Varinder snickers quietly. In this place? I expect nothing less.
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Urrrgh. Slime and bodily slime, at that. Although it is perhaps pointless, Varinder hefts a knife. Should you throw again, you might try to hit your target, foolish Gnome.
Varinder's lips curl as he looks askance at the newcomer. Shrugging, he sets about retrieving his knives - Much good they're doing me at the moment - before looking across at Ramul.
Varinder looks the newcomer over with unconcealed distaste - A tramp with no mind, apparently. I hope he proves helpful - then looks at the little rat-creature. Mercy seems appropriate at this stage, I think. If we can talk to it, it may prove useful. I don't believe these things are enemies. Just guarding their pitiable territory.
Varinder looks somewhat distractedly at another knife that appears, almost as if conjured out of empty air, in his hand. One does get so tired of missing.
oh for the love of...
Varinder shakes off his bafflement and flicks a knife at the offending creatures.
He glares at nothing, irritated by yet another poor throw.
Varinder, busily imagining squirming into the rat-hole, is caught up in a fancy wherein he is belaboured over the head with a Kuthite scripture by an angry rat...Ramul's voice breaks in to his reverie like a sword slicing an overripe peach. Huh?
Varinder seems to relent slightly.
I'm unconvinced that anything but danger of the rattish variety lies that way. Bookish rats, perhaps, but rats all the same. Well-read rodents or no, a prudent Gnome does not poke his head into tight places such as those.
I wonder what was sought in those shelves? Varinder drifts cautiously towards the disturbed bookshelves.
What a place. Let's just keep moving, shall we. I've no wish to be a static target in this place of madness.
Agreed. I can essay a search, if you wish.
I'd hoped to see the last of that mist in my dreams...or whatever that horrid prelude to this waking nightmare was.
Varinder sniggers incongruously at Campus' question. It certainly matches the name, good Campus. He squares his shoulders and faces the thing once more, looking to take a different tack. I know not what you have become, other than what I can see...and that is most disturbing. I am saddened by your predicament, of that you may be sure. We would like to help you, but you must be able to answer our questions that we may better do so. So I ask: not what have you become, but what were you? And who were you? Speak, creature, or we will leave you in your current state! Yet again, his tone quavers weakly, as he feels himself unmanned by the exotic horror before him.
Varinder notes the exchange between Campus and Ramul rather coolly. So kind of you to volunteer me he murmurs, just at the edge of hearing, then bustles forward. The gnome is uncertain just how much he can achieve, but is happy to make the attempt. A little theatrically, he moves uncomfortably before the abomination in the wall. How best to handle this? He looks at the strange eye, maintaining a safe distance.
But his fear betrays him, and his discomfort rings through his awkward tones.
Varinder smiles slyly at Campus' dudgeon - and the inability of the two warriors to even hurt the monstrosity in the wall.
Varinder lurches into motion, shrugging aside the curtain and confronting the disgusting eye set in the wall. The ugly - and despairing - gaze causes him to pause briefly. Let us see what it makes of Ramul and Ulfric before I play my meager part. Or before I have to haul out their corpses.
Varinder, having been lost in a sullen reverie since waking up, suddenly casts about himself looking for his comrades. Eventually, having asked for Ramul's whereabouts he finds himself directed towards a curtained-off section of the guardpost. As he approaches, he hears Ramul's voice: "Is it evil?"
Varinder smiles benignly but maintains a careful silence. I'll make no promise to these folk unless I have to. But I'll work with these others, if only to get out alive.
Varinder sweeps an imaginary hat from his head and proffers Winter Klacza a great bow. [/b]Madam,[/b] he says, in his most judicious tones. Our presence here is as much mystery to us as it is to you, I am sure. We found ourselves in this hell-pit after a strange shared dream...of which I prefer not to say more, as the horror of it lingers still.
Varinder sighs heavily and mops a touch of sweat from his brow. Forgive me, I beg you. Our adventures have been fatiguing and unsettling.
Varinder's lip curls somewhat at the exchange between Campus and Ulfric. Ha! The divine...what has that ever brought me but pain...everlasting pain, so that moments of pleasure are no more than torments only deferred? And what is losing the past if not another species of pain? Sweat beads on the Gnome's brow, and he is suddenly aware that he is muttering indistinct curses under his breath. Hoping none have noticed, he shuffles along in the wake of the others, trying to regain some sense of self-mastery.
Nor I, my good Campus. Ahoy, Mage, what does your art tell you of yon baubles?
Varinder casts a slightly proprietary eye over the pearl, bag and phylactery. Magic, eh? Might be worth something...or worth keeping. Who knows what experiences and auras these items have gathered in their walk across time and space? Maybe I'll be able to learn more as I master my abilities. But for now, at least...
Not I...Varinder bungled his chill touch attempt this round, but I posted out of order.
Varinder stops messing with his dagger and instead delivers some strange and unsettling Gnome utterance that brings to mind a crooner suddenly spitting at the audience. His hand springs to blue light and he slaps at the monster's legs.
Varinder emerges from his tumble standing at full stretch and slashes at the woman with his dagger.
Varinder casts a quick look about him and then, after a short intake of breath, flings himself in a mad tumble through the melee to the far side of the table.
Despite appearing rather disjointed and uncontrolled, the Gnome's swift combination of cartwheels and flips brings him - hopefully unscathed - to a position south of Artemis and to the side of the ghastly creature atop the table.
'tis an illusion, my friends. Ware deception!
Varinder flings a dagger nonchalantly, grateful he is not within reach of the thing. Perhaps too nonchalantly, he muses with some bewilderment as the dagger flies straight up and clatters against the ceiling before landing amid the corpses. Oh for pity's sake!
Varinder draws another dagger and surveys the melee, looking for a chance to get behind the monstrosity.
Varinder heaves a heavy sigh, and readies himself to throw at the first sign of movement. Whoever is behind that sheet is no laundryman, I'm sure.
Varinder, satisfied for the moment that no immediate danger waits to the south, amuses himself trimming his nails with his dagger and waiting to unleash it on any threat that might present itself.
Varinder's face turns a bit sallow as he observes the macabre scene. Liking this less and less...but we can't leave that thing to its feasting. Much as I would like to. But I'll let the others deal with it. They're better equipped than I. Varinder slinks around the room and positions himself against the southern wall, to the west of the door. He has a dagger in his hands as he listens for any sound to the south.
See through doors? How very useful. Varinder checks both the west and east doors with his usual calm skill.
Varinder sketches a self-mocking bow in Campus' direction. As you say, milady Then he gives Ulfric a slightly miffed grimace. What of the doors to the north, warrior?
Ha! Gods...Only the God of Pain truly matters...hang on...where did that come from? Varinder retrieves his dagger, looking a little abashed. I do hope I don't say such things out loud.
At last! Varinder flicks his dagger at the madwoman with a smooth underhand cast. Damnation!
However, the general melee proves distracting: Varinder mistimes his throw, and what was meant to find the woman's throat becomes a comically poor lob high over her head, clattering on the stones beyond. Concentrate, fool!
Varinder continues to lurk, waiting for a clear shot at the raving oldster.
If she bears the same evil within her, it is manifesting differently... Varinder muses thoughtfully. The one below was brutish and unrepentant. He fixes the woman with a dangerous stare.
Did you think to gull us with this pretense? Speak truth, or suffer the same fate as your friend below! Unfortunately, a slightly carping tone robs Varinder's voice of its menace.
Varinder idly draws a dagger then palms it deftly. I trust this not a jot...but let's see what she says 'ere doing anything rash. He breaks out a huge and unsettling grin that seems to split his head in half.
Sadly, Varinder's deranged smile and sly tone - a product of tension, no doubt - undercuts his efforts to appear friendly.
Varinder pauses to admire Ramul's wholesale destruction of the scurrying vermin, then looks around at the others. Does anyone have the skill or power to determine the existence of magical power? Otherwise, this 'loot' is poor reward for our struggles, and with your leave, I will explore the passage to the north.
Varinder surveys his new colleagues with a slightly jaundice eye, then offers a quirky bow. I am happy to provide a little reconnaissance, now and then, he says wryly. With that, he turns spryly away and moves lightly to the two doors, pausing at each to listen carefully, playing his hands deftly across the surfaces and around the handles.
Varinder nods his curt support. Finally.
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