower and assist the sergeant, I will follow along shortly. Walk with Mitra.
____________________
____________________
Hearing the sounds of battle and commotion below, Drisella drops the dagger Barnabus gave her in fright. Backing away from the door, she bumps into the alchemy table, rattling some of the wax-sealed clay pots on its surface. Fear is evident in her expression; fear tinged with panic and the surge of adrenaline. People are dying downstairs, and that tide of death will eventually rise to flood this room, in her mind.
It's the sound of someone chanting in celestial outside that gets her full attention and pulls her out of a panicked delirium. Drisella does not recognize the language for what it is, but it turns her stomach, sends pins-and-needles coursing down the back of her neck and makes her feel, worst of all, ashamed.
Gnashing her teeth together and with eyes as wide as saucers, Drisella turns to the window and shouts, "Shut up! Shut up! " The last words out of her mouth slip into the syllabic hissing of Infernal.
In a frenzied huff, drisella reaches uot for the largest, heaviest thing she can grab. It winds up being one of the sealed clay pots, of which the contents are a mystery to the girl. She takes one in both hands, walks over to the window, and with the pot held above her head in both hands screams again, "" Then hurls the put down out of the window to unsuspecting priest below.
The clay pot shatters on Brother Harvin's head and instantly engulfs him in flames like a human torch, spraying liquid fire around him in a shower. The priest screams, arms windmilling helplessly as clothing, flesh and hair all burns away, his God of no help to him. His screams eventually die out as Brother Harvin collapses to the ground, motionless, the flames continuing to consume his body.
Drisella peers out the window, reflection of the fire below dancing in her wide eyes.
Kaynen continues singing, only pausing briefly between verses to sniff the air.
Smells like... burning.
The half-elf smiles, for burning is one of his favorite smells.
He shares his next thought openly, ignorant that he has provided little context to it.
"They should make a perfume of it."
Waving his longsword along with the music, Kaynen sashays near to where Barnabas is engaged with Blackerly, hoping to add the sergeant's blood to the art on his blade forged by the unfortunate guard.
for
Unlike Kaynen and his banter or even Barnabas and his threats against Blackerly, Ethaniel utters not a word as he quickly moves to support the other two men attacking the sergeant. After all, if the leader falls, the rest of the guards are bound to lose some of their morale. His newly retrieved sword, already put to use against one man, is brought to bear against another as it moves in a horizontal slash and finds its mark, scoring one more bleeding wound on the officer's body.
MA: Engage Blackerly
SA: Longsword vs. Blackerly
> Damage [/ooc]
Mikhail's clear voice carries over the screams of the priest. "Lay down your arms and we will spare you as we have our other prisoners!" In a flash, he darts over to Sergeant Blackerly and plunges his blade through the corrupt guard's chest. Mikhail presses the blade forward through his armor and flesh, pressed on as much by Kaynen's song (strangely, he notes) as by his hatred for the man who branded him. "Except for you! For your cruelty and corruption, I sentence you to die!" Mikhail pushes forward one final time to the hilt as he stares into Blackerly's eyes until the life fades from them. The last thing he sees is Mikhail's pale visage and hypnotic eyes overwhelming him.
Roaring in pain from the mastiff that is latched onto the ogres arm, Grumblejack flails wildly. The ogre yells stumbling around and knocking the wooden stand that the silver bowl once rested on over onto the ground. Finally dislodging the dog, Grumblejack grabs the executions axe in both hands and raised it over his head so that the top actually clangs against the roof of the first flood. You hurt Grumblejack! You bad dog! The ogre bellows, sweeping the axe down and severing the beasts spine with a sickening thunk. Breathing heavily and bleeding from his arm the ogre gives a smile showing off his rotting and missing teeth. Whos nex? He giggles sweeping the axe towards the Blackerly and the only other still standing guard, seconds before Mikhail steps forward and impales the corrupt sergeant with his longsword. Har har har. Guess its just you den. Grumblejack trails off, holding the axe menacingly and staring at the guard with his recessed eyes.
Watching Sergeant Blackerly to the combined assault of Mikhail, Barnabas and Ethaniel as well as the bloodthirsty, hungry gaze of Grumblejack the still standing guard without a seconds hesitation lets the sword drop from his mailed hand. I give up! The foolish guard responds, his voice quavering. Meanwhile on the ground the other living guard clutches at his side and groans while trying to staunch the blood. Scooting backwards the guard pushes himself next to Sergeant Blackerly who is slowly slipping into death.
Out in the courtyard the two archers recoil from the fiery blast of alchemist fire. Though the wind and rain quickly extinguish the flames the initial blast was enough to singe the men and drop into unconsciousness the young acolyte of Mitra. Looking towards each other and then back to the tower as the sounds of combat die off, the men do the only wise thing. They run. Legs pumping and being blasted by gusts of wind the men quickly round the corner of the Great Hall moving north.
As the men flee the forsaken listen to the sounds of the dying and the cries of the wounded. The first floor of the tower, a place intended to showcase the history and pride of Prison Branderscar have become drenched in blood of its defenders... A fitting end when one considers how much blood the guardsmen of Branderscar have spilled in the name of their god and justice.
______________________________
Barnabas nearly swoons, as waves of agony beyond anything he has ever felt wash over him. Don't black out now you fool. If you do, you're a dead man Pushing back the darkness, he lashes out at the guard captain, scoring a vicious hit. "How does that feel you bastard? If I die here, I'm at least taking you with me."
Above on the third floor of the Tower Kergh shouts down. "Need help?".
Clinging to that spot on the wall above the entrance to the tower, Walker in Darkness waits in silence, tail lashing back and forth as its tri-fold eyes stare intently on its point of ambush. It has no intention of going to rescue the vanguard of the forsaken -- better to wait and lure the others to their demise.
Oswald listens to the sound of metal against metal, metal against flesh, and the roars of an enraged ogre down below. He grins to himself, his lips curling further with each sound of pain. The mad doctor turns his head to his poppet as if listening to the doll, "Yes, my dove, the bad men are dying down below... I'm sorry we don't have a better seat for the slaughter... don't cry little one, we'll go down and make sure the bad men die." Oswald turns to Kergh and Drisella as he motions down below, "Rosaline wants to go grab a better view of the fighting. I'll see how the fighting is going and be back soon." He clambers over Kergh's makeshift cover and starts heading downstairs.
Rocked back on his feet by the twin bolts of eldritch power unleashed by Ariana from Warden Richters pilfered scroll, Brother Harvin cries out in pain. Pushed back several feet by the sheer force of the blasts the young Acolyte of Mitra drops his mace into the muddy courtyard. Gusting wind buffets his robes as the man reaches into a brown satchel at his side and withdraws a wooden tube.
Taking the cap off the man reached a hand into the case and withdraws a piece of paper. As Harvin begins chanting, the hard falling rain begins to stain the ink and whet the parchment. Yet despite the gust and the man’s clearly apparent pain he continues to chant words of power in the clear clarion tone of the words of the divine. מיטראַ, האר פון ליכט, קיפּער פון פלאַמעס, פּראָטעקטאָר פון די שוואַך און דעפענדער פון די צדיקים. איך דיין אַניוועסדיק קנעכט רופן אויף איר. פּלאָמבירן מיר מיט דיין חן און באַשיצן מיר פון דיין פיינט אַזוי
As the words ring out, clear and pure through the howling, shrieking wind a for just the briefest of seconds the wind stops and moonlight breaks through the clouds wreathing the young priest if a halo of light. Smiling and giving a silent prayer to his lord the man placed the scroll case carefully away and looks towards the tower with a gleam in his eye. Pointing to the two guards the priest gestures towards the furious battle raging within. Go to the tower and assist the sergeant, I will follow along shortly. Walk with Mitra.
Hearing the sounds of battle and commotion below, Drisella drops the dagger Barnabus gave her in fright. Backing away from the door, she bumps into the alchemy table, rattling some of the wax-sealed clay pots on its surface. Fear is evident in her expression; fear tinged with panic and the surge of adrenaline. People are dying downstairs, and that tide of death will eventually rise to flood this room, in her mind.
It's the sound of someone chanting in celestial outside that gets her full attention and pulls her out of a panicked delirium. Drisella does not recognize the language for what it is, but it turns her stomach, sends pins-and-needles coursing down the back of her neck and makes her feel, worst of all, ashamed.
Gnashing her teeth together and with eyes as wide as saucers, Drisella turns to the window and shouts, "Shut up! Shut up! અપ બંધ!" The last words out of her mouth slip into the syllabic hissing of Infernal.
In a frenzied huff, drisella reaches uot for the largest, heaviest thing she can grab. It winds up being one of the sealed clay pots, of which the contents are a mystery to the girl. She takes one in both hands, walks over to the window, and with the pot held above her head in both hands screams again, "અપ બંધ!" Then hurls the put down out of the window to unsuspecting priest below.
The clay pot shatters on Brother Harvin's head and instantly engulfs him in flames like a human torch, spraying liquid fire around him in a shower. The priest screams, arms windmilling helplessly as clothing, flesh and hair all burns away, his God of no help to him. His screams eventually die out as Brother Harvin collapses to the ground, motionless, the flames continuing to consume his body.
Drisella peers out the window, reflection of the fire below dancing in her wide eyes.
Kaynen continues singing, only pausing briefly between verses to sniff the air. It Smells like... burning. The half-elf smiles, for burning is one of his favorite smells. He shares his next thought openly, ignorant that he has provided little context to it. "They should make a perfume of it."
Waving his longsword along with the music, Kaynen sashays near to where Barnabas is engaged with Blackerly, hoping to add the sergeant's blood to the art on his blade forged by the unfortunate guard.
Unlike Kaynen and his banter or even Barnabas and his threats against Blackerly, Ethaniel utters not a word as he quickly moves to support the other two men attacking the sergeant. After all, if the leader falls, the rest of the guards are bound to lose some of their morale. His newly retrieved sword, already put to use against one man, is brought to bear against another as it moves in a horizontal slash and finds its mark, scoring one more bleeding wound on the officer's body.
Roaring in pain from the mastiff that is latched onto the ogres arm, Grumblejack flails wildly. The ogre yells stumbling around and knocking the wooden stand that the silver bowl once rested on over onto the ground. Finally dislodging the dog, Grumblejack grabs the executions axe in both hands and raised it over his head so that the top actually clangs against the roof of the first flood. You hurt Grumblejack! You bad dog! The ogre bellows, sweeping the axe down and severing the beasts spine with a sickening thunk. Breathing heavily and bleeding from his arm the ogre gives a smile showing off his rotting and missing teeth. Whos nex? He giggles sweeping the axe towards the Blackerly and the only other still standing guard, seconds before Mikhail steps forward and impales the corrupt sergeant with his longsword. Har har har. Guess its just you den. Grumblejack trails off, holding the axe menacingly and staring at the guard with his recessed eyes.
Watching Sergeant Blackerly to the combined assault of Mikhail, Barnabas and Ethaniel as well as the bloodthirsty, hungry gaze of Grumblejack the still standing guard without a seconds hesitation lets the sword drop from his mailed hand. I give up! The foolish guard responds, his voice quavering. Meanwhile on the ground the other living guard clutches at his side and groans while trying to staunch the blood. Scooting backwards the guard pushes himself next to Sergeant Blackerly who is slowly slipping into death.
Out in the courtyard the two archers recoil from the fiery blast of alchemist fire. Though the wind and rain quickly extinguish the flames the initial blast was enough to singe the men and drop into unconsciousness the young acolyte of Mitra. Looking towards each other and then back to the tower as the sounds of combat die off, the men do the only wise thing. They run. Legs pumping and being blasted by gusts of wind the men quickly round the corner of the Great Hall moving north.
As the men flee the forsaken listen to the sounds of the dying and the cries of the wounded. The first floor of the tower, a place intended to showcase the history and pride of Prison Branderscar have become drenched in blood of its defenders... A fitting end when one considers how much blood the guardsmen of Branderscar have spilled in the name of their god and justice.
______________________________
Kergh tilts his head as the explosion dies, and the remaining guards scatter, leaving the odd cry on the battlefield. He starts down quickly as he can to see if he can help.
Hearing the screams and picking up the scent of burning flesh, the Walker in Darkness turns to look at Drisella staring out the window and drops to the floor below with a clatter of its claws. The beast makes a noise in the back of its throat, eliciting the girl's attention before starting out the door after Kergh. Something has the beast's attention.
Walker bounds down the stairs, the tip of its tail smacking sharply against the tower wall a few times as it rounds the stairwell down to the ground floor. Without hesitation, the creature pads through the blood of the fallen, leaving paw-like prints in its wake. The eidolon quickly moves over the fallen bodies and out the front door to where Brother Harvin is still burning in unconsciousness from the alchemist's fire.
With a growl, the beast steps over to the smoldering cleric, firelight reflected in its eyes. The Walker looks up, then, to Drisella in the window and watches her intently, as if waiting for something...
________
Oswald claps for spectacle of the dying guards on the 1st floor. The mad doctor even makes his poppet clap as well, "Bravo, friends! Truly the righteous have won the day, isn't that right, little dove?" He stops a moment to listen to Rosaline before making his way over to the dying Blackerly, "I know, dear... the bad man is going to pay. See, he is dying as we speak. Oh what terrors await the soul of a godly man with no faith?" Oswald kneels down beside Blackerly, placing one hand against the sargeant's throat to feel for a pulse before looking at the other Forsaken, "Not long for this world is our former captor. The darkness is probably setting in now as his mind begins to detach from the failing flesh, the cold icy hand of death takes hold to guide the wandering soul to its final judgement. Should we bring him back? He has not suffered near enough yet I think."
Seeing the remaining threats neutralized, Barnabas drops to his knees beside the dying sergeant, wincing as a bolt of pain rockets through him. "Oh no you don't. You don't get to die yet. There are things I need to know."
Tearing strips of cloth from one of the dead guard's cloaks he begins to bind Blackerly's wounds, all the while trying not to think about the seriousness of his own injuries. The sticky blood running down his arm, making it all the more difficult to push from his mind.
"My good doctor, I have no idea what I'm doing and your expertise in this matter would be much appreciated. I need this man alive for the moment, there are things he must tell me before he dies and as for is suffering, well, if he doesn't tell me what I need to know, it will be great indeed."
Almost reluctant to alter the abstract art decorating his borrowed blade, Kaynen finally chooses cleanliness over blood and wipes the fluids off on a nearby guard's shirt.
Sheathing the weapon, he shakes his head, long hair falling onto his face and claps his hands.
"A worthy performance, and an excellent final act to our daring escape!"
Stepping over to the window, he observes the fleeing guards.
"Now, I suggest we snag anything of value and make haste, for this prison is about to burn must brighter than any fire we've yet set."
Ethaniel looks on as Barnabas tries to stabilize the man responsible for much of their suffering during their time in Branderscar, his expression more or less impassive. "You seem quite interested in these... things, if you are trying your best to revive him," he notes off-handedly, not really an accusation rather than an observation really.
Noticing Kaynen wiping the blood off of his sword, he takes a look at his own, thinking to do the same. However, the blade looks as pristine as it did before all the fighting started. Not a drop of crimson mars its black surface, yet seconds ago it was almost dripping with blood. "Hmm," he mutters to himself with a look of both curiosity and interest before sheathing the weapon in its scabbard, now resting comfortably by his left hip.
"Are we done here? Let us bind the one who has surrendered and put him with the others," he suggests. "And then let us be off. If the mage's pet has gone about its task despite its master's death, reinforcements should be here sooner or later."
Oswald checks over Barnabas' work as the man binds the worst of Blackerly's gushing wounds, only helping to adjust one bandage to better stymie the essential vitae leaking from the sargent. The former doctor nods at Barnabas, "Not a bad job. You'd make a passable trauma medic with your steady hands, perhaps even a surgeon with the right schooling. Well, our friend Blackerly should not be shucking the mortal coil so soon now but he will need either plenty of rest, access to better medical supplies, or the touch of a priest before he's up and about to answer any questions... Yes, my dove, the bad man isn't dead yet but he will be soon enough. After we've had our vengenance upon him. Yes, yes, plenty of revenge and pain and revenge and pain to go around."
Oswald rises from his position next to Blackerly's stabilized body and starts to clap with Kaynen's suggestion and make his poppet clap as well, "Rosaline approves of your plan, Mr. Kaynen. Let the whole cursed place burn as a candle in an inferno. The Mitran' think fire is cleansing so let us give them more than they can stand."
Kherg casts a bent shadow over the body of the sergeant and looks around to make sure the party are all alive.
Then he pats down the brother's back with his own cloak until the last of the flames dies. The dwarf checks his pockets and yanks off the warm Mitran symbol for no good reason. Later.
"Want me to start taking more things? Grumblejack too?" Kherg scratches his arm to get rid of the itchy scab.
Coming down the stairs to finally join the others, Drisella looks largely repulsed by the display of violence. Bare feet tread through blood undeterred, while her youthful face and wide, expressive eyes show horror. Her body carries her while her heart reels. As she treads through the carnage, she passes by Oswald and offers him an askance look before slipping out the door into the courtyard.
There, joining the Walker in Darkness, Drisella looks only slightly confused as to why she's out here. The rain coming down soaks her tattered prison garb and further mats her dark hair to her brow and cheeks, inky tendrils of it coiled down her back. She looks over her shoulder, back into the tower, and her expression has changed entirely. Gone is the horror a young woman should display in a scene like this, replaced instead by a sedate and half-lidded stare. She makes brief eye-contact with Kergh by Harvin's unconscious form as he snaps the holy symbol off of his neck.
Turning to look at the Walker, Drisella slowly approaches the prone form of the unconscious priest of Mirtra and Kergh. She kneels down at his side, rain washing the blood off of her feet, and picks up his shield emblazoned with Mitra's symbol. Dark eyes scan the shield thoughtfully, then look up to the priest's rainsoaked and burned body. The Walker moves around Brother Harvin, its long chitin-plated tail stroking across his blistered cheek. Six eyes stare down, then focus up at Drisella as if waiting for something.
Standing, slowly, Drisella clutches the shield in both hands and swallows audibly. Then, without any provocation, begins screaming as loud as she can like a fitful, terrified child and begins bludgeoning Harvin's head with the bottom of the shield. She wails, howls and growls like a little beast, slamming the shield over and over and over again against the priest's head until all that is left is a pulpy mass of shattered bone, dislodged teeth and ruptured eyes bristling with hair and slick with blood.
She stands there in the rain, hands and shield soaked in gore, exhaling panting breaths.
_____
Kergh doesn't wait to see the bloody results, with each smashing pulp of the shield he steps back inside to take whatever isn't nailed down, "coming Grumble?"
The priest has seen plenty of violence today and one more act hardly bothers the priest. The Mitran didn't win, so he had died. His fault.
They caught me. Not again. I will die like him if caught. Dark Prince made me live longer. These people will keep me alive or suffer his wrath.
Amidst the groaning of the wind and the pouring of the rain the forsaken go about their grim tasks. Seconds after the guards surrender and Mikhail places the final blow, downing Sergeant Blackerly the forsaken converge on their adversaries, like carrion birds to the dead. Rushing forward, Barnabas and Oswald attempt to staunch the bleeding of the corrupt watch sergeant and prevent him from slipping over the edge into death. For several seconds things are terse and it looks like the former doctor turned grave digger and the once proud noble might fail, but this is not the first time that either one of them have had to save a mans life though for different reasons.
Meanwhile outside in the courtyard, Kergh and Drisella hover over the remains of Brother Harvin. The now dead man lays both burned and crushed at the feet of the shivering and wet young woman. She lets the bloody and dented shield slip from her fingers. She shivers again and watches as the rain washes the blood from her fingers. Would that it would be so easy to remove the stain that has bloodied her soul. Despondent the woman turns to leave and the rain continues to fall and thunder rumbles in the distance. The rain may fall, but there will never be enough water to remove the stain of what has happened within these walls tonight.
_________________________________
Seeing Kergh leave, the Walker in Darkness narrows its sixfold stare and flicks its tail from side to side. It turns to Drisella, as if making sure it has her attention, then climbs over the body of Brother Harvin. Head tilting from side-to-side, the beast looks over the fallen priest's remains, then in an abrupt and fast movement begins biting ferociously at his stomach. Long teeth shred cloth and soon flesh until the Walker is able to pull, rip and tear from the cleric's belly. Long strings of entrails are yanked from within as the Walker feeds and Drisella watches on with some sort of transfixed, wide-eyed stare.
The Walker in Darkness thrashes like a wild animal as it eats, its tail lashing from side to side as it feeds. The sheer savagery of the meal is exemplified by the Walker shoving its entire head up into Brother Harvin's demolished abdomen, searching for something within. Eventually, after shredding through organs and connective tissue, the Walker shakes its head from side to side inside the priest's chest cavity and rips forth most of the priest's heart, crushing it between its steely jaws, blood and gore caked to its black head running a muddy pink in the rain.
As the heart is devoured, Drisella seems to come to from the stupor. She blinks a few times, walking barefoot and cold in the rain as she takes a few steps away from the body and the Walker in Darkness. There's a clattering sound as she steps on something, reflexively pulling her foot back to see a thin, white wand dislodged from the priest's possessions. Drisella looks up and around at the others, kneeling down to pick up the wand with uncertainty. It's clear she isn't sure what it is, or its significance.
Looking back to Harvin's body, Drisella walks over through the growing pool of blood and rainwater around him, realizing that the others are rifling through the pockets of the dead, she does so as well to attempt to fit in as best as she can. But with Harvin's body a shredded mess, Drisella winds up pulling her arms away from her search covered in slick blood and bits of flesh; so, too, are Harvin's possessions.
Proudly, Drisella begins bounding away from the body back to where the others have been tending to Blackerly. "I found these!" She proclaims to the others, holding a gore-covered healer's kit, a blood-soaked scroll, and a blood-smeared wand in a stack in both gruesomely caked hands. Droplets of blood cover Drisella's face and neck, her ragged, rain-soaked prison garb is likewise mostly a shade of pink now.
She's eager to help in her own, largely incorrect way.
_____________
The imperious nobleman slowly walks up to the fearful surrendered guard. "A wise choice." Casually, he slips his blood-slicked blade into the back of the crawling, wounded guard, pinning him to the ground. "Less wise." As the man shudders in death at his hand, Mikhail feels a sense of power that amplifies the power of his station. He turns back to the guard. "Did you send word as to our escape? Who else knows? Before you answer, remember this: I want to open your throat and drink of your warm blood. Do not give me a reason to indulge this base desire." To emphasize his point, he pushes the guard against the wall like a ragdoll and flashes his fangs. He presses his will upon the man, desiring to crush his very spirit and learn all that he knows.
As Drisella enters, Ethaniel's eyes grow more than a little wide and his mouth hangs slightly open at the sight of the girl positively beaming with pride and yet more or less covered in blood. "What happened to...," the magus starts but as his eyes move from the young woman to the scene behind her and what remains of the Mitran priest, his half-spoken question is easily answered. "Oh," he mutters softly, his hand moving to rest on his sword's hilt almost absent-mindedly and his gaze resting once again on Drisella briefly before turning to her... pet, for lack of a more appropriate term.
His eyes narrow for a moment, but then he considers not only his rather unusual present circumstances and companions, but his own history as well. He looks at the curved sword sheathed next to his hip and smiles a thin and mirthless little smile. 'As if I am without my own voices and whispers in the dark,' he ponders before moving closer to Drisella. "May I see these?"
As he examines the piece of parchment and the wand of ivory carefully, Ethaniel uses both sight and touch in an attempt to discern their properties. Finally, he shares his findings with the others. "This scroll contains a spell that protects against creatures of chaos, regardless of whether they are good or evil," he says with a shrug before continuing. "And this wand can be used to heal simple wounds, though much of its power has already been spent."
Barnabas feels too tired and hurt to be much shocked by Drisella's gory appearance. At this point, he wasn't feeling much of anything.
"Any sight of either of those archers out there? If not, we're running on borrowed time. Anyone pay attention to how close the nearest town is?"
He gives Kergh a look of disdain when the little man makes an appearance. "Thanks for joining the party. Glad to see everyone pulling their weight in the escape."
Seeing Blackerly seem to stabilize under his and Oswald's treatment, Barnabas rifles through the Sergeant's pockets. He pockets the sack of coins and looking at the clay bottle,
he drinks it down.
"Mihail you want this sword? It seems to be off better make than the standard guard swords."
"Blackerly knows a man that seems to be responsible for my being here. I had hoped to get some information before we left, but if those two guards escaped, I'm not sure I'm going to have the luxury of the time I'll need to get him to talk. I think we should get out of here now. Grumblejack, can you carry him out with us? Once I get him to talk, you can eat him. I'm not sure you'll need to wait until he's dead."
Mikhail takes Blackerly's sword as Barnabas hands it to him. "There were archers? They can't have gotten far. We need to run them down before they can get to safety. Can any of you track?" He directs his attention back to the surrendered guard. "There must be horses here. How many and where?"
Strolling through the aisles of corpses, Kaynen assists in the efforts to relieve the fallen guards of any missed valuables.
"Best grab anything you can carry that doesn't carry the seal of Branderscar. We'll need every last copper we can get our hands on with the heat that will surely follow us from here..."
Sighing, Kaynen gives on last look about the prison and closes his eyes, imagining the tremendous heat that will radiate from the blaze they are about to set.
Returning this attention back to reality, he begins to arrange the room's contents in a manner to maximize the effectiveness of a fire before reaching for the warden's lamp, a smile on his face.
Smiling keenly as Ethaniel takes the wand and scroll from her, Drisella steps back and with a twitch of her brows looks around the ground-level of the tower. It's only now that she really seems to see Grumblejack again for what he really is, and momentary fear washes over her at his bulk and size. Tensing up, the young woman skirts around the edge of the room and slips back out into the cold rain. She shivers, steps backwards, and then turns into the tower looking for a cloak or something to cover herself with from the rain.
Near the door to the tower and smiling with the dumb smile of the mentally handicapped or truly ignorant Grumblejack stoops down and despite his burned feet, dog bites and general malnourishment easily picks up the unconscious form of Branderscar Prison Sergeant Blackerly. Throwing the fat body of Blackerly over his shoulder, Grumblejack sniffs at Blackerlys arm. He’s a fut un’ The ogre sighs with relish. Mabey ja just give meh a bit now? I’ll just take da fingers. He wunt miss a thumb. Grumblejack creepily whispers glancing at Barnabas, clearly savoring the idea of man flesh.
Meanwhile as Grumblejack contemplates the eventual gastropub experience of Sergeant Blackerly, Mikhail Halancoun in all of his terrible glory stands above the quivering and terrified guard, after having just made clear the lengths that he is willing to go in order to achieve his goals. Eyes wide the man glances at the sword now pinned through the body of the guard that was crawling away, his body still twitching as the man shutters like a cockroach pinned to a floor with a toothpick. Looking at the villains, bloody and vicious the man swallows as if fighting back the urge to retch himself.
We were all drinking in the Guardhouse. The man begins nervously. There was three of us plus the Serg. Then suddenly the wardens owl comes flapping outta nowhere. Scares the hell outta us. It had a note tied to its leg. Well the Serg takes it off and reads it before stuffing it in his pocket. He tells us that the prisoners were loose and at the Wardens tower. He sent Jarim over there. The guardsman gestures to the dying form of one of the guards. To go get the other men that were at the barracks next to the wall. Then he sent Victorn to go warn the Gatehouse and have them send a messenger by horse to Varyston. After all of that happened, the Serg had a few men lock up the Guardhouse tight and put guards on the roof with bows and arrows. It’s a full lock down. Then he took the rest along with Brother Harvin and came to assist the warden. Then thinking back, he remembers Mikhails second question. There was three horses, one for the warden, one for the sergeant, one for a messenger. They get kept next to the Gatehouse on the shore side. There’s a little stable there. Glancing at the dead and dying guards the man gulps and its clear what he is thinking. Lotta good it did him.
As the interrogation is ongoing, Drisella bloody and wet tiptoes around the bodies of the men that lay supine upon the floor. Slowly slinking around the room the young woman wanders, examining each of the dead guards. After a few moments she is able to find one whose cloak appears to be in respectable condition. As she goes to pick it up, Walker in Darkness half skips-prances forward jumping onto the cloak like a cat might pounce upon a mouse. Batting it to the floor, Walker cackle-purrs and leans forward on the cloak where the symbol of Branderscar lays emblazoned in blue and white upon the breast of the cloak. With a single rip! Walker tears away the heraldry before beginning to savage at the dead guards legs playfully.
Ignoring the events occurring downstairs, Kaynen begins his masterpiece. Carrying handfuls of books ever so carefully the artist creates something both beautiful and destructive. Grabbing handfuls of the wardens tomes the revolutionary begins to create a domino effect of cascading books, stretching from the third floor to the first, going along bed posts, into the wardens office, down stairwells, through the library and finally into the entrance hall. After perhaps fifteen minutes of careful and studious effect the work of art is complete. Holding the torch in one hand he the half-elf looks at the books as they stretch up the stairwell and up to the second floor while he holds in his hands the wardens torch. Eyes gleaming amid the blood and gore of the first floor, Kaynen looks upon his work like a child might look to a present during Winter Week.
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"The rain beats on the brow a mighty chill," Drisella notes in a muted, sing-song tone of voice as she lifts the tattered cloak up, looking down at the claw marks that have shredded away the heraldry. Quirking her shoulders up briefly, Drisella unfurls the cloak around her shoulders and clutches it shut with one hand. "A man could freeze to death wet and alone," the drum-beat rhythm continues as she spins slightly on one foot leaving a bloody spiral on the floor with a few toe marks before stepping back out of the tower, drawing the cloak's hood up.
"We should go," Drisella says over her shoulder, "someplace warm and full of..." Squinting, the girl looks at the bodies as if recognizing something. Then, turning to look at the tower, then down to the others. A question is posed to herself, an internal inquiry that goes unvoiced. Instead, she just waits there expectantly, barefoot in the rainy courtyard, awaiting instruction or stimuli.
Barnabas sighs, as the potion's healing knits his flesh together.
"I agree with the youngling. It's time to go. Mikhail, if you're done playing with your food, eat up, or throw him in with the others."
Barnabas can't help but shake his head in wonder as Grumblejack lifts the comatose Blackerly. Thank goodness he's on our side. Though I guess Good has little to do with it. "Sorry big fella. I don't want to chance hurting him before he wakes up, but I think I can do you one better."
Barnabas squats next to one of the dead guards. Pushing down the feelings of horror and revulsion that rise up in him, he takes out his dagger and proceeds to cut the corpse's arm off at the shoulder. His blade is sharp and with a few deft slices, the arm comes free. He takes to Grumblejack, "Enjoy."
"Finish up here. I'm going to see if there are any more guards about."
Barnabas scoops up Blackerly's key and head out into the night.
Mikhail shoots a dark glare at Barnabas, prickly at the flippant treatment of his vampirism. He should be treated as a natural ruler, not a beast or a monster. While he knows that his natural strength and power is comparable to the ogre, he should not be thought to have been cast in the same mold as the thoughtless beast. "Kergh. Please take this man and lock him in our prison." He leans down to whisper very quietly in the young misbegotten man's ear. "Kill all the prisoners and burn their bodies. They pray to their god of fire. Show them yours."
Mikhail gestures to the trembling, mad woman and her terrible pet. "We must catch up with the messenger before he gets word to the town about our escape. Can that track the rider as he flees? The hour is late, and the night is mine. He has mere minutes advantage on us, and lacks the ability to see in the dark, which will slow him." He gestures to the rest of them. "Everyone else, kill the remainder of the guards on the walls and in the guard house. Follow Barnabas in my stead."
He catches up in the dark courtyard and grabs Barnabas by the arm. "I am taking the girl and her pet to hunt down the messenger before he arrives with word of our escape. I will leave it to you to burn this place to the ground and lead the others to a safe place. However, we will have to meet you unless you wish to stay here and risk capture. Did our 'friends on the outside' give you instructions on where to go, or were we to simply make our way as best we can once escaped?"
Kaynen basks in the light and glory of the bonfire-that-was-Branderscar.
He waves off thoughts of chasing down the messengers.
"Let the messengers go, and deliver word that Branderscar has fallen at the hands of the Forsaken. Little evidence remains unburnt, and I do worry we may be late for our next appointment..."
Gathering up the few items he's managed to obtain since their initial escape, Kaynen strolls to the gatehouse and waits patiently for the others to evacuate the prison ground.
Mikhail snaps at Kaynen, "Word will be there soon enough. Information is the most valuable currency in this world. The more information we possess that our hunters - and there will be hunters - do not, the more power we possess. The more information that they know of us, the weaker our position. We will find and kill the messenger, and keep the information that he possesses out of the hands of our enemies."
"The guard has a horse, Mikhail, and a head start. I don't think you can catch him. Unless you can turn into a bat that is. Vampires do that, right?" He pauses a heartbeat to see if Mikhail will poof into a bat before continuing. " Anyways, it's not so dire, he won't know our names and the records have been destroyed, but if you want to try to catch him, I'm not going to stop you."
He squats down and scrapes out a rough map with his dagger in the muddy ground of the court yard,
"We're supposed to meet our benefactor in a manor house on the old moor road," Barnabas points to a spot on the map, "It'll be a house with a lantern burning in a second story window. I plan on cutting through the moors directly. It'll be miserable, but we'll avoid the town that way. Catch up if you can, but if you get into trouble, I can't say anyone is going to come after you."
Drisella considers the Walker when Mikhail makes his suggestion, but ultimately her focus shifts back to him with a slow shake of her head. "Too much rain, too fast the four-legs move. Walker hunts, but slowly. It cannot smell the guard's fear..." and the tilt of her head to the side and askance cast of her eyes wordlessly implies yet at the end.
Ethaniel looks on with mild disinterest as the others bicker amongst themselves, refraining for a few moments from offering an opinion and prefering to allow the argument to run its course. Still, he finds that he should at least say something on the matter, if for no other reason than to show them that he too is a part of this grim fellowship the Forsaken seem to be forming.
"I see no harm in giving pursuing the guard a try, I suppose," he says with a shrug, his tone conversational. "If Mikhail and whoever else goes with him succeed, then all the better for us. And if not, I do not see it as all that harmful when all is said and done."
"But," he adds, "if there is to be a chance of catching up to him, now would be the time to go about chasing after him. Before any more time passes and the point becomes moot."
As Barnabas creeps forward to scout the Gatehouse, now on full alert, Kergh transports the prisoner, the other Forsaken rapidly discuss options and Grumblejack enjoys a hearty snack the weather continues to deteriorate. The wind outside of the Wardens Tower howls and the slowly building drizzle has now turned into a full downpour. For those still alive it is cold and miserable, but at least it is not the confines of a cell and that is something by the Dark Prince to be thankful for.
Creeping along the edges of the garden and using the vegetation to his advantage, Barnabas makes is way towards the large stone edifice that stands between him and freedom. The wind and the cold sea air bite though his stolen guardsman’s uniform and the rich planting soil underneath his feet make a muted sucking sound as the rain turns the ground muddy. As the wily businessman trudges forward he is able to make out ahead of him the three storied, old gatehouse that was once a key defensive part of the Castle Brand. Built from sturdy worn stone that has become crusted with sea salt over the years, the gatehouse is approximately one hundred and forty feet long, seventy feet wide and thirty five feet tall and it is connected on the east and west sides to the walls of Prison Branderscar.
Though the darkness, pouring rain and keening wind the gatehouse shines brightly in the night. It appears as if ever lantern within the structure has been lit to blanket the area around the structure with light. On the first floor of the gatehouse, Barnabas is able to spot two possible entrances. The first is a set of massive wooden double doors that appear large enough to allow for a carriage to ride through with clearance to spare. The second entrance appears far less grand; a small door on the western side of the gatehouse.
After studying the structure for several moments it appears clear that it is manned. The slaver is able to spot one guard onto of the structure who seems to keep himself low behind the bulwark while at least two more shapes seem to create silhouettes on the second floor, though arrow slits from with the soft light of lanterns spills from.
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The ancient stone of Branderscar Prison seemed to absorb heat, and in the darkness of the prison cell that once held the Forsaken, Irena Merik now conscious slowly tore another strip from her ragged and bloody dress. Silently weeping the innocent serving woman held the strip against her elderly husbands arrow wound and cried. The slowly growing pile of bloody rags at her side was a testament to her devotion.
In the far corner of the same cell, Guardsman Terrik sat scowling while his hands remained manacled above him. In the distant part of his mind that wasn’t consumed with cowardliness and self loathing the man thought back to the moments before his capture at the hands of the forsaken. After he had been dragged into the cell, he thought he had been able to distantly hear the screams of the other guards as they were hacked down. Briefly he wondered if giving the prisoners the information had mattered. The self-serving part of him said no, but the quite voice of his conscious said yes.
Groaning beneath the care of his wife Irena, Gregor Merik, once hail and strong hated himself for not being able to defend his wife. She had deserved better. Once years ago he had been a guardsman on the Watchwall, guarding the frontier from the bestial hordes of the north. He had been strong then and quick with a sword. But now… now he was an old man with an arrow through his gut and a wife he couldn’t protect.
Suddenly the silence of the moment is interrupted by the sound of the iron reinforced prison door at the end of the southern wall creaking open on its rusty iron hinges. As the light shines out of the room, Irena holds up her hands to shade her eyes and though the light streaming out of the doorway, the silhouettes of two men can be made out against.
The both men are dressed in the livery of guards, but that is where the resemblance ends. The first appears bloody and bruised with a large welt around his neck that is already starting to turn black. He is disarmed and his tabard and his tabard appears ripped and torn. The second man however is the one that Irena recoils from. She has seen this face before. This is the man that held here down and whispered to her while his misshapen lips dripped saliva onto her face. This was the man with his sunken eyes and brutish sloped forehead that she last saw as his large meaty hands choked her into submission… and now he was back.
Cling! Clang! rattled the large chains that the bestial dwarf dragged behind him on the stone floor with one hand as the other pushed the broken guard with the other. The leader had told him what to do. Kill all the prisoners and burn their bodies. They pray to their god of fire. Show them yours." Cruelly smiling Kergh pushed the man again towards the cell. There was power in order. The strong dominated the weak. It was the natural order of things. To show mercy only allowed more weakness to grow in its place.
Pushing the man forward one last time, Kergh whipped out the length of chain like an improvised whip. It would need spikes and barbs eventually, Kergh decided but to turn one’s own instruments of imprisonment into a weapon of vengeance was in keeping with the teaching of the Dark Prince. Get in there! Kergh slurred, a fat rope of drool falling from his misshapen lip.
Withering under the gaze of the forsaken creature and acolyte of darkness the man complied though the fear evident in his eyes. Quickly placing the manacle once worn by Kergh himself onto the guard, the priest closed it with a snick!. Closing the door with a loud Kergh headed downstairs. The leader had told him to kill them first and burn the bodies, but Kergh knew that the Dark Prince preferred his sacrifices to be alive while given to the flames… and there was two barrels of oil remaining.
Stepping away from the Mainhall and heading back through the rain towards the Wardens Tower, Kergh had a smile across his face. Behind him, outlining the misshapen man was the form of the Mainhall now awash in flames. The oil had burned ever so nicely and the screams of his captors had been like hymns to the First of the Fallen. Standing there before the prisoners as he had held the barrel of oil and doused the room, Kergh had felt a strength and resolve fill him as he had never had before. His was the true lord of the flames. Soon… soon they would all know that.
As the wind continued to blow, carrying with it the salt from the sea, the Forsaken silently marched towards the Gatehouse. Their freedom was close, closer now than it had been since they had each been captured for each of their heinous crimes that had, in the eyes of fair Talingarde declared that they had turned away from the loving embrace of Mitra. As the rain fell and plastered their hair to their heads and soaked through their corpse looted armor they each knew what they had to do. The plan through hastily created was well throughout, as befitted the cunning intelligence of Mikhail.
Along the eastern side of the rampart walls the tarry beast with listless eyes known only as Walker in Darkness, slipped from shadow to shadow. The beckoning of his master made it clear his role. He was to rend and devour. To bring fear to the hearts of men. It was well that she was learning so quickly. Oozing along the stonework the eidolon craned its neck up in an impossible angle towards the ramparts above that sheltered two humans. They would be easy prey.
On the western rampart wall, Ethaniel, Barnabas, Mikhail and Kergh readied themselves. The young swordsman Ethaniel in the shelter of a nearby watchtower gripped his blade tight. He had felt a warmness that had begun to suffuse his arm since his first strike in anger with his blade. Despite the wind and rain, it almost seemed to ward off the cold so as to not slow his reflexes. Glancing towards the flat surface of the wall, the stoic man nodded. They would never see him coming.
Hiding along the western edge of the Great Hall, the structure itself now up inflames despite the weather, Kaynen crouched next to the lumbering form of Grumblejack, who held a barrel of lantern oil the way a man might hold a small keg of brandy. Tossing the Alchemist Fire he held in his hands up and down, the jovial man whistled to himself as he imagined what the sight of ten gallons of lantern oil exploding at once would look like. Glancing between the barrel and the vial of alchemical fire, Kaynen grinned again. They will never see this coming.
Meanwhile on the eastern side of the Great Hall, Oswald, Drisella and Ariana lay in wait. In the shadows of the building Oswald sat cross legged holding his doll and softly cooing to it. Soon my dear... so so soon. Yes! We are going to make a fire and burn them all down, Yes we will, Yes we will. Oswald murmured, while rocking back and forth.
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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.
Kergh is out of breath when the window patch takes effect. He stands at the back his new white wand of Mitran healing seems to work well and now it is time for the mace and shield.
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.
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.
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.