MQ: Blood Red Blossoms 2 - The Reach of the Tower

He could already feel the armor take a strange root in him. The helmet, in particular; he could feel it's dark tendrils snaking their way into his mind. Suddenly, Godhand bellowed. The students all jumped back in surprise. It was a strange sound, like the moan of a dying whale. The mobster shook his head and began the trek down the tower's stairs, small pebbles and dust jumping lightly into the air with each ponderous step. Suddenly, he heard a loud crack from downstairs he didn't know quite what to make of. It was only when he stepped unto the fifth floor and noticed the undead pouring in from the stairwell that he realized they must have gotten past his barrier. He couldn't imagine how; it probably would have been easier to break the walls down than budge that enormous oak. It was only as the swordsman swatted away the undead hand from one of the approaching horde that he realized it'd be wiser to focus on the enemies before him than whatever battering rams were at the base of the tower.

Godhand swiped at one of the zombies with a snarl, a good portion of it's face getting ripped off by the clawed gauntlets of his armor. The surrounding undead lunged forward and tried to get a grip on the warrior, but he shrugged them off without much trouble. Now that he was protected from the rot, he could crush them at his leisure. It was with this thought that he chose to add a little flair to the fight, purely for the sake of his own vanity and any hypothetical observers. With a small hop he belly-slammed one of the zombies, sending him tumbling into the milling horde of undeath behind him. He forgot all about his blade and instead chose to bully his way through their numbers with sheer brute strength. By the time he'd made his way to the stair case there was nothing left behind him but crushed bones and blind, flailing limbs.

The fourth and third floors were more of the same. It was only when he got to the second floor that anyone really interesting showed up. It was a patchwork man of disturbing quality; he looked like a failed experiment in either taxidermy or necromancy. Maybe both.

"Mahsster!"

Godhand tried to reply, but the only sound that came out was a loud exclamation that sounded something like 'bawoo!'. He stabbed his Muramasa into the ground before lunging forward in an attempt to crush the abomination, but suddenly felt a great force slam into him. The mobster was knocked off his feet and collided against the wall. He fruitlessly attempted to regain his bearings as the behemoth Braeden Devondre bared down on him. His enormous hands wrapped around Godhand's neck, strangling him through the dragon skin protecting it. The gunman's knees went weak for a moment but then his hand shot out and applied the mandible claw to the monster. Each one vainly tried to prove dominance over the other, until finally Godhand punched Braeden in the stomach and tore off his jaw in one sickening motion. Then he reared back and began whipping the creature across the head and shoulders with it's own disembodied mandible. Braeden brought it's arms over it's head in an attempt to protect itself and turned away from the gunman. That was when he dropped his makeshift weapon and locked his hands across the monster's abdomen. Godhand straightened himself out in an attempt to maximize his attack's power before delivering a perfect german suplex to the general, shattering his neck in the process.

The mobster picked himself up, much to the horror of the room's only other occupant. He could hear the moans of the undead as they struggled to make their way up the staircase; the mindless things had been to anxious and ended up getting themselves stuck. Godhand lifted up Braeden's now permanently dead body and hurled it into the narrow staircase, aggravating the congestion. He finally turned back to the abomination and in a flash grabbed it by the skull. The monster produced a shrill, nasal whine from it's rotting airway, but Godhand paid it no heed. He got it in a side headlock and with a small flourish hit a corkscrew neckbreaker on the creature. The beast's stitches weren't as resilient as normal human skin, however, and he ended up twisting it's head clean off. The swordsman picked himself up and viewed it's disembodied head with chagrin before plucking his Muramasa out of the ground and delivering one final, spire-shaking roar.

"BAWOO!!!"

While Godhand made so much raw meat out of their enemies, Idril stalked closer still to the transformed Earthian that stood above her. With each step, the whip that she carried unraveled, trailing behind her.

"What's a pretty little girl like you doing in a place like this?" Idril asked, bearing a grin that displayed every tooth. It was a shark's smile, and it was perfectly in place in the dim hallway. Her footsteps slowed, the final one scraping to a stop a whip's length from Kahlina.

"You'd be much better suited to a lighter place. Perhaps the afterlife?" A whip snapped as Idril threw her arm forward, it's leather as dangerous as a razor as it flew towards Kahlina's face.

From the glass-fronted bridge of the dirigible, the assistant peered towards the horizon. After a moment, he paled, and turned quckly to where Dr. Elendrie was stooped over controls, watching whirring gauges intently.

"My boy, we've done it!" he exclaimed, looking up with a triumphant grin. "Pressure is holding steady, we'll make it after all!" He paused, looking at the elf's frightened features. "What's wrong, son?"

"Doctor....we're coming up on a small army. They've surrounded the Spire."

This troubled the old elf, and he sat back, stroking his chin for a moment. The silver curl of hair that resided there curled around his fingers, as if the motion was so familiar that it charmed the goatee to life.

"There's nothing left in that tower since the end of the last attack. Why would they be gathered there?" he asked himself, his voice quiet and searching. "Unless there's life inside..." Standing, the good doctor strolled to the helm of the bridge, and took the wheel in his hand. Reaching over, he began to pull cranks and twist the wheel ever so slightly. Despite his fluid motions, the zeppelin lurched and tipped before beginning to descend through the clouds.

"What are you doing!?" several assistants shouted at once as they held on to counters and railings to keep from being pitched to the floor.

"Getting closer, of course..." he stated, shrugging off their fear like a light tap on the shoulder.

Out of Character:

Godhand, if you don't want to post this round, let me know. If you do, well, have fun. Jenn, fully bunny your little fight with Idril. Kill her with your post if you feel like it. Rescue and conclusions in two rounds.

The swordsman placed a hand against the obsidian walls of the spire to support himself. It was strange; normally he could have gone ten rounds with either of those monsters and wouldn't have thought anything of it, but now after only a few short moments of battle he was exhausted. He felt...Heavy. Tired; he breathed in air and breathed out smoke. On the other end of the barricaded corridor they had finally stopped pressing against Braeden's body. They seemed to understand somehow that their leader had been vanquished, and all across the tower the moans of the undead began to fall silent. He slowly ambled his way over to the stairs, thinking to get back to the students, but tripped against the first stair and tumbled to the ground unceremoniously. Laying on his back, it was almost humorous. He felt like a turtle that had been toppled over, his arms flailing uselessly at his side. But he knew it was no joke. His breath was starting to grow short, and he suddenly understood.

It was the armor! It was sapping his strength; using his life to fuel whatever engine of terror granted it it's terrible powers. Instantly his hands shot over the chestplate and dug into whatever grooves he could find, futilely attempting to rip off the infernal exoskeleton. No use; the Goddamn thing was definitely built to last. He shouted for help, but through whatever monstrous filter the helmet sported he ended up sounding like a beached whale. Finally, with whatever presence of mind he had left, he curled his fingers around the helmet's horns and began to pull. They didn't budge at first, and Godhand quickly grew desperate. But soon enough, he felt the thing give a little. He pressed on with renewed vigor and just as he felt he was about to expire, he gave one last mighty tug and the flew off his head.

The swordsman took grateful gasps of air. It was only know that the fiendish thing had been removed that he could truly feel the pressure it exerted on it's user; wearing it had been like trying to walk and breathe underwater. He could feel something sticky around his ears and head, and slowly brought a gloved hand to his brow. Pulling it back, he noticed it was covered in some thick dark fluid. Like the blood of a demon. It had mixed with his sweat and turned into some foul smelling concoction. He started feeling trapped in the rest of the suit, feeling like it was snaking under his skin. But he was too tired to deal with the rest of the armor. At this point he'd need those kids upstairs to help him out. He laid his head on the spire's floor and tried to conserve his energy.

All the while the sinister helmet sat in the opposite corner of the room, it's empty eye-holes viewing it's former wearer with a quiet indifference.

Out of Character:

Spoils: none

I guess she doesn’t want to be bussom buddies, what a pity. Instinct drew my arm up to protect my face from the weapon Idril held. Pain blossomed across my forearm where the end of the Idril’s whip wrapped around it in the tender embrace of a boa constrictor having a bad day. Hissing softly at the pain, I flicked the whip in my free hand, catching Idril across the tip of her nose. Lucky shot.

Clothing tore with a quiet wet sound as I jerked back and side stepped, warily circling Idril. If I were more willing to lose a bit of skin I could easily flail away with my whips.

“You know, it’s funny I was just thinking of the same thing. Well, I was actually thinking anyone as unfortunate as you in the appearance department should be put out of their misery.� I skipped to the side just in time to avoid the lashing end of the whip. “Oh, did I strike a nerve? Sorry about that.� Ignoring the warm, tickling trickle of blood as it crept it’s way down and across my hand, I struck out with one whip, driving the woman a step back.

“For a mousy little girl you sure have a tongue in your boring little mouth. I’m sure, if given enough time, I can beat it out of you.�

Chuckling quietly, I stuck my tongue out at her as we matched steps. Within only a few minutes we had exchanged places. Flicking both whips, I halted our slow circling. Lazily, I shifted my weight to one hip and tapped my foot on the smooth black stone.

“Which is it? Pretty or mousy? You seem to be rather divided on the subject.� For a moment my attention shifted, my gaze drawn up to the stairs behind Idril as Kai appeared. Tsking at the woman, I shook my head, my eyes still on Kai. I wanted to fight on my own. As Kai withdrew, I put away one whip and rested my hand on the black jeweled dagger hidden in the back of my waistband.

I had to side step the bloodied end of Idril’s whip when she lunged suddenly. The whip slapped at the ground close enough for me to feel the displaced air ruffle the leg of my pants. The thought that I was too slow rang through my head as I tried to stomp on the whip and pin it down. Born of my nervous habit, I started humming softly, just loud enough to carry across the room. Once I realized it, I shifted the aimless melody to the soothing song, hoping for an edge.

“This is not a choir little girl,� Idril sneered as she steeped close enough to strike again. I stepped into the attack, taking the hit and gasping as a sharp pain lanced around my waist and thrust the dagger into Idril’s stomach.

Idril’s surprised gasp registered before the sickening jar of metal sliding through flesh and grating against bone did. I stared into Idril’s shocked and fever-bright eyes. For the first time, I noticed that she had beautiful eyes. I looked down as her warm, rough hand covered the hand that still held onto the hilt.

“If I pull it out, you die faster.�

“You, you little bitch. I’ll kill you.� Her free hand raised up to claw weakly at my throat. It was the easiest thing in the world to use the weak movements my tail was capable of to brush the hand aside. I guess mercy is out of the question. Stepping back, I pulled the dagger with me and backed away a few paces. A low moaning sound rattled in the back of her throat and she clutched at the wound as she fell to her knees.

With an almost clinical detachment I watched her waver and fell back against the wall before sliding down to sit on the cold floor. The blood that dripped from between her fingers disappeared onto the midnight floor as if the Tower were greedily sucking up precious fluid. For a moment, I almost thought I heard the walls around me make a soft, ugly noise of satisfaction. I knelt on the floor and peered with the morbid cousin of curiosity at her and began comparing the length of the blade to what I remembered of human anatomy. Fatty tissue, muscles, small intestine and if I were lucky, I nicked the liver or kidney. Yeah, if only.

“You’re dead. It might take five minutes or you might live for the next three days, go septic, then finally die. Not a good way to go, and I really don’t want to wait that long.� I shook my head at the foamy glob of spit that barely made it past her chin. “Either way, after you’re dead, I’ll bash your brain in just so Xem’ zund can’t bring you back. So… fast or are we going to wait?�

“Go to hell.�

I watched her feet push uselessly at the floor in pain for only a moment. Unthinkingly, I placed the dagger back into my waistband and drew one of my whips. A blink later, I found myself kneeling beside Idril. Almost tenderly, I wrapped my whip around her throat and began to pull it tight. My stomach tightened in rebellion to my actions. Swallowing hard, I focused on the matte black stone of the floor just beyond Idril’s kicking feet.

“Just die.� I whispered as she bucked against the tight, biting grasp of the whip. A moment or an eternity later, she finally went limp and still I held on until I was sure she was dead and gone. Bracing her body, I unwound my whip and drew the dagger once more.

“Fighting you once was more than enough for me,� I muttered to myself, gathering courage even as I avoided looking at the bulbous, blood shot eyes that stared at me accusingly and the discolored tongue that protruded between purpled lips like a worm. Eager to be done, I thrust the dagger into the back of her neck and yanked it to the side, breaking the spine.

“I wonder if this is going to come back and bite me on the ass later? I’ve always read that your first murder is the hardest.� Musing on that distressing thought, I dragged Idril’s body over to the nearest window. Just before I pushed her body out the window, it jerked in my grasp. Careful, I peeked over her shoulder and spotted two arrows sticking out of her chest. It was the easiest thing in the world to tip the body out the window. A nasty smirk stretched the corners of my mouth as the wet, meaty sound of the body hitting the ground below reached my ears. Use that body if you can Xem’ zund.

Out of Character:

Get on the zeppelin with these posts, kiddos. State at the end of your posts if you want this to be your last post. If everyone decides they're square, I'll put up the thread conclusion and we'll get this submitted. If you need two posts to get to your conclusion, that's cool too. Just let me know and we'll get this all worked out. Full reign to kill anything that's left, by the way. And feel free to bunny anyone on the airship.

From the clouds, the great metal dirigible descended. With the winds, it tipped and swayed. The men within, with one exception, stared out the windows of the chambers with jaws dropped and sweat sheening on their heads. Now, they could see the masses of undead that piled and squirmed around the sides of the tower. There were a few crawling up the sides, flesh that was twisted and bloated and seemed more arachnid than human. One of the boys in the flying contraption, who'd been sheltered from everything but gears and steam his whole life, was sick. Only the good doctor stayed fast.

"I...I thought they were people..." one assistant managed to stammer. Dr. Elendrie's eyes rolled and he leaned over to where a row of throttles and pulleys clanked with the shuddering of the ship. He wrapped his hand around a red bar, wrapped up and down with veins of Adamantine. Slowly he pulled it back, every few inches bringing with it a loud clank and grinding from underneath the ship.

"We're losing pressure!" a voice floated from the back. The echo of boots on steel flooring behind the doctor didn't discourage him. He let go of the red pipe and took hold of another, this one gleaming with a prevalida trigger. Shoving it forwards, his finger shot around and jammed down the trigger as if it were high noon and his speed with the switch was all that stood between him and the Reaper. The moaning began, metallic and booming. It was as if the airship were crying out, and a sudden explosion of wind send scrolls flying through the air. The doctor's mantle was fluttering around, whipping up to touch at his face, his hair sent wild. His assistant was at once at his side.

"What are you doing? The hatch came open..." the assistant's green eyes slid from his mentor's manic grin to the levers before him, particularly the blue one. "Are you intent on killing us all!?"

"No my boy," came the wisened and manic tone, "I'm intent on the rescue!"

The dirigible, it's loading hatch open in the back, the plate of metal screeching and shaking in the wind, came down on the tower like a particularly awkward bird of prey. The wind was trying to shove it off course, and as the doctor rushed to the back and threw down rope ladders that rolled and flapped against the side of the tower, the hatch scraped and screamed against the roof of the Spire. Finally, it stood still in the air with a buck, sending the elves within stumbling to their knees. One assistant looked out, his face falling as he saw the dent in the hatch.

"We're caught sir!" he exclaimed.

"All the better to wait for the successful rescue!" came the only reply. When one elf spotted one of the strange stitched zombies grab hold of one of the three rescue ladders and begin to haul itself upwards, the senior assistant began to seriously contemplate murdering the elderly professor if not for their sanity then for their lives.

“Foolss.” At the foot of the spire was the creature hunched, his cockeyed gaze of brown and blue riveted on the crest of structure’s unliving black. Through the heatless stone had he felt the gutter of two life-sparks, those of his so-called peers locked in their own duels. A flash, smokeless, soundless, then nothing. “They ha’ sslain Ssydonia, and now they ha’ sslain you.”

He had seen the mound of flakes and ashes not far from the tower’s base, struck through by an array of knives and daggers. Idril and Braeden had bent so easily to his suggestions, to his lies and his threats. “Idril MÃ*riel, you ha’ passsed by indeed, and sso sshall I tell mahsster.” Selksis Farghast was now the sole commander of the Dark’s contingent, and would now lead his army away to meet the Necromancer. A dissension, he would tell him, had led the three to part ways before entering the blood-cursed forest. Arrogance and idiocy, however, had led the two to their deaths.

“And fire, fire hass conssumed it all, mahsster!” He laughed, the sound seeming to hiss from various punctures in his lungs. Lit torch in hand, he went to stand over uprooted tree that had once barred the entryway, the rough bark cutting bloodless furrows in his bare feet. A low sizzle as the torchwood struck oak, then a vigorous burst. If only he could smell that redolence of burning wood, the caress of rising smoke, the feisty prick of golden embers. “At leassst… at leassst I can sstill ssee.” The laugh again, like a deflated sack of air.

Corpses neatly lined up the stairway to form a bloated, rotten serpent. Apparently, a brute had mowed down the first wave from the top floors down, unwittingly paving the way for beauteous fireworks. One hop backwards and he was out the doors, patchwork hands landing in the same thump as his feet. Selksis moved away as jerkily as would a lame ape, though also twisting from side to side like the snake that he was.

Then the most peculiar thing happened. Though he was years into undeath, though he had gone ages without fluid in his veins, he felt a blood rush take to his head. The world spun away, more and more askew until he saw a vast stretch of wild grass. Then, a thud. A crunch as a booted foot stepped before his eyes. His left eye darted downward, to see a hunched mass a few feet away. His other rolled to the right, to see a white-clad figure standing over him. “Ekssecuted?”

The girl merely smiled, wiping her rapier on a rag. “Considering you’re still talking – without lungs, the gods know how – I’d say: not yet, but soon enough.”

::::::::::::

“Sselkssisss will need sstitchesss.” His whisper was slow, his tilted smile mad. Lillian quirked her eyebrows, wondering what could make a man so giddy after being decapitated. When she saw his headless body twitch and twist, realization dawned upon her face. She jumped away cursing, eyes even wilder as two arrows fled past her. One hand swung to the back, aiming for the pile of ash that once was the Queen of Undeath; at once, the weapons jammed there quavered to life and sprung out, trailing ash until they hovered inches away from her palm.

Lillian grasped the glass dirk and pitched it high toward the topmost window, its pommel striking the lintel stone – where it remained stuck, dangling as if by some powerful adhesive. Just then, Selksis’ body, bloated with gas, exploded into slivers of fetid flesh, closely followed by… “Guts? No… no! Snakes!” Hundreds of snakes, in advanced decay and plump with dried feces, dull eyes the color of bile, all swarming and slithering toward the librarian. Overwhelmed by fear, she had to tug several times on the thread attached to her thrown dagger before her body was sent reeling up as if hooked on a fisherman’s line. Yet the monstrosities, they were relentless. Already were they crawling up the wall like viscous, gruesome daisy chains.

Within moments she was upon the crack of a window, though not without avoiding half a dozen arrows during her swift ascent. In a maddened haste, she flung herself through, narrowly evading the flurry of quarrels that broke upon the obsidian ceiling. Screams came from the quailing students. Makeshift weapons were raised, but there was a palpable wave of relief when they saw Lillian’s face. “You’re alive! Where? Where did you go?” asked the voice of a familiar boy. “I saw you vanish in a flight of crows!”

Lillian froze, memories clouting her like stiff slug from behind. Could they possibly believe what had happened since? “They… dropped me off in nearby ruins. One of Xem’Zûnd’s lairs. I… ran back.” A simple gander at their faces told her no. Just as well. In fact, she might have judged anyone dim enough to fall for the tall tale she was feeding them. “Let’s just save this for the campfire, shall we? And, speaking of fires, there’s one snaking its way up the stairs, so if we could hurry…”

“Hurry where?” one of the girls enquired, her tone devoid of hope and brimming with cynicism. “There’s nowhere to run. Our only choices are to be mauled by a legion of undead or to be finely roasted, just in time for their triumphant feast.”

“I know I said to avoid windows unless you wanted to breathe through your forehead, but there’s a rather conspicuous, um...”

“What? What is it?” their breaths were bated as one, all hope dangling on the words she held back.

“There’s a flying boat on our heads.”

“The girl’s daft,” the skeptic continued in a scoff. “A flying boat?” Murmurs rose from the chorus of Istien students, their glee upon seeing the teenager crumbling so fast it was insulting.

“A flying boat, an airship, a blasted chariot that runs on cherub kisses, call it whatever you want!” The smoke was already licking the ceiling, and she could see a roaring gleam down the winding stairs. Lillian stuck out her hand from the window, winced as an arrow grazed her forearm, but still managed to draw in what seemed to be a ladder of ropes. “It’s up there, and it’s waiting!”

She could almost hear the hope rush back in like a tidal wave. One of them, however, still clung on to his wits. “But the arrows– “

“I’ll deal with the archers.” Saying no more, she spun on her heels and made for the canvas-wrapped cases sitting not far from the window. Clouds of smoke were now thinning her breath, beginning to shroud her vision, but she did not have to look long. There it was, one small case of Raiaeran wine bottles, weaved with a sorcery that would allow them to age beyond a millennia. Quickly she tore pieces of canvas with her dirk, then uncorked six of the bottles. There was comfort in the woody aroma, but still she promptly stoppered them with long rolls of the cutaway tarp. The last four, she tightly swathed in what remained of the fabric, affixing them to firmly her belt by the neck with the same sticky, sorcerous webbings she had used to ascend the spire.

Plucking one of the sempiternal torches that lit the winding stairway, she ignited a canvas corks. Crouching below the window, she bided her time, timing her breaths until she sprung halfway up, turned to face the killing field below and hurled the bottle into the unholy masses. An arrow wooshed, but she was already on her knees and out of sight. And astounding explosion flared when the glass shattered, the flame alighting the enchanted alcohol into an unexpectedly powerful incendiary. With the same timing, dexterity and accuracy, she flung each flaming cocktail one by one, drawing a line of blinding flames and smoke that was no doubt devouring flesh and rot, cutting swaths through the enemy ranks. “Quick, before the surviving archers clear their line of sight!”

One by one they hopped onto the ladder, doing their best to ignore the numbing height. They sped away like ducklings on a bustling road, quickly reaching the crown of the Obsidian Spire where the zeppelin’s metal hatch had splintered stone. However, mother goose remained behind. “Kahlina! Mister Godhand! Top window, there’s a ladder!” Unsure if she had been heard, she reiterated several times, each scream more piercing than the previous.

No answer. Nervously, she looked over the window’s ledge, saw the inferno rage wilder than she had imagined it would. Then heard a squirm. The gut-snakes, inches away. She struck the outer wall with one of the bottles at her waist, squashing the leading abomination and leaving nothing but a husk hanging from a brown smudge. The wine poured down, and she did the only thing she could think of: strike the wall with a burning torch. They hissed as they were caught in the conflagration, writhing before falling away in festive streamers.

“Damn it.” There was no more time. She vaulted over the ledge, catching one of the rope rungs and clambered all the way up, all of her weapons clattering behind her on the wall. She could see the hatchway cramped with faces full of worry. Men crewing the ship were looking at her as one would a revenant, though she could not tell why. One of those who lifted her from the brim enlightened her at last. “Gods, lass, if you weren’t still pretty under all that blood and grime, I’d have thought you one of them zombies!”

‘And he would’ve pushed me over the ledge.’ In all honesty, she was far too worn and shaken to take the crewman's statement as a thinly-veiled compliment, though she was still alert enough to count her blessings - he hadn't made the mistake, after all. “There are two more inside the tower. Please… wait for them.” Upon these few words, she felt a great numbness sweep through her muscles, and knew that she had reached her limits. ‘Just like last time… I never hang on long enough to see the end unfold.’

In the arms of a stranger, she fell to a world of darkness. Her last thoughts pertained to the tale she had spun to those impressionable students, to the lies she had weighed to inconvenient truths. In her defense, however, she had been truthful with one detail.

‘Bloody did run all the way back.’

Out of Character:

If everyone chooses to end this, then so will I. If not, I'm okay with that too. But just in case: Spoils: 3 bottles of the enchanted Raiaeran wine. Also, two spools of Lillian's trademark silk threads (near-Dehlar strength). That's half of what her Seamstress skill produces per quest, by the by. Godhand also gave Lillian his Delyn Rapier, so if you still want to deduce from the number of spools, I'll understand.

And he must've been losing it by then because he thought he heard Lillian telling him to...Go to the light. Or something like that. Christ, he could barely process what was going on. But, as he felt the ghouls attack the makeshift barricade he'd made out of Braeden's corpse with renewed vigor, he knew had to move. He tried get up a few times, but it was like someone had placed an anvil on his chest; like a fat man trying to do sit-ups. But he dug his clawed gauntlet into the tower's wall and finally managed to hoist himself up to his feet. And not a moment to soon, either, because right then one of the zombies had the bright idea to hack his way through Braeden instead of impotently pressing against him and now the floor was quickly filling with the Necromancer's troops.

The mercenary scrambled up the stairs as well he could with the armor sapping his energy, but it was like walking through molasses. He soon fell back into using the Spire's ill-fitting bricks as hooks to pull himself up the staircase. Still, as slow as he was, the zombies weren't much quicker. Also, they seemed to have a problem with stairs and soon degenerated into crawling upon the backs of their fallen brethren in their haste to reach him.

This went on until about the third floor, where he found a remnant of the initial assault wave. Apparently he hadn't killed this one with the finality he thought. One of the creatures stumbled over to attack him but he wasn't having any of that. He reared back and leveled it with a big boot to the head. It was good to know that even though his energy and speed were gone, he still had plenty of power.

He heard the reinforcements clambering couldn't spend any more Goddamn time screwing around with these monsters; they'd overwhelm him soon. One man cannot defeat an army. The gunman understood then he'd never get away with the Necromancer's armor slowing him down. With new determination he got a grip on the chestplate, grit his teeth, and pulled with all of his strength.

He was comfortable saying right then that that had been the most excrutiation pain he'd ever felt. He quite nearly soiled himself. In tearing off the chestplate, it felt like he had genuinely been tearing off his chestplate. The adamantine stubbornly attempted tried to remain affixed to the dragonskin, a few strange tendrils of inky blackness holding the two together. But he persisted, and after a bit more token resistance, the adamantine finally relented and dropped to the floor. The anvil was off his chest, and Godhand let out a sigh of relief. He quickly ran up the stairs, his hands racing to find another piece of the armor with an edge he could get a grip on. They found one of his shoulder plates and, bracing for pain, the warrior tore it off. Once more the pain was agonizing, but he felt himself getting lighter and continued until by about the fifth floor all that remained was the gauntlet on his right hand.

He had dashed all the way up the tower not knowing what to expect; something he couldn't quite understand was pushing him to reach higher ground. It was just a feeling. Nevertheless, he thanked the heavens he'd trusted his instincts when he came upon the large airship at the top of the Spire. He didn't know why the Hell they were flying over the Red Forest, and quite frankly he didn't really care. Godhand gratefully took hold of the ladder and pulled himself up to the deck, collapsing almost the moment he got up. With the entirety of his energy expended, he joined Lillian.

With the adrenaline rush fading, the sting of abused flesh made itself known with a vengeance. Mental note to self; wait for an opening and don’t take any more hits. It’s a dumb idea. I wanted to cradle and baby the flesh around my waist, but my fingers were raw from the rough touch of my whip as I had strangled Idril.

Heavy, metallic footsteps came up the stairwell. I stayed kneeling against the floor despite the potential threat. If it’s a zombie, I hope it chokes on me, I thought tiredly with more than a little spitefulness. It was a horrible day, a really and truly bad day. If I had to give it a number on the 1 to 10 list of crappy days, it would definitely hit a 12.

“Too bad Althanas doesn’t employ psychiatrist at temples, I’ll be needed one when the war is over.� Still kneeling, I began chuckling quietly to myself. Even to my own ears the laugh sounded, off, too low and bitter sounding compared to what I was used to hearing. I thought I heard Lillian shouting for a moment, yelling for Godhand and me. Jeez, even gone and potentially dead she’s still a pushy librarian.

When Godhand, ripping at what was left of his armor and covered in a foul looking substance, finally emerged from the stair well and darted across the landing before running full tilt up the next flight, I still knelt there and laughed. What the hell, if Godhand is running away then so can I. Lurching to my feet, I staggered up the stairs, half expecting the undead I could hear in the tower to catch up to me.

Surprise finally killed the last traces of laughter in my throat as I just barely caught sight of Godhand’s feet vanishing as he scaled the ladder hanging outside one of the windows. Lest I be left behind to contend with the undead in and outside of the tower, I hurried to the ladder and threw myself out the window to scrabble up it. Flashbacks of elementary school and trying to climb up the stupid rope ladders in gym class warred with the thought that we were being saved by the Hindenburg. I just hoped history wouldn’t repeat itself.

Holy shit, what a cynic I’ve become… oh well, whatever keeps me alive.

In a manner more becoming to a fish on land, I heaved myself up into the airship and flopped on my back. Rolling off of my kinked tail, I patted myself down, checking for my whips, knife and spell-book before I bothered to try and stand up. I was glad to see the remaining students that huddled together, crowding around Lillian and Godhand. I quirked a brow at her unconscious figure, then shook my head. I’ll ask later, when she’s awake.

“Up and away. Tell the captain of this boat that we should the hell out of here now that we’ve over stayed our welcome.� I half muttered to one of the crewmen in the area.

Out of Character:

Spoils: Rusted damascus dagger with small black crystals embedded in hilt. Spellbook – only readable spell in the book is a low level earth manipulation spell.