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With no fire at her disposal, and seeing Nathaniel's arrow cut through the mist, Shalewigg reasons that strength is her best weapon. She pulls her scimitar from its scabbard as she rushes to meet the creature, joining both hand overhead and swinging down viciously.
Shalewigg finds Vaundor's personality excessive, but she still manages a slight upturn of her lips. Through the minimal smile she replies. [b]"Shall I hold them down for you while you dispatch them?"[/ooc] Long ropes of hair separate like black snakes, rising before falling back into place on either side of her shoulders.
At the last, Shalewigg glance at the door and cocks her head. When her expression shifts to one of alarm, her head snaps up to the lamp. Too late, the violte mold sucks the warmth from her hand, which tightens in place. Frost coalesces on her skin as she flings the door open and yanks her had away. The witch looks at her bluish hand and narrow her eyes. "Damned test is just a joke. There's no wisdom in this lesson."
"To choke the life out of a prison guard," the lithe woman says as the door swings open. She looks back and smiles wryly. "So far, so good."
Though much smaller than Grumble Jack, the tall human witch stands her ground, her hand still on the handle. "Wait your turn, giant." She looks past him over to Nathanial. "The lamp is cold. Something in it freezes the air. We'll tend to that when we see what's here." Shalewigg opens the door and steps beyond.
Walking into the room, the young witch looks down at the floor and scans both doorways. "There's plenty walked this way," she says, indicating the Eastern and Southern doors. None to the West."[/b] Might be we should take the hint and just go the untraveled route,"[/b] she says, starting toward the West door. "Probably some other lesson about not being too hasty and asking everyone else what they think." she says as she strides to the door and pulls the handle.
"There, there, love." the witch brushes the spider slowly as it climbs to her shoulder. She lifts her head to Soren, then to the words. "He's cold. Ict derision, it says. I think we face a crisis of leadership in their. That or the illusion of cold and a separate real threat. Shall we go?"
Shalewigg moves confidently to the door and kneels in front of it. "Let's just have a quick look and we'll go in. Seems as though the test looks to choose a leader or punish deliberation." Her black spider with red markings crawls out of her sleeve and jumps to the floor. It crawls under the door to see beyond, but remains under the cover of its wooden frame.
The girl cocks here head to the side. "It ain't got magic, but it's got some value. Throw it and the fluid inside turns to clinging ice. But this isn't our trinket. There's no sapphire here."
Her eyes flashing a pale azure, the young witch searches for the magical auras in the room. "If there are illusions here, wouldn't be us deceiving ourselves. Would be the cardinal deceiving us. Best we don't waste to much time second guessing."
The young girl, dressed in her drab gray dress and leather breeches, lifts her lip in a half smile at Tiadora's word. "Oh. But perhaps you won't need to worry 'bout him one day." She steps away from the wall, bracing her hands at her sides, under her arms. As she lowers her hands, she mutters a brief archaic phrase and slides her palms from hips to shoulders. A shimmering breastplate covers her bodice.
The commoner stands behind Soren, filing out the door after Tiadora. Oh, yes. Very important the people handpicked by his god measure up to his little test."
The nude for of the slave crashes against the ceiling again and again, to Shalewigg's delight. Shalewigg bites her lip and lies back on her bed, connected to the man by her thick braid. Her hair coils around his neck like a serpent, rotating his body until he rolls across the ceiling. She narrows her eyes and takes in the sight of him. Red whelps claw his back, his ankles hang as his body curves away from the ceiling. His spine arches severely from the weight of his body, otherwise supported only by her magically animated hair. The man's cries for mercy are barely discernable through the thick knot of black hair that covers his mouth. They quickly fade as his eyes bulge and his neck finally snaps. Shalewigg tosses him to the floor and arches her own back, exulting in the kill. The large red-and-black spider descends from a corner of the ceiling on a gleaming web, landing on the slave's body and crawling speedily to his neck. The thing sinks its fangs into the slave and drinks deeply of the expiring man's blood. A few moments later, Shalewigg turns to her side, beads of sweat still dotting her forehead. "Is the offering pleasing to you, m'lord? Still warm and fluid in his last seconds?" Trelmarixian finishes his meal and moves directly toward Shalewigg. The spider crawls a foot up the wall, but then jumps another full foot to the side of her mattress before standing next to her pillow. Somehow Shalewigg's two eyes make contact with the spider's six. She smiles as if knowing the spider's thoughts. "I know you won't eat for another month if you don't need to. But One day you'll be hungry, and I hope on that day to serve you the Cardinal for real. Best we kill to the Supreme Devil's pleasure before then, my master." The spider crawls under the crook of the witch's neck and waits under her shadow. Shalewigg closes her eyes and sleeps with a smile.
Shalewigg openly rolls her eyes at the priest apparent interpretation of victory. SHe looks down at the table to see the red lines drawn through the First Loyalty. Still holding her right hand to stop the bleeding, she holds the door open with her feet and looks back to the Cardinal. "I have vowed to bring your priesthood no harm, so I am going to snap the neck of one of your slaves and pretend it was you. I'll see you all tomorrow."
The girl spends no effort concealing her laughter at the Cardinal. "Are you sodding deaf? How many times must a girl explain she was already dead? That freeing her only to kill her gives you no power? Fat good you servants of All-Powerful Asmodeus are, clinging to life in exchange for your loyalty." She absorbs everyone's incredulous look, then turns her head to look at the furry red-and-black spider on her shoulder. It's front legs wave in the air urgently. Shalewigg looks up to the Cardinal and speaks again. "I know. Two. I remind you, everyone, I vow this day, if the Cardinal takes my life I'll return. I'll choke the life out of him and any that partake in my murder. I pledged my craft. I made my vow. I signed no contract before I left and here I am still, to crush your enemies." "Trelmarixian whispers to me...the devil's agents cannae speak for my soul if my allegiance is demanded under duress. You can have the same craft and the same loyalty you'd have without this contract. You can have my signature, but you gain nothing my whim didn't grant already." Shalewigg reaches for Soren's quill and contract, soaking its point in the cleric's blood, and then marking through the words of the First Loyalty on her own. She then holds her bleeding hand over the contract, dripping the precious red ink in spatters over the page's botom. "I pledge my loyalty to Soren. In the name of Lord Famine I will kill her enemies and advance the cause of her god. I am loyal those here, as brothers and sisters escaped from Banderscar and given to the destruction of Talingarde and its faith. I sign this contract under threat of death, but I do not give myself to the Lord of Law, and I swear revenge on those who murder me for not abandoning my own patron, without whom I have no desire or power." The woman drops her arms, releasing the bloody quill and splashing more blood on the floor. She turns to move to the door, her long braid writhing in irritation. "I return to my quarters, Lady Soren. Let me know if tomorrow I serve you and the Cardinal or if you intend to take my life and wait out my satisfaction."
The young girl's skin turns pale as the blood drains from her face and hands. Her eyes go dead and her long braid begins to writhe behind her. She pulls a single-edged knife and grips the blade in her hand. "A strange lawyer who ask a girl to sign a contract about loyalty, telling her she doesn't have to actually be loyal. A strange priest that claims his will set us free and not his god's." She turns to Soren and nods. "This one gets it. An agent of other than your god can't be tempted to betray him. I don't expect anything from him. If your war goes badly, he hasn't failed me. All I want is to kill. To starve. To drown. To choke the life out of everyone in Talingarde until your god has no more need of me, and releases me to kill somewhere else." She squeezes the blade tightly, her expression barely changing when her palm splits and blood begins to drip onto the floor from her outstretched hand. "I told you I have no heart. I don't love any god and don't desire my own ascendance or even tomorrow's breath. I will serve the cause of your church by killing your enemies. I will follow Soren's lead and devote myself to the advance of her goals, and by reason, yours. I will not betray her coterie, including anyone here, except that they betray me first. I will not spare your enemies nor set myself up as priest or prophet. I am loyal to the cause of death by deprivation. I am loyal to your war and to your cause. I will die before I place my own ambitions over the war against Mitra. And I will take the last breath of any in this room who betray Soren or her church. This is my covenant with your lord, that he may use me to bring despair to the living, but leave my will and soul for my own god, the Horseman of Famine." Her pronouncement finished, she shakes the blood from her hand and drops the bloody knife on the floor. She cocks her head in the priest's direction and narrows her eyes. "You've heard your servant testify. You know I understand contracts. You've heard me offer an oath. Ask your god if he would accept me as servant without trapping my soul. I will ask mine if he would have me sign your letters."
Shalewigg reads the document with a keen eye. While Soren signs more eagerly, the braided woman lays down her quill and pushes the contract back toward the Cardinal. "I'm sure you produced these contracts before we arrived, so I, too, must request a unique contract. I pledged to Soren's god that I would destroy his enemies and serve his church, but I do so in service to the truest master of death. The benefits of my service are the same, but my bond is with Trelmarixian. The Horseman is a worthy ally of your lord. I swear that I will not teach or proselytize any faith, and that I will kill whom you set me to kill." She turns to Soren and back to her master. "I'm no clergy, and I've no interest in betraying your trust. But my first loyalty is to Him who set me free long afore I was sent to prison. My mind and soul belong to Him, and I have no heart."
As she walks across the rear wall of the opulent room, Shalewigg reaches out to brush the furnishings and wallhangings. "I've committed to Soren already, my devotion to Trelmarixian will serve your lord and His quest for revenge. My only demand is that you set me loose to kill. And in the name of Famine, and for Asmodeus' sake, the people of Talingarde will hunger and thirst and beg for death."
The slight woman seems comfortable on the journey through the marsh, occasionally humming quietly to herself in low, haunting tones. The mire doesn't seem to faze her, but neither does she waste time when offered a bath or a change of clothes. She returns downstairs after a time, her long hair thick, full, and loose. The red-and-black striped spider still clings to her, resting on her shoulder or hanging from her new tunic.
Her dirty feet sinking into the wet ground, Shalewigg crosses a wide arc around the giant frog as she draws her dagger. She stretches out her hand and motions, as if lowering the beast's eyes. "Sleep now, and remain behind to hinder those who follow." she looks to the others in understanding.
"We cross the swamps going East," Shalewigg announces. The spider on her shoulder rears up and gestures in the air with long pedipalps. "That is how we reach our destination. Trelmarixian guides us to serve Soren's god as payment for our freedom." The woman takes a sack and the remaining female clothes, filling the sack and refusing to change. "There are miles to go, and marsh to cross before we need fresh clothes." She begins to walk, barefoot, to the east, the spider perfectly balanced on her shoulder.
Shalewigg looks out past the gate and searches out with her feelings. She senses her familiar, but he is quite a distance and moving quickly. She untangles her braid from the guard's neck and pulls her hair behind her, where it wriggles on its own and slaps against her thighs with an audible thump. The witch moves toward the wagons, closing the distance with Soren. "We can use the wagons to clear the area, but we should abandon them early and force the wagon to ride on. They'll track it and we can move the opposite direction."
The guard's injuries prevent his from becoming conscious as his lungs fill with bloody water. He sputters and coughs up bubbles of air while the witch's braid holds his head under. Several seconds later, the sputtering stops and the guard dies.
"Suit yourself, love." The witch's hair lifts the dying guard high overhead like a kraken's tentacle, then plunges him to the bottom of the fountain.
The din of battle may surround her, but the young, raven-haired woman ignores the fighting and grins sadistically. She moves over to the unconscious guard as the pool of blood grows under his body. As she does so, her hair magically grows and writhes, knotting in places and tangling into a thick rope. The last tendrils of her dire braid slip under the unconscious man's neck and curl tightly around his throat. "Guards," she says calmly, without raising her voice. Her braid lifts the guard's body into the air with inhuman Strength, dragging him over to the fountain at the courtyard's center. "Lay down your weapons or watch this man die before we kill you in turn."
Spoiler: There is a little license here, just to keep things moving. Prehensile hair is a standard action so she can't actually move or drown the guard until next turn. But if it ends combat so we can move on with our escape....
The dark-haired prisoner cannot contain her glee at the sight of the fountain and the bleeding guard. She steps out of the prison before looking up at the archers behind the parapets. She fumbles inside her worn clothes to produce a single cricket trapped there for days, she rubs the crickets legs together and her eyes roll back into her head. "We are so tired, and it's a long way South we must head. Let us catch our rest." She mumbles quiet words in an irregular tongue, and snaps off the cricket's legs. The insect falls to the courtyard helplessly.
Shalewigg looks down the stairs as Damien descends, then nods at Xoruk's comment. "It's never risk I fear, but hope. Hope is a sin. If we leave this place alive, we'll talk more. If that man gets us captured, help me kill him before we are taken."
A pretty, raven-haired girl with a smudged face and very long braid crouches at the bottom of the stairs. She looks to Vaundour and grips her knife. We added a loud braggart and a giant already to our number, she whispers harshly. What can you do to help us leave this place?
Rolling her eyes, the human woman points to Damien and rubs her fingers together, producing the slumbering curse yet again. As she produces her hex, she moves down the hall to the bottom of the stairs.
Looking at one of the prone guards, the girl whispers You were outnumbered. You fought bravely. The unholy warrior had a plan to free them all and you prevented it. You're a hero, or a dead man. She looks up to see if the curse has taken hold, then down at the surrounded guard for his answer.
Arching an eyebrow, Shalewigg looks toward the stairs. "Witch? Who? She turns back to Damien and his awkward skirmish with the guard, waving her hand and fluttering her eyes as if half-asleep.
She locks eyes with the warrior and grimaces. "You have one chance to keep quiet, lest the rest of the guards find you asleep on the floor after we have gone."
Shalwigg's thick braid twitches on its own as the two guards begin to rise from their table. She grimaces and reaches toward one, as if casting sand in his direction.
The murderous farm girl turns, with a serious expression. "We'll see if a disguise gets us closer before any alarms. If not, I'll spell the guard on the left and our new friend here can handle the guard on the right." She ties a bit of torn cloth over a clot of dirt and blood from the felled soldier. Looking up at the ogre, she affirms her plan. "Can't you, big fella?"
Spoiler: In her earlier boasting, Shalewigg sensed the presence of her familiar as sort of a roleplay thing. If hes within a mile. her link restores. If he's outside of a mile, he goes to a wooded area where she can meet with him and use terrain to cover her escape. Using Survival or the connection with Trelmarixian, which compass direction should she retreat to once she escapes?
Shalewigg cocks her head sideways and looks at the ogre. "I can bind wounds or fashion a poultice if any of your wounds are fresh. But if your goal is not to leave with each of us in one piece, then you can stay. Are we agreed?"
Shalewigg cocks her head sideways and looks at the ogre. "I can bind wounds or fashion a poultice if any of your wounds are fresh. But if your goal is not to leave with each of us in one piece, then you can stay. Are we agreed?"
The pretty ravenhaired girl takes the dagger offered by Soren, cutting two holes in her prison garb to serve as a makeshift sheath. "There are guards to swarm the three of us, yes. But there are more prisoners than guards. The more we set free, the fewer guards there are for us."
Also..forget that last bit about her taking a knife, then. Shalewigg eyes follow Soren's dagger with desire. When the voice calls out from the darkness, her gaze slides left as if she could see behind herself. Her eyes narrow.
The human witch retracts the thorns, swallowed up by her tan skin until they leave no trace. As the others strip the guards of their armor, she wraps her thick braided hair around the neck of each and pulls until they stop breathing. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and she smiles at their last gasp. "I don't think the gag is required," she whispers. "May the Lord of Want accept my sacrifice and free us all to kill again." She eyes her companions and stands. "I've little in the way of tinkets, but we should find their armory or such before we go. I can put guards to sleep, burn some, and fight some. I can also make their pursuit a bit more difficult. Those are my plans." She looks over the offering of weapons on the guards and takes a simple knife before eyeing the others yet again. "Now, then, which one of us knows the way out?"
When the guard reaches for his weapon, Shalewigg strikes down on his neck with her thorns.
Shalewigg follows the other captives out of the cell and stands behind the waking guard, flexing a fist until sharp wooden thorns protrude from her knuckles. She marks the place on his neck she will strike if he inhales to scream. "You can sleep through the rest of our escape, or you can die swallowing your own blood. Where is the armory and storage?"
Shalewiggs looks at her cell mates and raises an eyebrow. "We don't need to go there so long as one of you can pick the locks or grab their key." She wavers a little bit, as if from exhaustion and begins a yawn. Simultaneously, the guard she chose yawns as well, then quietly lets his head droop without a word.
Curling up her lip in a half smile, the woman turns her attentions to the three guards. Not yet looking back to discover their escape, they drone on in their dreariness. She targets the one most likely to see them out of the corner of his eye. "No magic," she whispers, "works every time. But I am well-practiced. Should one remain awake, one of you will need to keep him silent." She rubs her stomach in a slow circle, obviously hungry. She sucks in breath and bites her lip, her eyes rolling back into her head for a second before she looks at her cellmates. Shalewigg whispers in a deeper tone. "We'll need one of them to tell us where our things are. Are we ready?"
The raven-haired witch watches over Soren's shoulders as she works at the shackles over her head. She whispers with murderous excitement. "I can hear their stomachs. They're starving. Malnourished. Their energy is low. It would take very little for them to fall asleep at their posts while we undress them and chain them here. She looks Soren in the eyes, raising an eyebrow. "Your Lord of Hell has a purpose? A fight to bring? My own Lord will repay yours with as many deaths as He requires."
The comely witch with long black hair eyes her shackles while she continues to speak to the guard. Every guard, every day, she taunts with stories, mocking attempts at seduction, or promises that He Who Hungers knows their names. She shifts her stance to limit the strain of the chains. She leans against the wall and clasps her hands together so they don't rub here wrists. "I remember when they came for me," she says aloud. "They didn't even know what they were looking for when they found two men starved and drowned, and planted in my grove to feed the trees."
The guards eyes flutter...he gets that look like he's trying not to listen and wills himself not to notice. But the sides of his eyes betray him. The white corners become dark and then white again. Shalewigg smiles. "Five men each from two towns. When the Master told me they had come, I slinked outside, setting traps and waiting to curse them all." Shalewigg is used to pain. The branding will leave a scar if not healed soon. The cuffs will chafe. She cares little for comfort, but if Trelmarixian comes to free her she'll need her strength. She adjust the shackles to prevent them pinching her wrists. "They didn't expect one another. They hid in the house or barn and shouted for each other to surrender. I had my pick of them at first. I speared one with a hay fork. He shouted so I left him there twitching. When two came to save him I hexed them to sleep and slit their throats. I covered the first with his friends so he'd bleed knowing no one would find him. "One of the men from the other town charged where he heard the screams. I screamed too, and begged his help from the men who attacked me. He didn't know them..they could have been anyone. I pierced his head with the till and stood him up against the corner with a bow. When they dragged me out there were four arrows in him from his own friends. Caught two men trying to rescue my lovers from the barn. Just the sight of me walking up to them cause one captive to jump and the other cowered. I had rope and rafter so I wrapped them both together before they moved. One caught rope burn around his neck and strangled, but the other one flailed and kept the rope swinging. He hit the barn four times, but he lived to see my trial." The young witch throws her head back, her hair spilling against the wall and splaying out on its own like the branches of a bare tree. "I killed six men that day. Would have been eight but for the fool hanging by the barn and the man I was holding under the water when they found me." "Imagine how many of you will die when he gets here."
The cell is dank and wet, full of the moaning of prisoners wracked with hunger and exhaustion. Shalewigg listens in the dark for the sound of the other inmates. Some beg for nourishment, others insist that they can offer information worth sparing their lives. Their cowardice and desire fills her with satisfaction. A few say nothing. They await their execution, or slavery in the mines, with stoicism. It impresses her. But no matter, all will pass. It is life's single great lesson: all have the destiny of death. Nothing eats that will not starve, nothing drinks that will not thirst, nothing breathes that will not breathe its last. Here, in the darkness of Banderscar Prison, Shalewigg awaits her own death. She speaks aloud, interrupting the pointless cries of those who do not accept the Truth. "Darkest Patron, hear me now. I have learned that I, too, must die. I await the Gray Wastes at your command. Yet many live that do not embrace your calling. So many sup gluttonously in mockery of the fact that they are merely dust waiting to be blown by the wind." One of the guards tells her to shut up. She smiles in the darkness and imagines him hanging from the bars of her cell. What can they do? Deliver her to her master? She speaks louder. "I swear to you, as I swore yesterday, and I will swear tomorrow. If you will lend this servant more breath, more sustenance, I will create a thousand ended lives in your name. If some power has cause to use me, barter me for its ends. I care nothing for my own life. I will pay for the chance to serve by stealing the breath and drink and food of others. None shall live longer because of me." The guards are walking her way. Their boots splash into puddles of urine mixed with the water she secretly creates each day, only to spill its pure contents onto the stone floor in view of her fellow prisoners. She sneers with contempt. I know you fear me. I know you talk about the men I killed. You'll not face your End by opening the cell. You'd rather beat the half-orc. Her long black hair moves like a serpent, waiting for a guard to come near. But nothing happens. The footfalls stop, and a stone strikes the bars, bouncing onto the floor five paces away. Cowards. She kneels in her dirty dress, torn leather breeches protecting her bent knees. As she listens in the darkness, she feels a stirring. A fleeting image of a red spider the size of her hand. The spider travels through the forest, ignoring the birds and rabbits it might take as prey. Her familiar, too, is starving. Trelmarixian has not eaten since she was taken by the magistrates who survived that day on her farm. He's followed her since her arrest, barely keeping within a mile of the carriage that took her. Catching up during an overnight stay before her trial. A trial that might have ended in ten minutes, but for the number of stories relayed by those who captured her. Fools who talked about the horror of death and how grateful they were to be alive. Trelmarixian is half a mile a way. There is a river, so he must make for a bridge. Scarlet spiders do not swim except for him, but he is still a poor swimmer. He will take the bridge, and reach her cell in three days. Trelmarixian, for her familiar matters no more than any other living thing. She gave him that name when she found that tome about the Lord of Famine. The God of Drought. He sent the spider to her, carrying a dead bird as a test. When she refused to eat it, the spider bowed before her. She looked into his many eyes and met her master. She named the spider for the connection she felt. Trelmarixian. He is coming.
"Not alive." Shalewigg corrects as she draws her dagger and moves around the fallen horse to prepare for the zombies. "Undead."
"Something is alive," the young girl states in low tones. "Barred form the outside. Either a victim the raiders had to subdue, an animal, or there is a survivor who locked away one of his assailants." She steps toward the door and notes the spear haft. "We should open it, but we should be ready." She kneels down by the door and raps against it softly. "The attack is over. We're here to look after any survivors. Are you hurt? Can you tell me your name?"
The young girl walks amid the wreckage. She blinks purposefully several times in a row, whispering quietly to herself. When she finishes, her irises change to a bright blue and small gray streaks appear in her hair.
"Excellent," says the lithe human woman with the long hair. Now it is a company. Please, guide us so we can begin." |
