Search Posts
Badly wishing to just switch to his axes, the Kasatha nevertheless fires another shot from his bow.
As soon as the door opens, Enrathe fires an arrow at the armored, flying thing, hoping to hit it as much as possible before it enters melee combat.
Enrathe takes a moment, turning over the amulet in his hands. "Hetuath wore this," he says, not seeming to notice Harrash at first. He holds it up against the light of the cave mouth to see the greth trapped within, but does shift his gaze to his impatient companion. "I feel that we have found everything here, yes. The sands will yield no more answers to us."
Enrathe backs up the same amount of distance the creature moves and looses another blanched arrow at it, cursing his own frugality for not buying 20 extra normal arrows.
It was not a great shot.
Enrathe scowls has he draws his bow, nocks an arrow and lets loose; he was hoping to save as many arrows as possible, since they had all been blanched, but he didn't want to risk losing an axe in that goop.
In the guise of a wallflower, the "elf" shrinks to the back of the crowd. They were really mostly wanting to thank his compatriots for returning the body of this "Gerrol" person, after all, and he did not want to steal the due credit for that.
"At least I would be," Enrathe nods, his face mostly obscured by his hood and scarf. "Although I can't speak for dour Harrash."
The "Elf" snorts. "I doubt that."
"Your politics mean nothing if I end up on a dissection table along the way," the Kasatha hisses through his teeth to Arrenopos, doing his best to keep his voice down.
The Alien grimaces and fades back behind the crowd of his allies. In another situation, he wouldn't have an issue with such profiteering, but when it involved his own safety he certainly didn't have a favorable view of it.
"Perhaps there are things lost in Numeria that would rather not be turned into gold..." Enrathe mumbles under his breath. He was rapidly beginning to conclude that this was not a person he could trust wth his identity.
"I am not sure how I feel about this..." the Kasatha says as an aside. He would far prefer to keep the number of people who knew what he was to a minimum, at least until he was convinced that not doing so wouldn't be a death sentence.
The enrobed "Elf" approaches the newcomer, more cautious than curious. In a safer situation, the Kasatha would have welcomed a potential friend with four open arms, but he would prefer to garner as few questions of himself as possible. "And what assistance would that be?" He pipes up.
"Arrenopos brings up a good point," Enrathe nods his head. "In the meantime, I would like to buy a new axe to replace the one I had to leave behind. That can wait until morning, though.
Enrathe fights his instinct to jump heroically to the front of the group and stays seated. "Perhaps someone visiting Khonnir?" he posits aloud.
The "Elf" clings to the wound in his chest that remained hidden beneath his robes. Even after all of this time, he was still shaky on his feet. "Some rest will do us all well, I expect," he agrees.
The disguised Kasatha pulls the fabrics around him tighter, hoping that Khonnir was too out of sorts at the time to remember he has four arms. No shrinking violet, though, he does announce his joy at the recovery. "It is good to see you coherent, sir," he says in his Elf persona, doing his damnedest to speak with the same accent as his compatriots.
"Not as much as one would hope," the 'Elf' said, crossing his arms. "Torture, chemicals, or both it would seem..." Turning his attention back to his compatriots, he adds "Harrash may have a better idea than I."
The entire ordeal being equal parts confusing and strange, Enrathe stops on the shore and looks out over the lake with its strangely clean spot. His attention shifts to the buildings behind him, great things of metal twisted into unfamiliar shapes, and it quickly dawns upon him that explaining who and what he is would likely be complicated. The "let's lock him up and prod him with knives until we figure out what he is" kind of complicated. He takes a minute to don a disguise, covering as much skin as he can and practicing a new voice to hide his strange accent. When he was done, he certainly still looked odd, but in the normal, acceptable way of other adventurers. "If anyone asks," the Kasatha quickly explains, "I am an elf named Eidar."
Skivven's explanation makes sense, at least as much as anything could given the situation. Enrathe nods and begins opening and closing his hands,trying to get his blood flowing again in a fruitless attempt at fighting off the strength-sapping toxin.
"Nanites?" The Kasatha furrowed his brow, not having even the faintest idea what that could mean. That momentary confusion was quickly erased by the implication of Skivven's question. "Breathing?? Lake?? Are we underwater?"
The Kasatha stares at the door for several tense moments before finally relaxing against the wall. Red cloth hides the severity of his injuries, but his axes (and one hammer) nearly slide out of his hand from the combination of blood loss and strength-sapping toxins.
Although loathe to leave his weapons behind, Enrathe's injuries as well as his retreating compatriots provide a good argument to fall back. He tries to avoid any engagement along the way as he backs through the door.
Enrathe attempts to finish the medical robot off, unleashing an attack with all four of his weapons.
The Kasatha gets a sudden idea to try and move the collector out of the way. He takes a quick hop and attempts to reposition the collector out of the way.
Enrathe uses the relative safety of his position to drop two more hammers and pick up the dropped axes to replace them, grumbling all the while
The Kasathe keeps his weapons between him and the machines, not looking away even for an instant.
To keep the pressure up, Enrathe attacks with one of his hammers to distract it from his furry friend.
He then takes a step northwest back to where he dropped his axes, drops the hammer in his primary hand, and picks an axe up to replace it.
Enrage grits his teeth in frustration. He would never be able to put a mark on these things, no matter what weapon he used.
Seeing his beloved axes bounce harmlessly off of his target, he drops them on the ground and takes a roundabout way of approaching his target, giving him time to draw all four of his hammers and attempt to plant one in the closest thing it has to a temple.
Enrathe takes a shot step around the corner into the room to get a clear angle and quickly assesses the situation. The numbness still lingering in his fingers, he opts to strike from afar and takes aim at the foe that his fellows had NOT targeted. It would be easier to get a clear shot without his comrades dancing around it in melee combat.
The axes, whether they strike their target or not, curiously hook through the air back towards him thanks to the skilled spin and angles that his practiced hands flung them with. Muscle memory died hard, it seemed.
Enrathe follows along, nursing his wound with still-numb fingers, loathe to let someone just haphazardly wander into danger without him.
"These are beds that are quite hard to sleep in," the Kasatha quips with a more-than-slight air of bitterness fueled by his previous experiences.
The alien grimaces beneath his scarf, reminded of the weakness radiating up his arms that he had been attempting to ignore this entire time. "Just some numbness," he reassures what he thinks is his human companion. "I will survive. But thank you."
The Kasatha makes his way over to the bloody mess on the table and tries to piece together what it used to be.
Enrathe grunts with pain and presses his clenched hand over the injury to apply some pressure. Faint pinpricks of numbness radiated from the wound, pumping down to his fingertips with the beating of his heart. Eyes narrowed at the slain... thing, he circled around it, clearly not trusting that it was truly slain.
Enrathe takes a short hop towards the machine uses the momentum to bring all four of his weapons down upon the strange, metallic thing.
"Less talking, more fighting!" He chides as he settles back into a limber posture, ready to move if their foe (whatever it was) tried to strike him.
Enrathe stays by Harrash's side at the head of the group, all four axes ready.
Enrathe purses his lips beneath his scarf, before finally breaking his protracted silence. "We can and shall return. A friend is in danger." This 'Khonnir' was not his friend. Yet. But friends were good to have, and the earnest desire of these new people to help this... ball of mud and to even humanize it gave him a hope that perhaps these interactions between them need not be purely practical. |