[b]"S-Summoner"[b]
The pale elf also hangs back, staying close to Veil.
[b]"We were held captive below. I think the torturer might be one of those monsters - her face warped when she was injured. She fled this way, have you seen her?"[b]
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Still fearful, Summoner keeps his distance, but is ready to summon his last bird of prey if a fight breaks out.
Summoner waits with a mixture of dread and anticipation as Lock works the door.
”That fog…steer clear if you can.” Summoner mutters in a fear-choked voice.
Still frightened and hesitant to venture up the mound of rotting flesh, Summoner stands firm, anxiously waiting to see what the others fid at the top of the pile.
”This tunnel has collapsed recently, and it may be unstable. It probably would not be impossible to clear it by hand, but that will take significant time…it should our last resort.”
Shifting aimlessly through the discarded items, Vaelith pockets a few trinkets that look useful. A mirror. A piece of chalk. Some string. Then he spots a worn leather satchel that sparks some deeply buried memory. With shaking hands, he opens it to reveal a thick volume, inscribed with arcane runes and flowing elven script. Beside it, a small pouch of spell components. With trembling hands, he leafs through the pages. Recognition is instant, as is the feeling of power and knowledge. "This is mine. If I can get time to calm my mind and study it, I can wield the spells within." He looks around, only half aware of the discussions about escape. "I'd rather not climb the chimney. So, as much as I fear encountering the deranged maniac, the stairs seem like the best option." While gathering his things, he inspects the collapsed passage, just to make sure that's not a viable option.
"W-wait...Is it wise to go in the same direction as her? What of the other direction - is it blocked?" the Summoner asks nervously, glancing into the darkness. It's obvious that the frail elf is much too scared to take the lead in any direction.
Veil…why does that sound vaguely familiar? If only I could…why is my mind so muddled? Far too frightened to pay close attention to his companions, the white-haired elf mumbles. ”I don’t…my name…” He pauses, searching in vain. Then he settles on a similar descriptive moniker. ”You can call me Summoner, I suppose. Anyone see another way out of this horrid hole?”
The elf's dark grey eyes flare in a look of pure panic at mention of the doctor's return. Stumbling franticly, he hurries though the cell door and into the hallway. In an effort not to look too closely at the mangled and rapidly cooling corpse on the slab, Vaelith glances at the living. I remember you...from before...the nightmare...it must have been a nightmare, but how?...all my memories are jumbled up...
Still horrified, Vaelith shrinks back as Maelcolm works to unlock their cell. He waits for the muscular woman to exit first, but summons the courage to speak up to his potential allies. "I...I summoned the birds...can do it one more time, but...she killed them so quickly..."
Close to panic at how easily the madwoman dispatched the summoned bird, Vaelith musters sufficient courage to repeat his spell. Once more, sharp talons and a razor beak tear into the woman from above.
The outbreak of violence shakes Vaelith out of his terror. With an effort of willpower, he draws upon his reserve of arcane power and channels it to summon a large eagle into existence directly above and behind the insane doctor. With a flurry of beak and talons, the large bird of prey lashes out.
The sudden change in the woman's appearance sends Vaelith scrambling backwards. "No...It's another nightmare...It must be...please...." he babbles as he attempts to seek refuge in his memory palace, searching for familiar techniques to calm and focus the mind and finding only decay and equally frightening figments haunting the corridors of his own mind.
Satisfied that he retains some fraction of his magical powers, Vaelith stands and moves closer to the frustrated woman. "Stay calm. I can summon a bird of prey, stronger and tougher than its natural kin. It should be capable of disabling that lunatic and if not, I can call more." he whispers. Recalling her futile attempts to escape the cell, he adds: "We gain nothing by defeating her if we are still trapped here, though."
Jerking upright like a startled animal, Vaelith raises trembling hands to his face, feeling for injures that are not there. As he lowers them, he notices the tattoos that snake up his left arm. Visibly confused, he spends a minute pulling up his sleeve to examine the unexpected markings before turning his attention the the scene unfolding beyond the bars. While the two men in the adjacent cell try to reason with the blade-wielding woman, Vaelith quietly does a bit of mental inventory. Unlike in the dreadful dream, his magic spells are no longer etched in his mind, but what of his other arcane abilities?
Some small measure of relief glimmers inside Vaelith when the muscular female signals that she's not a threat and may even be an ally. "I have...magic," he gasps as he reaches the two remaining figures. Uncertainty floods his mind for a moment. He forces his eye shut and concentrates and instantly the arcane gestures and energies appear in his mind, ready to be released just as easily as the mage armor he just cast. "I can conjure grease...slow down the approaching foe...or on the walls of that passage...make it easier to squeeze through...." he blurts out, forcing himself to slow down and speak more coherently. "Also...summoned beasts...to help us fight!"
Vaelith stumbles into the narrowing alley, clutching the wall as his chest heaves, eyes wild. He blurts out between ragged breaths: “It's c-coming! The fog—something moving inside, something tall, gaunt...malevolent—” He glances back, voice cracking as the mist presses closer. “It wants to hurt me! It wants to hurt all of us! Don’t let it touch you!” Without hesitation he sprints closer, desperation flaring in his eyes as he scans for a way out.
Alone and exposed, Vaelith does not waste another second. He whirls and bolts blindly down the alley, intent on putting as much distance between himself and the ominous figure. Spinning left, he does not slow his pace but keeps sprinting as fast as he can manage.
There's much to discuss. I haven't picked any gear yet, so for now I'll just grab any useful items we come across. As long as I have my spellbook and components, I'm good to go.
Danger! The gaunt, white-haired elf stumbles to his feet, looking confused. Then, seemingly by pure instinct, he utters an arcane phrase and a faint blue glow covers his worn, but finely tailored coat. For a moment, his ability to cast the spell causes a look of relief to flash across his face.
Unable to decide on the best course of action, he staggers in place, trying to get his bearings and determine the nature of the approaching figures.
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