Mot stumbles as the hall is plunged into darkness. His night vision non-existent as the magical illumination turns out...
...like a light.
Rasping whispers and soft padding footsteps escape from the dark of the dining hall.
The goblin prince ducks, and Nme’an warhammer slams the stone wall, scattering small grey chips of rock. The little warrior gasps as claws and teeth dig into his thin frame.
Gixard growls in anger when Themp’s arrow pierces his side. He lets go of the vine, but it is already too late, as it coils and twists around his arms and legs. In one quick movement, the open green hand rips a second tiny blade from a sheath in the small of his back, pivoting on his back leg and arcing a swing up at the paladin.
Nme'an easily shifts his stance and the small blade whiffs through the air. When Gixard lands from his spin, he is further up the stairs, no longer between the fearsome tiger and the stern knight.
After a reflexive shudder, the goblin squirms out of the writhing vine in the blink of an eye. At his feet, the green weapon already twists and rolls to ensnare his muddy boots.
Nme'an moves to head off the goblin before taking another swing at him.
for
Seeing his companions down the short flight of stairs, Mot comes to a halt and once more attempts to break the bonds that hold him.
Shark side-steps up the stairs, following the goblin.
Beorae shifts slightly to watch the flank at the top of the stairs. "The guy in the skull mask up there is casting a lot of spells. I don't know what they are, but I don't think he's summoning rainbows and daisies." She draws the first healing wand and channels its final spell into her abdomen, drawing a sharp breath as the magic spreads across her wounds.
She shoves the dead stick into her bag and grabs the charged one from her pocket.
Smacked hard by the heavy blow from the warhammer, Gixard suffers a bite from the grey tiger. He staggers back, accidentally avoiding Shark's claws. His weapons remain in his little green hands, but his many wounds leave him sluggish. Realization of defeat plays over his bloodied face.
Gotta hand it to him, little fella is pretty resilient, Themp thinks to himself, letting go another arrow.
More hushed incantations echo from the darkness, as do the clinking of chains.
A glass flask flies high from the shadows in the corridor, and shatters against Mot’s webbed breastplate. Its contents ignite and explode all over the highlander, and even Olp hisses in pain from the flash of fire. The flames travel over the piper’s burly form, burning hot at the webbing and the Urlghain entangled underneath.
A rasping gurgle escapes Gixard’s bloody lips as Themp’s arrow sinks deep into his neck. The shot whips his body against the wall before he flops limply onto the stairs. In the blink of an eye, the wriggling vine on the ground fastens around him firmly.
The goblin prince is unconscious, and bleeding out. So grievous are his wounds, he may perish in the next few seconds.
After the initial blast, Mot realizes he is shedding light again, only now it is because he is on fire! The flames sizzle and snap the white strands that bind him, but the webbing also makes the chemical fire burn hotter.
With a grunt and an intake of hot air Mot sets to patting at his body trying to extinguish the flames. Seeing that it's not having much effect the Highlander tumbles forward and attempts to roll to damp down the fire, as he was taught when just a young child.
Nme'an watches as the life drains from the Gixard's eyes but then sighs in sadness at the further pain he is about to inflict on the vile creature.
"My apologies, but we are not quite finished with you..." the Knight Lieutenant whispers to the goblin as he reaches out and places a hand on the worst of Gixard's wounds. The goblin's body twitches once ever so slightly but then begins to take in slow, labored breaths once more.
Turning back towards the stairs and his friends, Nme'an calls out for Olp, saying, "Olp, Zu'u praag hi wah dein daar Gogil! Dein mok tahriik ful mu vis laan mok laan mindin mu sent voth vorey!"
As he calls out to the dragonkin, Nme'an also retrieves sets down his warhammer and retrieves his sword and shield from where they were pulled from his grasp.
Olp scampers away from the highlander's hot mess and rounds the corner to guard the unconscious goblin. The vine continues to writhe and wrap around Gixard's small green form. Wary of the druid's magic, the kobold cautiously snatches up on the goblin's small blades that he dropped on the stairs. His draconic yellow eyes meet Nme'an's and he nods affirmatively.
Beoare moves up the opposite stairs toward Mot. Upon reaching the Highlander, she reaches out and tries to heal some of his wounds.
"We need to light this place up. They're attacking us from the shadow! How many of them even are there?"
Certain that Beorae will exclaim anything if they attack from within the room, Themp keeps an eye out across the staircase, in case the assassin returns.
From the dark, the summoner continues to chant.
The spell being cast is summoning another creature!
Another raspy voice utters an incantation in the darkness. Even though Themp watches the stairway closely, nothing shows itself from the shadow.
The other voice is reciting an incantation that covers the caster’s hand in bluish light, icy cold and weakening to those it touches.
The fire roils over Mot’s body, burning highland flesh before slowly dying out.
"I don't know. There are at least two of them casting spells, and then there's the guy who shot me. So I'd say at least three."
Beorae reaches out to Mot and channels more healing into the barbarian.
"Mot, come down out of the hallway. And where's your sword?"
She turns back to the group. "Okay, one of them is summoning another creature, and another one is casting Chill Touch, so don't let them get too close to you."
"Another creature? Which was the first one? Also, we need to light up these corridors. They can't hide in the shadows if there are no shadows."
"I'm trying to create light! They're… they've cast some sort of spell to create Darkness, though."
"Spells? What happened to good old fire?" Themp playfully mocks, indicating downstairs.
As the healing energy washes over him Mot lets out a sigh of contentment. With the flames finally dying out on their own the Highlander climbs to his feet drawing his often neglected shield and flail from where they've long been strapped to his kit, leaving his pipes where they lay on the floor.
"Mah thank's Beeoray, but ye shoold save yoor minestraysheons fer tha lad strahped tae tha bed!" He nods to the room holding the tortured prisoner. "Like lee hea needs et moore than Ah!" A pained smile fights for right of place on his face. Though for moment he looks confused before answering the Druid. "Mah sword? Et's rahgt there on mae back!" The Highlander casts a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the blade of his fathers was indeed still secured in it's hoop and brace.
Weapons in hand, the warrior of Casns slams flail against shield and takes in a massive breath of air, preparing to roar out in song yet again.
Beorae nods, ”You get me to that room, and I’ll see what I can do for him.”
"A summoned creature? If you two let me lead I have a spell that can keep the creature away," Nme'an says."Where are we heading"
A low, bestial growl comes from the darkness, and for a moment, one incantation pauses before the chanter begins anew. After a vicious snarl the sound of nails scratching on stone scrape through the dining hall. Bouncing yellow eyes glow from the gloom, bounding closer and closer, with them comes ragged and bloodthirsty snarls!
Suddenly a wolf black as night springs from the shadows, landing just in front of the Casns! Glowing yellow eyes roll and foam gathers around the sharp fangs, this dark-furred canine seems like a twisted cousin to the common predator of Vyren.
This is no ordinary wolf. This creature is a lurker from lesser planes of the Abyss, and is more resistant to magic, fire, and the cold. Such a Fiendish monster can only be summoned by those evil of heart and purpose. It’s resistance to magic might interfere with spells that normally ward against summoned evil creatures.
A spell was cast onto the summoned wolf to drive it into a reckless bloodthirst.
The sound of heavy, metallic footsteps thud down the darkened corridor watched by Themp, along with the soft clinking of chains. A bone-chilling, menacing laugh booms along the stone walls. Metal creaks and scrapes on metal, like one bearing the heavy armor of a knight. The laughter methodically approaches, not quite to the corner where Themp has his arrow trained. By the weighty and iron sound of the slow and deliberate march, the one who approaches in the dark must be very big -perhaps as big as the highlander…
The sound of the laughing, heavily armored figure is an illusion, a magical figment that tricks the ears.
"Mot, step back and I can deal with the wolf," Nme'an says to the highlander.
"Shark, guard!" Beorae commands to her companion, indicating Nme'an.
Beorae peers around the corner at the wolf. Her eyes squint at the beast's unnatural appearance before she pulls her head back around the corner.
"I'm pretty sure that wolf is resistant to magic, fire, and cold. Completely unnatural. You ward might not completely work, Nme'an. And he cast a spell on it to make it more aggressive."
Just then, the druidess hears the sounds coming from the other hallway, but is completely unfazed. "And that sound is just a trick, there's nothing there."
The druidess reaches into her bag and pulls out the potion of Sanctuary. The intensity of the moment is such that she barely even notices the smell of honey and vinegar as she downs it in one gulp.
Mot frowns down the stairways, across to the dark end of the other corridor. He trusts his allies, especially the wise Beorae, but he cannot ignore what he hears with his own ears. The metallic footsteps and harsh laughter sound ominous, and he worries the tales of his ancestral foe are true.
“Nae, lassie. ‘Tis teh souund of Craig! Blaggard es back froom teh deed! Agaen!”
Staying behind his shield, the highlander backs away from the rabid wolf. Big blue eyes meet Nme’an’s, and he gestures vaguely in the direction of the black-furred creature. “Teh magic pup es oll yerrs, boyo. Ah gots me a begger curr tah put daown!”
His determined gait shuffles past his traveling companions, until he begins striding up the other staircase. “Couldnae stand tah stey awey!” he taunts into dark, from which the iron clanking and cruel laughter ring out.
“Yoo can quet yer hidin' in teh darrk!” his rich Urlghain brogue echoes off the stone. With a frustrated grunt he wags his shield arm. “Shoo yerself!”
Suddenly, amber energy bounces and springs from his arm and sets the wooden shield aglow. Light bathes the top of the stair, where no one yet stands. Still the metallic marching continues ever closer to the corner above.
At Mot's retreat, the black wolf lunges at his boots, but is a second too late. Sharp teeth snap closed but remain bared at the other prey the predator can see.
Nme'an watches as Mot propels himself towards the approaching sound and is tempted to go with the big man, but not at the expense of leaving the others exposed to the powerful summoned creature approaching from their right.
"Help Mot," Nme'an orders, "I will keep this one where it is."
Nme'an asks the heavens for protection then advances to within striking distance of the meanicing unnatural animal.
"You shall not pass," Nme'an tells the dark wolf as he levels his shield against it and any unseen foe beyond.
"What do you mean trick? How would there be nothing there?" Themp exclaims, rushing off in Mot's aid, though in a sneaky fashion.
Shark pads up the stairs and crouches warily behind the knight. The tiger’s eyes are on the wolf, but his ears flit at every sound of a possible threat to Nme’an.
Thundering footsteps and maniacal laughter gets closer and closer; Themp and Mot expect to see the big source of the noise round the corner at any second!
Glowing yellow eyes, frothing at the mouth, the bristling black wolf lunges at Nme’an! Sharp fangs smack into what appears to be nothing. The wolf snaps again and its snout is rebuffed by an invisible wall. The summoned creature cannot get any closer than one foot to the warded paladin, but by the bloodthirst in its eyes it gives no indication of relenting.
More prayers echo down from the dining hall, but over the growls of the wolf and the clanking of footsteps, the incantation is difficult to discern.
Someone in the dark called on foul gods to grant them favor in battles against their foes.
The hallway, as far as the light shows, is empty. The sound of marching and laughing still echoes out from the area directly in front of the corner, but nothing is there.
The light carried by the adventurer reveals a bed of caltrops laid across the hallway . A scattered mess of sharp metal points threaten a careless footfall.
The Casns' long legs take a couple stone steps with each stride until he reaches the top. Grimacing, he grits yellow teeth as he rounds the corner, only to find nothing there. Big blue eyes narrow as he casts about for any source of the trickery, though now the sounds of scraping metal and laughter seem hollow in his ears.
Grunting, Mot hefts his round shield and shakes his chained weapon and he advances down the hallway, holding the wood slab to deflect anything that might spring from the darkness. The light from his shield pushes the shadows back with every step. In spite of the deceitful magic, his ears are attentive to what he cannot see, like a hunter on the prowl.
Soon he notices a dull metallic gleam on the floor ahead of him. An array of tiny steel spikes lay scattered over the stone, an underfoot danger to anyone who dared continue. Again he bares his snaggled teeth, this time as a grin down at the pitiful trap.
"This wolf cannot move past me or harm me," Nme'an says to Beorae. "But I am exposed here looking down a long dark tunnel. Perhaps you and your Shark can move back a ways so I can take shelter around this corner?"
At the paladin's request, Beorae moves back down the steps to make room.
"Shark will stay with you, Nme'an, but we can't just stay here. The longer we wait, the more time they have to cast spells and make themselves stronger. Someone up there just called upon some evil god to grant them favor…"
Nme'an moves back around the corner, pushing Shark to move back with him.
"Push ahead then. I will follow," the knight answers. "But I must stay to the back to keep this wolf from you. I will lend support with healing and fire until I can move to the front again"
Themp quietly pads up the stairway right after Mot, his bow ready for the laughing ironclad giant. Rounding the corner, he is surprised when he sees the hallway has no large warrior other than Mot Casns. Recovering and flashing a smile at the druid, the thief stalks quickly behind the big man. He sees a hiding spot halfway up the corridor, but he will have to hurry to get there before being noticed. Ahead of him, Mot stops and stares down at a bed of caltrops.
Once he is in position, and (hopefully) out of sight from the grey men, Themp hopes that they only notice the light coming from Mot, and not the light that could give away his hiding spot.
The fiendish wolf snaps at Nme’an when he steps back, but is again rebuffed by an invisible barrier. The summoned creature pursues and the snarling lunge is stopped short once more by the paladin’s protective spell.
The dining hall continues to echo the chants of one uttering magical words in the dark.
The chanter called once more on evil gods to guide them to victory.
Drawing her shield once again , the druidess screws up her courage and prepares to force her way past the terrifying wolf. She leans out with her free hand and firmly grabs the back of Shark’s neck, ready to use the cat’s movement to help catapult her forward. ”Defend me,” she says in the cat’s ear, and with one single movement, druid and companion launch forward.
Shark launches at the wolf, a stunning whirl of muscle and claws that slams the evil creature into the opposite wall at the top of the stair. A split-second later, Beorae slides past the two creatures and moves down the hallway, shield at the ready.
"Bi Sevenstone?!" Nme'an asks in surprise as the willowy Druid sics her tiger on the dangerous wolf then surges forward past them both. If the Paladin ever felt the need to curse, now was it.
"Ambapo kuzimu unafikiri utaenda?" he calls after his companion before giving chase himself. On his second step forward he feels the slightest pop in the air around him and somehow knows that the spell that had been keeping the wolf at bay has been breached. Still, he feels it better to place himself between his companion and the wolf than to allow her to place herself alone between two enemies.
"Kuwa mwangalifu!" he calls out to Beorae as he skids to a heavy stop behind her.
"Be careful!"
The bloodthirsty wolf snaps at the grey tiger but the canine teeth fail to pierce Shark's thick hide. In the blink of an eye, the striped beast has a firm hold on the black wolf.
With a running start, the highlander's long legs launch him up and over the stretch of little metal spikes. His big feet touch down on the other side and his glowing shield casts light on part of the darkened dining hall.
A spiked chain whips out from the darkness just as Mot plants his boots, and although the big man tries to raise his shield, the cruel weapon lashes across his hairy head. The grey man with the skull hooked into his chest grins wickedly at the spatter of Urlghain blood. Clinking heavy chains ring out over the silence.
Growling in pain, the Casns wildly snaps the head of his flail at the shadowy foe.
But dark mage is quick and avoids the attack.
As the Casns launches himself over the traps, Themp hurries ahead covertly, almost following his lead before the grey man lashes out.
Finally a target Themp thinks to himself, not noticing how injured Mot is.
Securing one of the few poisoned arrows in his quiver, he aims at the strange assailant and shoots, point-blank.
With rolling, glowing yellow eyes, the black wolf struggles against the big grey cat.
But again, the tiger’s hide is too tough for the wolf’s fangs.
Themp's arrow pierces the grey man’s side!
Hissing in pain at the unexpected shot, the evil priest glances down the corridor behind Mot.
His all-black eyes seem to bore into Themp, and the thief sees the dark mage's bared teeth make an unsettling smile at the pain from his oozing wound. He side-steps to directly face the two in the hallway.
“I see you now, archer; you cannot hide. Will you witness the death of this oaf, or will you flee in terror!”
The rasping words chill Themp to his core, and tests his instinct of fight or flight!
The voice that threatens Themp used a spell to frighten the thief, to make him run away in fear.
The softest sound of steel rubbing against fabric, and a single, muffled clink of glass comes from the dark end of the hallway with Nme'an and Beorae. Someone, or something, is either cleaning a blade or applying a substance to a blade...
The half-elves advance down the hallway with the snarling scrap of tooth and claw behind them. Nothing assails them from the dark ahead.
The priest's words certainly leave Themp shaken, but not stirred enough to leave his now clearly wounded friend behind.
"'Flee'? Who do you take me for, you cheap shaman?" the scoundrel retorts, nocking one of his countless regular arrows and letting it soar.
"Sounds like Themp found one of them in the other hallway. Stay behind me. Let's get to them, but no sense in rushing into an ambush," Nme'an says as he moves up the hallway.
He spots the next doorway ahead of him and pulls it open, forming a half-wall just ahead of him. It might not do much more than slow an opponent down before they slam it closed again, but it's better than nothing!
The door opens to an unlit room, wafting a faint and strange musk to those near the doorway. By the paladin's shining sword, the room is sparsely furnished with a bed with blankets cast aside, a writing desk littered with parchment, a night stand with small drawers, and a wooden wardrobe in the back corner. A tiny black skull serves as an inkwell on the desk, with a feather quill resting in its underbite jaw.
“Ye callen mea an’ oooaf?!” the highlander sputters. With a hairy face twisted in anger, he circles the flail over his head and steps up to deliver a blow to the dark mage.
The chained metal ball whiffs the air.
Evading the wolf’s attacks, Shark shifts his weight and sinks his claws into his foe even further, attempting to completely disable the large dog.
Beorae follows Nme’an up the hallway. ”Ni nini maana, 'Unakwenda wapi' !? Ulisema kushinikiza mbele!”
”What do you mean, ‘Where are you going’!? You said to push ahead!”
"Nilimaanisha kifungu nyingine, si zamani mbwa mwitu uchawi wewe alikuwa tu alionya mimi kuhusu!" Nme'an replies.
Beorae glares at the back of the Paladin’s head. ”You mean the one behind us?”
Shark's strong legs press the enraged summoned wolf into the stone corner, where the creature cannot move at all. Black fur twitches from the tensed muscles underneath, but the fiendish beast is no match for the big grey cat.
The half-elves take cover behind the door opened by knight, but nothing assails them.
Themp’s arrow strikes true, yet it only brings a crazed smile to the grey man's gaunt face.
“Very well,” the skull-wearer calls out to the archer. He turns a serene, black-eyed gaze to the Casns towering over him. Themp can barely hear him say to Mot, "Cherish these moments..."
The dark priest holds his chains aside to fully display the profane skull-piece hanging from his chest. A blackish-purple energy pulses from the skeletal eyes and washes over everything like unholy fire. The wave of corruption passes over Themp, and the sensation is unlike anything he has ever felt -a horrific mix of sickness and despair and darkness. It felt like death.
"Hata sasa sisi ni kugawa na wengine wakati sauti kama kwamba wanahitaji msaada wetu," Nme'an says as he again begins moving forward. He pushes past the door, leaving it open flat against the wall as he says: "Mimi nilikuwa na matumaini ya kuweka sisi pamoja!"