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Ceceka glares at the road ahead. How much easier would life be if Geb simply took complete control? Or is this what Geb wants, for them to keep each other busy by plotting against one another? "If we get to talk to one of them, we'll get to talk to all of them. I suppose it is as Caraid says: we start with Pesabnet, and then see who else comes knocking."
Part of Ceceka is intrigued by the idea of visiting Nemret Noktoria. For once, he'd be the one lusted over by thousands. Sure, they'd want to eat him up, literally, but that feeling of being wanted and desired does warm his heart a little. "I'd be honored, High Priest. "
A confused frown unfolds itself on Ceceka's forehead. He eyes Aily and then Telvir, wondering whether to indulge the being's questions or charge in and undo it.
Ceceka grunts when Telvir aids his descent with magic. "This place is too beautiful for the likes of Hyrune. Now, how do we get up there?", he says as he points at the other stalactite.
Cheery as ever, Ceceka gets up and scowls at the world. "Fine, let's move. That fool either wants to sit out the storm down there or he has something rotten planned for Geb. Either way, I'm going to claim his head."
The warrior laughs off the vile magic thrown at him by the skeletal warriors. "Did you think this would hurt me?!" The outburst is followed by more manic laughter and slaughter.
Ceceka charges in after Humerus and assists the skeletal warrior in its efforts to undo one of the three greatsword-wielding menaces.
For a brief moment, Ceceka regrets taunting the massive bastard, but the overwhelming feeling, one that burns like a searing truth, is anger. He unleashes it on the nearby troop of skeletons and starts smashing them to a pulp.
Savaged by Cawadok's whip and a forest of sharp-tipped longspears, Ceceka roars in anger. He thrives during these moments when life balances on a razor-sharp edge and death is more likely than survival, and part of him willingly invites the pain. "You shouldn't have done that, Cawadok! The notion of sparing this foul creature's unlife is a long-forgotten memory by now.
There's no room for banter in Ceceka's mind nor does he care for it. There is glory to be won today, mountains to be slain, lords to be humbled. And there will be pain, so much delicious pain. He rushes forward and narrows his field of view to the sumbreiva, and just the sumbreiva. Telvir is already taking care of the blasted skeletons, but the big one, Ceceka is claiming that one. "Bend the knee now and I won't make this hurt too much," he spits out with utter disdain for their foe.
Ceceka has stayed silent during the discussion so far. He's been busy imagining the fight in the theater of his mind and repeatedly rerunning the scene, hoping to stumble upon a key detail that can help them seize the day. "We are fortunate to be a mix of the living and the dead, and it might be exactly that which will drive our foe's choices. Were I an undead cleric, I'd target myself and or Aily with paralyzing commands and then sack my minions on us. Alternatively, it might throw its minions at Humerus and then use its divine power to blast us with negative energy. But ... that somehow feels too obvious."
Ceceka spends his private time attending public gatherings in temples and shrines. Their recent encounters with the faith and the faithful of Urgathoa have Ceceka seeking answers, and he doesn't mind that Urgathoa gatherings tend to include the finest food Geb has to offer. A potential side effect of being seen at such gatherings is the public perception Ceceka might be a pious person.
Ceceka snarls at the priestess. She's playing with her food, and the warrior is very much aware that they are that food. The urge to smash her head in is ever-present, but the Pallid Lady clearly favors the priestess, and who is he to challenge the Lady? "Fine. We'll beat your minion to an inch of its unlife if that is what you desire."
Ceceka ransacks the place while in the thrall of a state of clarity. He doesn't find much, other than some uncontaminated food, and surely the Goddess would want him to enjoy it, so he does. "These fools deserve the stake. Quick, let us tend to our wounds and then press on. I hunger for violence."
The blossoming pain puts Ceceka on edge and for once, he feels truly alive. His reactions are faster than ever, and he starts taking the daemon apart with pinpoint precision.
Ceceka goes after the frightened daemon now that the vampire scum has been dealt with. The bastard will regret messing with Smoke. "Hey, you!", the warrior screams. Briefly, his weapon kisses the sky and then, promising death, comes crashing down on the daemon.
Ceceka accepts the pain and lets in. He's used to it, in a sense is molded by it, and he lets the pain guide his weapon.
Ceceka moves forward and engages the bloodsuckers in hand-to-hand combat. He uses the reach of his fauchard to keep their fangs at bay.
Ceceka frowns when it dawns upon him that these vampires might very well serve Blood Lord Hyrune. If so, what are they doing here, guarding a passage in a closed-up temple complex? The urge to grab them by their pale necks and bash their skulls against the closed doors until the answers come spilling out grows within Ceceka, but for now, he controls himself. "By whose command?"
While the acid gnaws away at his skin, Ceceka recognizes the carvings on the wall as depictions of the Empty Chorus. He needs to dig deep but manages to remember one of their mantras. He recites it, hoping his (genuine) dedication to Urgatoa will give them free passage. Or at the very least, just him.
A groan follows a sigh. "Get it on with already, Caraid. We got a temple to cleanse and who knows, if we're lucky enough a goddess to please." It is then that Ceceka realizes his phrasing is highly unfortunate and promptly shuts up.
Ceceka shoots Telvir an annoyed look. Unlike the elf, Ceceka does appreciate the art and what it depicts. "Excess and wastefulness go hand in hand. One cannot exist without the other." He then returns his attention to the matter at hand. "Are you alright, Aily? We should take a moment to address our wounds and then continue."
Ceceka uses the distraction that Aily provides to land a brutal blow.
Acting purely on instinct, Ceceka bites back at the skeleton. It isn't very effective, but it does help and vents some of his anger.
Ceceka steps up to the challenge and strikes at one of the enormous skeletons. "Die!"
Ceceka is the wall Humerus bounces against. He helps the skeleton to recover from his encounter with the stone door and then lets go of him. "Good job. Let's see what is inside. They must have melted the door handles together for a good reason, so be prepared."
Ceceka groans when Khain's voice speaks directly into his ear. "We've become Errand Lords." Even though he complains, he won't suggest not doing as Kortash Khain requests, because there's a reason they're still only Errand Lords: they need to earn what comes next.
Ceceka takes his time to inspect the evidence recovered from the Cerulean Glade. The name gives the impression of a place of great natural beauty, but the Cerulean Glade is a rather unimpressive heap of drab stone. It's befitting, really, considering its former gnomeish inhabitants. And so, Ceceka meanders through the evidence and after going through all of it, returns to the actual Cerulean Glade to see if he missed anything.
Ceceka frowns when the dead man walking suggests Kemnebi might be involved. Now how would [i]that[/] make any sense? He'll have to think about it when his blood is no longer boiling. "Never thought you'd turn soft like this," Ceceka mutters when the group decides to spare the gnome.
Ceceka enjoys not being the center of the enemies' attention for once. Calm and collected, the warrior leans into his formidable technique to inflict maximum punishment on the insolent gnomes.
Ceceka fails to roll out of the way when a gust of freezing winds comes their way, but he does remember to hold his breath when one of the gnomes summons a cloud of toxic gasses. Not amused by the deadly magics the gnomes are throwing at him, Ceceka charges forward.
The invisible chain shirt confuses Ceceka, for who would wear such armor? The obvious answer eludes Ceceka: Aily. "This chain shirt should fetch a good price on the market, I reckon. Hmm."
When the golem lands a punishing blow Ceceka wants to scream and yell at it. But it being a golem, it wouldn't understand, so Ceceka punishes it in the only way he can think of - by smashing it to bits.
Ceceka comes to Aily's aid and attempts to unmake the golem with a mighty blow.
The blast of sunlight ignites Ceceka's anger and causes the warrior to retaliate furiously.
Ceceka follows Aily's lead when she charges in, and he throws his might and weight into a powerful strike.
Knowing that time is of the essence, Ceceka resists the urge to show these undead what he's made of. Instead, he reminds them who carries Geb's favor and who is soliciting an invitation to become a permanent part of the city walls' mortar mix.
Ceceka jumps onto the deck of a boat and hears how the wood croaks and groans. It then collapses under the combined weight of his body and armor, forcing Ceceka to waste valuable time getting unstuck.
Unlike the others, Ceceka is all too eager to let it come to blows. Part of him craves to cut the aristocrat to pieces, but now is not the time to entertain such distractions. The wraith, finding it and cutting it to pieces, that's what matters.
The thrill of the chase is causing Ceceka's heartbeat to spike and he can feel how its beating reverberates throughout his entire being. His feet match its pace as they carry him forward, his entire being eager to punish the wraith for its insolence. "This way!"
Ceceka peers through ribcages and ethereal shapes, but the blasted wraith is a slippery one and nearly manages to escape his watchful, but Ceceka doesn't give up easily.
Ceceka jumps to the next ship and then turns around to see if the others are managing to keep up. He needn't worry about Humerus, but Caraid and Telvir might struggle. He looks for a piece of rigging he can unfasten so he may swing it towards the ship he came from. "Here! Come on!"
Undeterred by the fact he just emptied the contents of his stomach, Ceceka continues his onslaught. The sharp edge of his fauchard repeatedly seeks out the abomination, honoring its wielder's desire to inflict maximum punishment.
Ceceka's world washes away in a sea of revolting tastes and smells. Gagging and reeling from the assault on his senses, Ceceka does what he can to get the monster off of him.
Ceceka tries to keep up with Humerus but fails to do so. This angers him.
Ceceka has some nautical experience, but none of the said experience involved being part of the ship's crew. He was there to protect the wares in case of attack. Some things never change. "A wise choice. Trade is the lifeblood of Geb, after all."
Not gifted with a sharp tongue nor the ability to wield magic and temper arcane machinations, Ceceka instead returns to the old ways. Hard work, training, sweat and tears, and - of course - prayer to the Dark Ones. He spends a couple of days holed up inside his lair penning down his routines and how being in touch with Zon-Kuthon and Urgathoa can give the 'ordinary' warrior an edge in fights yet to come. Eventually, he gets himself a literal ghost writer to help finish the damned manuscript. After more days pass, and with some trepidation, Ceceka declares the rosy-colored leather-clad manual 'On War - Strength In Darkness, Resiliency In Glut' to be done. For now, that is, for it's but a start. He then hands it over to the relevant authorities, eager for their feedback.
"No! Don't you dare think you can get away!"
Maddened by the fact that none of his strikes managed to connect, Ceceka gives it all his to separate the ghoul from its sorry head.
Ceceka sees that Telvir is in trouble and comes to his aid.
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