Might of Moxie (Althanas Boss Rush)

[Philomel]

Her eyes widened, becoming saucer-plates in the bright light of the afternoon. In this place, in these plains there was little but grass and tough scrubs and small woods. No snow, no freezing chill unlike that of Salvar where Philomel had fought and lived for so long, survived for so long. It was a different world here, a different fight, a different sort of hallelujah.

She grabbed her crossbow from where it hung at her side. On a useful buckle, on the belt at her waist, swinging there with everything else that there was. It was already loaded, with a fresh bolt within it, and there was little time. She watched the creature shed its outer layer like a cocoon as it became an ugly butterfly. The bolt itself was mostly blunt, shaved down and not the best for making a killing, but what Philomel had in mind to do would change the course of what everyone knew of archery.

"Stupid zombie flesh," she cursed at the thing.

Sweeping up with the bow, she narrowed her eyes down the sight. Looking down the beam, her eyes concentrated. Moving her gaze up from its breast to its shoulder to its neck she searched until she found a fleshier, thinner piece that could be penetrated, or at least this faun hoped.

There was a curve of the adam's apple, a lump there that rolled when he growled and roared. That would be a place to pierce, fire at and hit, to use the magics Philomel had within her - for she could send a quake as strong as one to pull down a building through the shaft of the weapon, through the bolt. Sending it across the world, across the distance between her and the dragon and the beast that they desired to slay.

She would shoot it and it hopefully would catch him, and shake his throat dry. Ruined and dry.

Beside her Delath the dragon yelped, before plunging himself back into the earth. He disappeared quite quickly, passionately devouring and digging through the earth to dwell back underneath. There he would go to rest, all twenty feet of him, to writhe and hide until he needed to come back out and help in the attack of disaster.

[Cydnar]

Oblivious to his offer, the men and women gathered against the creature continued their desperate folly. Cydnar extended his fangs, angered, and yet reticent to help them. Had they worked together, regardless of whose suggestion they plied their aid to, they might not be surrounded by such vicious carnage.

“You have been judged!” he roared. His skin whitened. His eyes turned jet black. Power courses through his veins. “You have been found wanting.”

The verse that condemned a thousand magical creatures and criminals to death through the paladin’s life echoed only in his mind. It served only to steady his nerves as he levitated the quartz spear aloft and aimed it as best he could. The eyes were his first guess, but now the thick veins pulsated on the beast’s erroneous skin, a new opportunity presented itself.

“To the earth asunder!”

The spear jolted mid-air, then darted forwards. Cydnar pushed air with a clenched fist, as though he were throwing it on his own strength. Telekinetic energy swelled in the air, soon drowned out by the tyranny of the creature’s presence. It sickened him. Only adrenaline prevented the Hummel from regressing into a zealot.

“Brother!”

Cydnar turned away from his projectile’s path and set sights on Dalasi. The swordsman appeared beleaguered, but seemingly unhurt. He gave the creature’s rampage a wide birth and closed the gap between them. There was a roar behind them. A small victory.

“I saw a woman who teleported.”

They stared at one another. They arrived at the same conclusion.

“What did she look like?” Cydnar glanced around at the embattled mercenaries.

Dalasi pointed an accusatory finger at a fiery faun a hundred feet away, ready to fight, but new to the bedlam. Cydnar smiled warmly. His fangs protruded from his mouth and he hissed softly. He looked back at the titan and saw ice form on its neck. His spear protruded from the creature's head, as usual, wide of his intended target. A plan formed.

“Let’s go!” he bellowed over the din and ran towards their unwitting ally. “You there!” he cried. “Can you get up to the neck to shatter the vein with this?” Cydnar conjured a small shard of rose quartz, sharp as a razor and hard as diamond from thin air to show her.

[Storm Veritas]

Storm had found the group seemed to be successful in spite of himself. The rocky behemoth hadn’t focused on him when he ran. It had tripped, but over a stone outcrop rather than over his wire. To hear the beast thunder to the ground brought a thick mist of dust down from the ceiling of the great pyramid, and a few large bricks with it.

Got him down, I guess without my help. Screw it; any port in a… nevermind.

Logan had begun to do some sort of flexing, posing posture that Storm could make neither heads nor tails of. The psion had more than proven his competency, but this seemed like neither the time nor the place for such hubris.

The faun had attacked with a mighty bolt; Storm thought he heard another speak to him but was too absorbed in his own attack. Teamwork would have to wait, he thought in a stroke of brilliance.

With a quick flip of his wrists, Veritas produced the same pair of daggers that had gutted so many sorry idiots before. Those noodly appendages looked far more vulnerable than their rocky predecessors, and Storm’s eyes lit up as he ran straight at the mighty creature.

WHHHIIIRRR C’SHH! WWHHHHHIIII-SSSSSSSSSSSS

The long arms came after him with a speed that they were in no way capable of before shedding their stony façade. The first set of blades were deflected with an expert twist of a dagger, however for all his experience Storm had never even seen the second arm attack.

oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit

The blade, or blades, hit him across the belly with a brutal slice. Storm knew it was bad; but dared not look down at the damage. He spun his body low and fast across the floor, tucking blades to his forearms as he clutched desperately at his stomach. He pushed heels hard to the floor to distance himself from the abomination.

Looking up, he glanced at the action while assessing damage. With his fingers, he could tell that the slices were deep, and the warm thin flow of blood through his fingers foretold a debilitating wound. It was only a small relief that he could not feel his intestines outside the flesh.

He was down, and working a small electric fire across his abdomen in a possibly futile attempt to heal. Had he wounded the beast at all? Had he bought enough time?

Slow, badly wounded, and pumping blood, Storm started to see his vision blur as he began to drift from consciousness.

[Tobias Stalt]

Tobias watched the mountain crumble.

He exhaled long and let his arms fall to his sides. The dark titanium blade dug into dirt as he stalked forward toward the titanic victim, ready for the end. The arms flailed almost comically, as though the beast finally knew a primal fear equal to what it instilled.

"So how does it feel?" he asked in a low voice, words that were swallowed up by the carnage that raged around him. In his world, there were only two; Tobias and his prey. "After all of this, you are the hunted, and the smallest of us are killing you for sport."

A wicked smirk crawled across his face, and Tobias raised his weapon. "Scream for me. Show me the measure of your suffering, and then, you may die."

He caught the blade racing toward him on the edge of his blade.

Irreverent silence consumed Tobias' mind as he focused entirely on the guardian, seeking to offer those it had killed peace.

He batted the vestigial blade aside and let out a ragged breath and reached into the folds of his cloak. The glint of his prevalida firearm shone brightly as the sun caught it, and he quickly aimed for the beast's neck.

"Go for the throat."

[redford]

John landed, tumbled, and skidded to his feet just to see the monster shed the stone plating it had, in favor of darker magics. Though, at this point, John was past the point where it could surprise him. It needed to die, and die it would, whether it was stone or flesh or metal or fire, it would perish at their hands. Logan called out for a diversion or protection as he darted toward the head, followed by the snapping of two large bony arms.

John ran toward him, intercepting the two appendages, attempting to block the flurry of slashes and stabs with armored hands.

Searing pain blossomed at his left shoulder blade as he blocked one bony talon and used his other arm to break it off. John didn't miss a beat, and as the wound began to bleed, he concentrated on his armor, and it moved over the gash, sealing it, at least for the moment. He ducked under another swipe, managing to block another of the giant's fingers and break it as a talon he didn't see plunged into his back, just to the right of his spine. John roared in pain, spinning round with such force that the bone broke off inside him. Liquid metal again coated his injury, though the armor at his hands was growing thin.

A swing came at his back again, but this time he was ready. He caught the long finger with his armored right hand, pulling it toward himself as he formed a long blade at the end of his other arm, sacrificing much of the armor that protected him. His wounds flowed freely as he swung the makeshift blade upward, cleanly severing the behemoth's arm at the wrist, leaving it a flailing stump.

As the hand fell though, the other arm snaked forward, plunging a bony spike into his abdomen. John roared, swinging with the blade again, severing the last finger on the arm.

His breath hitched as the bony arms flailed around near-harmlessly, and John stared down at his bleeding stomach, knowing that it was the only thing keeping his insides inside of him. He mustered up what concentration was not devoted to not crying out, and the metal of his blades and gauntlets retreated up his arms, coating his wounds, keeping himself from bleeding out, though now he had no protection, no armor that wasn't keeping himself alive.

John clenched his teeth, and breathed despite the pain, standing up straight. The pain lessened a bit and he began to run forward to where Logan was. He only hoped that they finished this quickly, internal bleeding was a bad way to go.

[Cards of Fate]

Philomel's bolt struck true, tearing the fiends Adams apple from its rotten flesh. It let out a gurgling howl, only to be met with a sharp report as Tobias let off a shot from his gun to also sink into the beasts wounded neck. Fetid black ooze gushed from its wound as it staggered back, arms flailing as it fell to its back. Dust filled the air, clouding and obscuring everyone's vision. It thrashed about for several moments, its vile blood showering over all in the area. The beast only had time for one last thought as the light left its eyes.

'I have...failed...'

Its savage heart grew still, and it let one last whimper out. The terror of the expidition had been slain, the mighty Moxxilus had fallen. The group stood in silence for several moments. Such a monsterous beast surely couldn't have been felled so easily? Blood began to pool at the base of the creatures body and silence filled the air. It would appear the group had been successful. Sure, the excavation was filled with the corpses of those they were supposed to have protected, but the dig would be able to continue when new recruits arrived on the next shipment. All that was left was to reclaim the dig site, and get their reward.

OOC: It appears you have all defeated the foul Moxillus! But what was the creature so vehemently protecting? Enter the temple and learn the truth! Next (and final) post in about 2 hours

[Tobias Stalt]

Tobias glanced at the group around him that yet stood. In a mire of corpses, they alone saw the end of the creature, despite the original intention of the job. "They mentioned the temple being inaccessible before," he mused as the life drained out of Moxxilus. "Ah, right," he murmured as the longsword slid back into its sheath.

Tobias hurried quickly over to the fallen form of Storm Veritas. "Here," he said, "let me help you." Strength fled from Tobias' aching limbs and he quaked as his arms struggled to heft his wounded ally of convenience. "Erm... gah, he's out... and he's heavy..."

He staggered toward the temple with shaking shoulders and a man over his shoulders, and from beneath his black clothing; blood began to spew from wounds opened under extreme duress, the cost of strength far beyond his own. "Hey," he called in a raspy voice, to the Faun who appeared to be closer than the others.

"Hey," he repeated. "He needs help. And we should be able to get in the temple now, besides."

[Logan]

Logan's fists released as he watched the behemoth fall. As the dust began to settle, the psion wondered how many times he would find himself hired on a whim to do some unexplained job, only to end up in a struggle for his life and the lives of numerous others. By his count, he was at least up to ten, and that was only in the past year.

His eyes bounced around the ruins, from the monstrosity to its victims. Not a single archeologist, scientist or assistant remained. All of the grunts they hired were essentially nothing more than goop upon the ground. The only ones who remained were the ones hired to protect all of those bastards in the first place, and past experiences told Logan those same bastards full well knew the danger the hired guns would be thrust into.

There existed no single morsel of sorrow or guilt over his survival when so many others died, because their deaths felt justified. Perhaps if they had given the ragtag bunch an idea of why they were there to begin with, then maybe he might have offered more protection or help. Sometimes, you have to loose your pride so you can tighten your grip on survival.

Logan turned to look at the rubble and ruins, then to John. He made his way over and helped him up, as well, letting the giant rest an arm around his shoulder, before slowly, methodically, they made their way to the exposed entrance and walked inside. He had no idea what awaited them, riches, glory, or absolutely nothing, but he sure as Haide wanted to find out what all the fuss was over.

[redford]

John's arm clasped with Logan's, and as he rose to from his knee, he coughed. Blood came up on the hand that covered it, and he realized that his lung was beginning to fill with blood. Likely that damned bone jutting out of his back. Or the one impaled in his stomach, if it was pointed upwards enough. Either way, he'd need some help pretty quick if he didn't want to drown in his own fluids.

Logan pushed one of John's arms around him, though it didn't help much since they were very different heights and John was quite heavy. He looked at the downed behemoth, then to the rest of the crew. It appeared that the only ones to survive were the ones guarding the ones who were massacred. It would have been funny if it weren't so morbid.

He slowly realized that they were missing one.

As if on cue, the one Logan had called Tobias called for help with the fifth member, who was slumped up against a rock.

John lifted his arm and walked over to the injured elf that the stone and flesh monster was chasing earlier. He was bleeding profusely. John looked down at his abdomen, then to his hand. Perhaps he could stop the bleeding, keep the man from dying, at least for the time being.

John concentrated, pulling armor away from the wound on his left shoulder blade, and formed it to his palm. He felt himself begin to bleed, but his wound was shallow, and he had quite a bit of blood left to bleed. He tore the elf's tunic, placing his armored palm on the two deep gashes that the monster had given him. He concentrated, and it was difficult, but eventually he sunk the armor into the wound, plugging all of the veins and vessels that were bleeding.

He turned the elf over, wrapping his left arm around his back to his abdomen, where his palm rested, and he picked up his legs with the other. Logan was standing a few paces off in the direction of the temple. John maintained his concentration and followed.

[Philomel]

As the thing grounded to a halt, finally it seemed for these adventurers here had definitely been fighting for long, Philomel turned to look at them. Her eyes moved from one to the other, taking in each in turn with keen interest. Some she knew, some she recognised, and others were complete strangers to her. She was sure she, though, seemed like a sudden weirdo, running into their fight to help them destroy this beast, so sudden and unceremonious.

There were five of them, she could see, all of them male. Four were human and the other appeared elf, though what exact type of elf Philomel could not be sure. There was a tall giant she vaguely recognised - he had one of those statures that she was sure she had seen before but a face that possibly she had forgotten. Another being she knew the name of for he was the infamous Tobias Stalt, that (for a while) scourge of the Crimson Hand. Though now, of course, with Maddison Freebird holding court in Salvar he was more friend than foe. They all helped each other get to their feet, like they had bonded already in brotherhood.

A brotherhood she was determined to sidle her way in to. Why ever miss a good opportunity?

Philomel nodded to them each in turn, a few of them shorter than her, in fact most so. Apart from the giant man of course. Shouldering her iron crossbow, and hoping that very clearly they had been given a glimpse of her awesome power, she smiled, before giving a short introduction of herself.

"Philomel, at your service, no need to thank me," she said. "Now it seems you have a monster problem? I am sure I can help."

Gesturing back behind her at the corpse of rotting flesh she let a great grin appear on her face. "If you get pay, I don't mind taking my share. If you know what's in the temple ... well. I would be happy to go with."

Her hoof patted the ground, and the ground itself shook with a faint tremour, the very dust rocking from side to side. It was the motion of Delath, her dragon from the deep, scratching the surface of the world once more, a creature of habit and destruction who could definitely help in further times of trouble.

"I am happy to help."