Tomb Raider

[Malagen]

((Closed to Lavinian Pride.))

Malagen was in the elven land of Raiaera for only a week and already his aversion towards it was reaching the unbearable level. By and large it was because Raiaera was in so many aspects akin to Audelas. Audelas and its enmity towards the Dram. Audelas and its majestic towers, endless green pastures and condescending folk that were always right. Audelas from which his kindred were exiled ruthlessly. Audelas that the Dram swore to conquer. Ever since he was able to understand the spoken word, he was fed the information about the land that was rightfully theirs, that the Audelans took from them. And through those long years of training in the frigid northern realm of Ferioh, Malagen has grown bitter towards anything that even remotely reminded him of the stories of Audelas. Needless to say, once he actually found himself in such an environment, his already hostile volatile mood could only grow worse.

He wasn’t here by his choosing though. After breaking from a Salvar prison with a wench that went under a peculiar name of Skyler, he wasn’t the most welcome person in the wintry realm. And since going north from Salvar got a person pretty much nowhere, south was the only option. And south meant either Alerar or Raiaera. Since the latter was closer, he opted for it and regretted his decision ever since. Melodic voices and pretty-pretty folken that just shone with fairness and wisdom were a bit too pretentious for his taste. Not to mention the picturesque buildings. It seemed to Malagen that every single piece of stone and brick is set so it was to be artsy, and even those that loved art knew that there was much and there was too much. And Malagen wasn’t even a big fan of art in the first place.

Unfortunately, he needed to scrape up some money to proceed further, perhaps westwards to Alerar and the dark elves. Malagen knew nothing of Alerar, but the fact that they were dark elves seemed far more promising then the jolly milieu he found himself in. Luckily for him and his line of work, even lands as fair as Raiaera had the much more knavish side to them, a perforation that ran deep beneath its foundation. All you had to know was where to look and soon enough you were knee-deep in tasks that took place on the blind side of the law.

So after a brief search thought the dirtiest foulest corners of Eluriand – that were, of course, the crummy low-profile taverns – he found himself sitting at a table with a smoothie with slick black hair and a toothy grin. He presented himself as an independent business man, but judging by his sly demeanor and the roguish twinkle in his eyes, he was as much of a business man as Malagen was a housewife. But that was irrelevant right now. What mattered was that the man had plenty in his coffers and he was willing to part with some of it if the Dram did a task for him. Apparently recently there was a minor earthquake in Eluriand and while there was no visible damage to the Raiaera capitol, something was stirred beneath the surface. More specifically, the tremor caused a crack in one of the sewer pipes and it led towards a crypt that supposedly contained a powerful artifact. There was other information about it, particularly about the artifact and the configuration of the crypt that the man found simply amazing, but Malagen didn’t share the enthusiasm and let it go in one ear and out the other. All he knew was that he had to snatch the artifact from some fruity elven archeologists, kill some guards and get the money to get out of this hellhole.

So once again, his fate led him to the sewers. A person would think that elves shat flowers, but their dung reeked just like everybody else’s and Malagen had to struggle not to allow his face to display his reaction to the stench as he made his way through the canals. Luckily for him and his olfactory senses, there was a walkway that saved him the trouble of walking through the foul stream and the entrance to the crypt wasn’t too far from where he entered the sewers. Beside the crack in the wall stood a pair of sentries, mumbling something to each other under the shimmering light of the two torches mounted on the wall. “Tough luck...” Malagen thought. “...for them.”

“Who goes there?” one of the guarding duo asked, a gold-haired lad that didn’t seem a day over twenty. But then again, that could be said for most of the elves. His pointy ears and amplified vision spotted the dark figure approaching fairly soon though, granting both sentries ample time to brandish their longswords. Malagen paid no heed to their warnings or their steadfast posture. They were both fairly inexperienced with blades, he could tell that much, and it came as no real surprise. Why waste a pair of veteran guards on guarding some pencil pusher archeologists that dug through the dirt?

“Stop right there, stranger!” the second of the two – a lad with his brown hair arranged in a pair of silken braids - added once he noticed that there was no intention in the mysterious figure to stop its approach. Malagen kept sauntering forwards. In his left – that was now the significantly weaker of the two hands – stood a sheathed saber, his right loose at his side. However, instead of coming straight at him, the blonde guard whispered something, his eyes going out of focus for a fraction of a second before he reaffirmed his stature. Unbeknownst to Malagen, the sentry’s whisper was actually a telepathic call for reinforcements. Something neither of the two lived to see.

Because once he was within what he liked to call Battle Circle – which was really just a perimeter some ten paces in diameter – the Dram barbarian was like a predator. He charged at the pair of greenhorns, his right hand finding its way to the hilt of the saber and pulling it out in a blistering motion. The golden-haired elf managed to parry the first strike aimed at his chest, but the force of the slash pushed his blade downwards and away from the proper blocking position, opening him up for the quick slice that tore through his groin tendons and opened up his leg artery. He fell to the ground with a loud yelp, but a slash across the face shushed him effectively. His partner was already out to avenge him though. The strike was precise, finely measured and aimed at Malagen’s chest, but the dark man pushed it aside with a sideways single-handed parry. His left hand caught the wrist of elf’s sword hand, keeping it away long enough for Malagen’s saber to thrust through his neck. The elf looked at the indifferent azure eyes with disbelief, with profound last-minute agony, before he slumped to the ground. It was a look that Malagen saw countless times before.

He sheathed his blade with eerily calmness, like an executioner that just did his work and had no regret about doing it, and entered through the ample crack in the wall tilling. The passage to the crypt was well lit by torches burning in a soft azure glow, enlightening the cavern-like twist and turns that led to the rather large burial chamber with three stone caskets. The walls were covered with ancient frescos – depicting a scene in which an angel handed down a small chest to what looked like three people – and writings that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He didn’t need to, fortunately. There were three rather elderly gentlemen with ashtray-thick glasses that surely had the answers he sought.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah had heard many a rumor, first and foremost that of a powerful artifact. The second being the ample amount of opportunities to those that would be able to gather it. As she moved about Eluriand, freshly rebuilt after the undead plague having been destroyed she smirked as she began the job of gathering a bit more information. For her, the job of raiding a tomb was not unknown to her profession. After all they were dead, why did they need such trappings that the living would surely enjoy more.

As she got a map of the sewers she made her way down a pipe, avoiding guards as she did so, as not to look suspicious. Her tread was careful and placed just right in order to avoid the filth and grime of the sewers, and while the stench wasn't the best she knew better than to complain. After all she too had been a patron of Seth Dahlios' ten rules for success, and she remembered the third rule very clearly...

If you're going to fertilize the ground, you're going to have to shovel a lot of shit.

No job left the person doing it completely clean. Getting dirty was what made the effort worth it, for if it was easy everyone would do such a thing. No, the true tests of skill and ability required one to get their hands dirty, and she was one who had taken that very rule to heart. It was merely ironic that in this case excrement was literal, and while she wouldn't be shoveling said excrement, she would have to endure it. Moving about the tunnel quietly she stopped when she heard bold footsteps that cared not a whit for those that would hear them.

Moving silently she saw a man with sword moving swiftly. His gate was that of a warrior, born and bred. His actions were cold and ruthless as he walked straight at the guards, preparing his weapon for battle. Rolling her eyes she whispered softly, "Amateur, you may get through those guards, but you're going to get caught..."

Sure enough he cleaved through the men as she followed suit, waiting only long enough to gather a few things from the guards. Money pouches first and foremost, followed by any useful equipment, such as flint and torches. Feeling better prepared for her foray into the tombs she entered, and found herself stopping in the tunnel behind the man as he looked at the anthropologists. Moving slowly so her movement would not be heard she unsheathed her daggers before she spoke her voice not showing a whit of cowardice as she said, "Weapons down boy, I need these bastards alive and I doubt a brute like you would let them live ten seconds longer than I would..."

[Malagen]

She was good, there was no doubt about it. Few had the necessary prowess to sneak up on Malagen like that and leaving him heedless of the treacherous approach. But the sound of the blades leaving the sheaths gave her off, not just her presence, but her intentions as well. If she wanted to stab him in the back, she wouldn’t take it easy, wouldn’t unsheathe her weapons gingerly, and because of that he didn’t respond in the usual manner. So instead of decapitating the cat that prowled behind him like a predator, his left hand merely swung backwards, bringing the sheathed saber towards the woman and stopping it less then an inch from her busty bosom. His face, emotionless and pale, followed the motion with agonizing slowness, presenting the indifferent set of dead azure eyes that seemed annoyed despite the fact that annoyance was yet another emotion that the Dram blocked out effectively.

“First come, first served, bitch.” Malagen uttered, and though his words were acerbic, his tone wasn’t. Instead it seemed uninterested, lacking any intonation that might disclose even the slightest trace of usurpation in him. His lackluster eyes took a quick survey, noting her armaments, her scandalous clothing, her curvaceous figure, her cunning set of gray eyes – the eyes that, though his mind refused to register it, reminded him of his own – and merely filed all the info in his mind as a bunch of notes. If she were to oppose him, he would call forth these notes to help him deal with her. Not that she looked particularly dangerous. Except those eyes.

By the time his study of the intruder was done, the three old geezers noticed the presence of somebody that didn’t quite look like those elven guards that checked up on them from time to time. And they seemed scared witless. Malagen didn’t find this surprising since the trio looked like genuine bookworms with their scrawny physiques and thick spectacles. They were well past their primes, humans with wrinkled visages and hairpieces that started to look so thin, one could almost look through them. What were humans doing in an elven land was beyond Malagen’s comprehension, but he wasn’t keen on digging deeper on the matter anyways. The one on the right – seemingly stronger then the others, his face covered with a salt-and-pepper beard – found the courage to speak.

“Who are you? What did you do with Tarniel and Ostarien?” he spoke, holding a rather large duster in one hand and a puffy brush in the other. Beside him, lying on one of the caskets, was a scroll and a quill, which the man probably used to copy the writings from the walls. And even as he asked that question, a sound of frantic feet could be heard coming from the other side of the crack. It was still distant, accompanied with the clink of the metal armor, but it was a clear announcement that there was no time to waste on palaver.

“I killed them.” Malagen replied in what seemed like a tone of a professional businessman that was phlegmatic towards way this deal would go down. He took a step forwards, keeping the knave girl in his peripheral vision and advancing towards the archeologist. “And I’ll do the same to you if you don’t give me the artifact you found here.”

It was only half-true, but the deception couldn’t be read from any part of Malagen’s demeanor. The whole truth would be that, yes, Malagen would kill him and his pals if they didn’t give him the artifact, and, yes, he would kill them even if they did just to tie up ends even if they weren’t so loose.

“Wh-What artifact? We haven’t found anything...” but before he managed to speak any further, the saber flashed in the torchlight, the metallic sound followed by the blistering swish. By the time Malagen’s blade returned to the sheathe in his left hand, the most timid out of the three archeologists that stood behind the seemingly bolder one fell down with gurgling sound as blood seeped from his newly-opened throat. The sounds from the sewers rose in strength and now the first voices could be heard. Elven voices that remained melodious even in such dire situations. He would probably have to mug through them. But first...

“Let’s try this again.” Malagen said to the gray-haired man that backpedaled, holding his tools to his chest, until he struck the stone wall.

“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. We found nothing. The caskets were empty. No bodies, no skeletons, nothing. We’re only here to decipher...” he muttered, his eyes large and frightened, his knees turning to jelly. The benighted apparition of the barbarian loomed over him like a nightmare.

“Well, I guess you’re of no use to me then.” the Dram spoke, his right once again darting to the hilt of his blade, much to dismay of the man before him.

[Lavinian Pride]

As the man went to slash out Sarah moved grabbing the upstart by his wrist. When he saw this act his hand reach out to backhand her into submission, The fire in her eyes lit up as she not only ducked under the blow but brought a dagger around bringing to a halt within an inch of his neck before she spoke her voice quite venomous, "You leave them to me, or I will cut your heart out as my next toy."

Backing off but staying between him and the archeologists she spoke her tone demanding and not giving room for much debate, "If the tombs are empty why are they here?"

One of the men stuttered as he said, "They might be a replica of the real tomb, this is sort of a mirror of that room..."

"Why would it be here if it isn't the real place?"

"It might be the entrance-"

"Shut up you fool!" The other spoke as he clamped a hand over his colleague’s mouth.

Sarah smirked as she moved back and Said, "Well now, you don't finish the explanation and I will just let him kill you, no need to get more information, I think I could take it from here."

Both of the older men gulped at the threat as Sarah turned so she presented her side to the dram. Her head being careful not to take her eyes off the dram moved to look at them as she said, "So what’s it going to be, me or him?"

"We thought it might be the entrance, and that its actually a labyrinth to the real tomb. That this room is meant to deceive tomb raiders into thinking the tomb is a sham. We don't know where the doors are, but the ancient’s scripts on the wall talk about the dangers involved with reaching the real one," The man who began finished.

Sarah walked up and grabbed the book out of the man's hands before she said offhandedly to the dram, "No you can kill them, got what I need..."

With those words the sounds of metal clanking together could be heard as she cursed. The guards were quick to arrive that was for sure, then again she had been delayed by the oaf of a brute trying to kill her archeologists. As she looked about frantically her trained eyes moved until she felt a small breeze. Moving over she saw a crack in one of the sarcophagi. Shoving it open she sighed as she looked at the approaching guards, marching down the tunnels and said, "See you boys..."

She jumped without a second thought.

[Malagen]

Although it might’ve seemed otherwise, it wasn’t underestimation that allowed the curvaceous girl to get a dagger close enough to his neck to make a kill. His problem was much more physical in nature. Because while his right was as strong and deft as ever, his left was defective. The gunshot wound to his left shoulder – that he suffered in Slavar and was now a disgusting looking scar – nearly tore it asunder and given the fact that he was thrown into the dungeon immediately afterwards, it never got a chance to heal properly. It became sluggish, weaker, not in sync with his right, and because of that it was too slow to connect with the face of the bold vixen. So instead of putting the bitch back to her place by pasting her one, he now faced the sheen of her blade, but neither it nor her bitter voice managed to impress Malagen. He withdrew his blade, returning it to its sheath, making a note to take his time when she’s done with the questioning and kill her slowly. Nobody threatened him and lived.

Not even if they prove rather industrious like the sly thief did. Her relatively more subtle approach managed to procure the necessary information from the frightened archeologists, leaving the old geezers to his mercy as she inspected the crypt. There was none for the remaining two. Malagen’s blade once again flashed in the dim illuminance, held in reverse grip, and with two effortless slashes he sent them to meet their maker. They were full of crap anyways. Secret passages, hidden messages, fake crypts, it all seemed like bullshit that the two served the brown-haired woman just to get on her good side. Unfortunately for then, the barbarian didn’t have a good side. And now it was time for the sassy harlot to find that out the hard way, the bloody way. The painful way.

“Stop right there, infidel!” a strict voice tore him from his righteous retribution. He was so keen on pulverizing the girl that he forgot all about the incoming elven platoon that just marched through the front door and into the crypt. “You’re getting sloppy, worm!” he remembered the words of his teacher, those that were usually followed with such a slap that Malagen’s ears bled. His mentor was dead now, perished by the prodigious pupil that now stood against seven fair faced warriors. He knew that was as much of a warning as he would get. He was caught red-handed, the trail of corpses leading to the blade that even now stood in his hands, sopping with blood. All because of that little bitch that swiveled out of the way like a snake, creeping out of the main room through a hole below one of the caskets. He would track her down soon enough, make her meet all those before her who thought that it was a smart thing to do to oppose him. But first...

He offered no words as a riposte to the incoming soldiers. He merely spun his blade once, returning it to a normal grip, and charged straight at the pompous decorated elf that seemed the leader of the bunch. Unfortunately, he never got close enough to take a jab at him. The elf murmured something incomprehensible, something that sounded like a verse from some song that insulted the Dram with its purity, its dulcet sound, and Malagen was shoved backwards. The invisible force was overwhelming, propelling his body through midair and forcing it down the same chute that the girl previously descended. Only Malagen wasn’t descending precariously. He was freefalling, hitting the walls and bouncing off of them like a rag doll. His bulk struck her on the way down and before long both of them crash landed into a heap of dust.

And even as that happened and the smooth unblemished faces of the elves appeared high above them, the entire cavern around them shook fiercely. It took less then a second for the earthquake to crush the passage above them and send a myriad of fragmented rocks rolling down towards the pair. It was an avalanche of dust and stone, bound to cover Malagen and his unlikely partner in crime if they didn’t move. The Dram pushed himself up to his feet, paying little heed to the girl as he staggered away from the crash site. His hand still held the blade though, the barbarian waiting to see if he would need to finish the job after the rocks crashed on her head.

However, with the deafening rumble of the rocks came a dust so thick that soon enough Malagen couldn’t even see more then a pace before him. He brought his left arm to his face, using the fabric of his coat to filter out the usurped dirt and listening for any sign of her footsteps. He wouldn’t allow her to get a drop on him again.

[Lavinian Pride]

She tumbled using the walls to stabilize her fall before a much denser object struck her. She refused to cry out in pain as she twisted and hit the ground on her back using her arms to try and maximize the area she hit. Looking up the tunnel it was all starting to make sense when he pushed off her, and she saw the rain of rocks coming down upon her. Rolling away from both the debris and the dram she groaned as she checked her body, making sure it was alright. Once everything was assuredly in place she stood stretching and looking around.

The room they were in was covered in even more glyphs, the tunnel having been situated in the center. With roughly ten feet to the walls, she groaned as she tried to figure out the exit. As she covered her mouth with her hand she knew the bastard was around here somewhere, and so pressed her back against the wall in an effort to ensure he wouldn’t be sneaking up on her. It was a situation where she was not happy to be stuck with the oaf. He was far too physical to be considered a worthy partner in this endeavor.

However, all this was a moot point when she considered that the way back up was now effectively shut down, and the only way out was to figure out the puzzles of the tomb. A sigh escaped her as she tucked the book into her satchel quickly trying to buy her time as she slide against the wall trying to find the exit, conspicuously absent by the fact she couldn't see through the storm of dust. Coughing once she cursed as she prepared for his onslaught, unsure of where exactly he was, but knowing he was around there somewhere.

As she sighed she muttered, “Can’t get much worse than this, cornered by a brute, and stuck in a catacomb of puzzles…”

[Malagen]

Malagen could hear the shuffling in his vicinity, but the dense cloud of uplifted dirt prevented him from seeing anything save a tawny blur that stung his eyes. The thick cloth of his coat did an admirable job at preventing the dust from entering his lungs, and that ultimately enabled him to stand serenely and focus on the one sense that discovered the location of the sassy bitch. He needed to dispose of her first not only because she threatened him in that faux tomb above, but because that was the way the barbarian operated. If somebody was an obstacle, Malagen killed them. If somebody was a nuisance, Malagen killed them. If somebody spilled their drinks over the barbarian in drunken stupor, Malagen killed them. It was nothing personal, there was no hate or irritation attached to such demeanor. It was simply the way the Dram was taught to deal with problems. Sarah was clearly a nuisance and therefore there was no way she would be getting out of these catacombs alive.

The artificial mist wasn’t keen on clearing up. The rocks that collapsed and blocked their way out also barred entrance to the draft that would dissipate the dirt more rapidly, so Malagen was stuck with just his hearing as his guide. Luckily for him, the dark-haired woman was making ample noise, first shambling to the right of him and then coughing weakly, obviously irritated by the visible air she had to breathe. This was a perfect homing beacon for the barbarian. He moved guardedly, carefully choosing his stepping and making certain that his clothing made no additional noise as he crept through the cloud. His left was still in front of his face, covering his mouth and nose in an attempt to filter out the dust particles, while his right held the saber at the ready.

He could hear her more clearly now, tentatively moving along the stretch of the wall and even mumbling another rather insulting batch of words that didn’t help her to get on Malagen’s good side. A brute, she called him. He would show her just how much of a brute he was before the day ended. The movement of his sword was invisible in the dusty smokescreen and by the time the ruffling of his clothes could be heard, the tip of his saber clinked against the wall. The edge of the sword stood less then an inch from the side of Sarah’s neck. Malagen’s emotionless face emerged from the dirt cloud.

“I remember you wanting to cut my heart out up above.” he spoke, his tone even and seemingly uninterested. His azure eyes looked deadly cold in the dim illumination of the catacombs, looking into her own as if she was nothing more then a piece of mud that got stuck to his shoe. “Let me show you how that’s done.”

He had every intention to do that too, but even as his left foot moved forwards to give him firmer footing before slicking the wench down, he could hear a stony click from down below. At first it seemed that there were no consequences to this misstep, but after a couple of seconds of complete silence, there was some obvious movement in the proximity. It came from beyond the walls, from deeper in the labyrinth, even from above them, rusty cogs turning after years of being dormant, loose ropes tightening as the unseen machinery moaned and started to come back to life. Malagen’s blade was solid and firm, but there was no intention in the barbarian to cut the thief down right now. The priorities changed drastically once the room around them suddenly started to show signs of life and if Malagen’s assumption was correct, the room’s intention towards the intruder were bound to be everything but amicable.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah was up against the wall when the blade came to a halt right next to her. She breathed in sharply as she bit down on the animalistic fear. Soon the face accompanied it and her daggers were way out of position to be any good. He seemed to be making threats, trying to finish what had started when he made the dumbest mistake of both their lives. Without looking or thinking he activated a trap. The cogs in Sarah's head turning as she realized the implication of said trap.

As Heard the metal squeal she saw it, a silent killer from their right. And as much as she hated the brute instinct kicked in forcing her to push forward and shove the both of them down as the blade pressed over them, nearly snagging her sports top as they came down. Her face was mere centimeters from his before she glared angrily into his eyes, "You want to go tomb raiding better start thinking, you're like a bull in a potters shop..."

With those words she rolled off the oaf and took stock of the situation, the dust was starting to clear as she saw the room a bit more clearly. The pillar they came down actually had a ladder back up, snapped neatly and two and sticking out of the rubble. A soft groan escaped her lips as she said, "No way but forward I guess…"

Moving slowly over the floor she kept her eyes aware using what little information about traps she knew from Darith to navigate the room lest she trip another one. One foot shuffled in front of the other as she moved her feet backwards from toe to heel. The movement while rather silly looking soon produced results as her foot immediately sprang up. Kneeling she pulled a knife and pried at the loose stone revealing a plate. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she said, "They thought of everything. No way to cut the rope and disarm it, you either activate it or you don't."

Keenly aware the brute was probably going to try and kill her again she kept the dagger in her hand ready. A deadly thorn the arrow tipped head was carefully held along her wrist as she tried to remain aware of her surroundings. Her back was to him, but she was working on her own trap. He could either let her live, or try to kill her again, and if the latter, she would spring on him like nothing else.

After all, every rose has its thorns...

[Malagen]

Malagen was a rather bulky bastard and as such not an easy target to tackle, but the sassy wench acted fast enough to render any preparation impossible. As it turned out, the fact that he let his guard down in that instant saved his life. The rumbling from behind the walls resulted in a massive ten-foot blade that sliced horizontally in an arc that would’ve surely cut them both in half. As it was, the pair was nestled safely beneath this threat, the girl’s body pressed against his own as her eyes peered into his own. The anger in her browns found nothing but indifference in Malagen’s azures, despite the severity of their situation. Not even her acerbic words managed to elicit some kind of reaction from him.

Well, almost no reaction anyways. The fact of the matter was that this was the perfect opportunity for the Dram to kill the girl. All he had to do is grab her by the jaw and twist her neck in order to hear that familiar snap that would end her life. But even though he was a murderous bastard – and then some – Malagen had enough integrity to acknowledge the fact that he owed the bitch now. So by not killing her right there and then, he actually evened it all out rather well. This didn’t necessarily mean that he wouldn’t kill her later, but her little rescue bought her a rather shabby truce for the time being. So when she rolled away from him, the barbarian got up to his feet wordlessly, collecting his saber from the dust on the tiled floor.

The cloud around them started to substantially lose integrity by the time they were both up, the majority of the dust particles finally settling on the ground and enabling relatively regular breathing. Only now Malagen could ascertain his surroundings properly. The dim, white illumination that seemed almost grayish was emitted by a series of petty, irregular gems that were imbedded in the walls at even intervals. There was some more mumbo-jumbo inscribed on them neatly, chiseled into the stone and filled with what seemed like white gold that seemed rather unremarkable when covered with layers and layers of dust. Behind him, the path down which they tumbled was collapsed and effectively impassable, which meant that the little thiefling bitch was right; their only choice was going forward. And what stood forward was what seemed like more halls just like the one they were in. Malagen thought it was a rather safe bet that it was a maze, filled with a fair share of contraptions like the one that nearly cut him two legs shorter then he already was.

While the thief lass examined the traps – of which the Dram knew precious little – Malagen took the time to canvas his new companion. She was easy on the eyes to say the least, her figure – especially when looked at from behind – enough to provoke even the calmest of men to at least a handful of lustful thoughts. She seemed well armed to deal with any possible concupiscence though. Her daggers were well balanced on her hips and the throwing knife that she hid beneath her wrist was a clear statement that she wasn’t just a fiddling tomb raider. All of this brought Malagen to a rather simple conclusion. She was an asset for the time being, somebody who he could use for getting through this mess. So for the time being he needed her alive and doing her thief work, but once they saw the light of day again...

He moved towards her slowly, his saber still brandished and when he came within a few steps of her, the blade moved again. Only this time, despite his rather ominous look, it moved back to the sheath on his hip. “So, you’re some kind of a thief or something?” he asked, though there was clearly little interest in his voice. He stepped beside her, making sure not to step ahead of the territory she already explored and keeping his eyes on the halls beyond. He wanted to mention to her that, if they in fact find the artifact that was supposed to be hidden here, it belonged to him, but that seemed like a bad tactic for the time being. The bitch would probably rebel against him, refuse to do her job and walk in front of him through the halls, and that was bad for his business. So he left that issue unspoken.

“I’m Malagen.” he finally said, looking at her with utter lack of interest. “Don’t tell me we’ll have to pussyfoot our way through this maze.”

[Lavinian Pride]

"Sarah Dahlios," She replied tersely. It seemed that for the moment his thoughts weren't on killing. However she saw him as no less of a brute than she did before. His actions were barbaric and cruel. His eyes as lifeless as a Hex Magi's, it was simply too much of a similarity for her to shrug off, but she endured it. Her job was to find the artifact and get the gold. It didn't matter what it did, heal all wounds, destroy cities, she didn't care. All she cared about was that she had a meat shield now, at least until he figured it out.

Still she knew that there was a power struggle between them. There was only one artifact, and two tomb raiders. It wouldn't do for them to find it without a fight for who finally got it. So she studied him, trying to figure him out. While barbaric his actions where clinical and detached, disinterest was always upon his eyes. It would be tough to make him angry, so she had to throw psychology out the door, at least battle psychology. Still however, she had a card to play, and as much as the thought of using it disgusted her, she would do it if it meant that she would get the prize at the end of the rat maze.

However, that also played a big if. It relied on the both of them making it. As she moved down the hallway she continued to goose step down the hallway carefully as she avoided nearly stepping on plates twice. Using a thorn to pull the rock from off the plates it would help her should she need to get back the way she came quickly. Moving down teh hallway she stopped when she saw the next room. While the hallway was relatively barren with the exception of the stones in a cobblestone pattern to throw off those in search of traps the room was a bit more ornate.

A checkerboard pattern of black and white tiles was one of the features of the room. And while torches continued to light the way, long since supposed to have run out, but still burning with what she could only assume was magic, she could see the room was relatively empty. As she prepared to take her first step into the room she quickly pulled back nearly bumping into the dram behind her as she cursed. In the middle fo the floor was one dead giveaway that a trap was there.

Emerging from the center of a black tile was a boney arm. Lone had it been since the fabric and skin had rotted away, however that was not what had intrigued the thief. Upon the hand was a glove, it seemed to be made out of common cowhide, however she knew better than to assume it was that simple. Something was wrong with the room, otherwise there would be no clue as to the problem. She was more than certain it was to play as a reminder to those that were building the tomb what the solution was, long since forgotten.

Reaching into her satchel she opened up the book as she began to flip through the pages quickly with irritation. The pictographs were there before her, but the comments on them revealed nothing of the nature of the room. Instead it was all in riddles. Were she alone she might have had the time to sit-down and investigate, but she also knew that her rather impatient companion wouldn't be willing to wait.

Finally she found something related to the room as she saw a picture of a group of bodies under the floor. Frowning she read a few notes around the pictograph before she snapped the book shut, "The floor either isn't real, or it reacts to something. The archaeologists couldn't figure it out though..."

She stepped back from the entrance to the room as she said, "I wouldn’t suggest going in there, but we have to keep moving, it’s only a matter of time before they dig through the debris."

(I figure we'll alternate rooms. So, if you need the answer you can ask me on Pm but otherwise feel free, just don't go into the room without asking me for the answer first.)

[Malagen]

In a mind that canceled out all emotions and deemed them impeding, it was next to impossible to determine deviance from the indifference. But there was some deviation from Malagen’s usual unfeeling demeanor now that he was properly introduced to the woman that the fate threw into his lap as an ally. It wasn’t anything drastic and it sure as hell wasn’t readable on his lineaments that seemed to be chiseled from a block of granite, but the Dram barbarian couldn’t prevent a semblance of emotion that stated he didn’t automatically dislike Sarah. He didn’t exactly like her either, but the laconic manner of her speech and the footsure determination was something that he could respect. She spoke what needed to be spoken, did what needed to be done, no sugarcoating, no bullshitting, and that was something that he seldom found in anybody except his perfect self.

What he absolutely disliked was walking around as if the floor was made out of thin ice and there was a river rumbling below their feet. The sprung trap that nearly made him half the man he was made it clear that it was necessary to proceed through the dungeon her way, but that failed to change the fact that Malagen loathed moving around like a rat. So when Sarah once again stopped to inspect a peculiar looking room, the dark barbarian merely stepped aside and put his desire to just walk over the checkered tiles under control. It didn’t seem that threatening to him. Either the black or the white were deadly and he was pretty certain that he knew who would be a perfect test subject that would unravel this little obstacle. There were no prominent gaps in the walls that would contain another of those blades and the only detail on the ceiling were the motifs and glyphs that covered the stone.

Instead of doing some practical work, the female rogue turned to the book that she snatched from the recently deceased archeologists, but the explanation she found made little sense to Malagen. The floor wasn’t real? His left arm might be a bit defective as of late, but his sight was still twenty-twenty and that floor seemed pretty tangible to him. To further support his conclusion on the matter, the Dram reached in the inside pocket of his heavy overcoat, shuffled through the contents until he procured a single golden coin. Without much deliberation he flicked the round item into the room, his icy eyes observing the results of his test. The coin fell on one of the black squares, let out a resounding clink of metal-against-stone, then proceeded to bounce over several squares or both colors before it slid to a halt.

“It seems real enough to me.” Malagen said once the echo of the coin evanesced into complete silence. He didn’t step into the room yet. He maybe wasn’t the brightest star in the constellation and maybe he didn’t know much about anything that wasn’t directly linked to taking lives, but he wasn’t stupid enough to assume that the room was safe after coin made it across safely. Coin was just the first half of the examination, the one that revealed that the floor was in fact real. But the coin wasn’t nearly heavy enough to trigger a trap such as the one that greeted them into the crypts minutes ago. He needed to apply some pressure on the tiles. Picking up Sarah and throwing her across the floor like a coin was one option. Using something to prod at the tiles seemed like another, more sensible option. After all, Malagen’s calculations told him that this wasn’t the last riddling room that they would run into. He needed the curvy thief and therefore couldn’t risk her demise yet.

Instead he picked up his sheathed sword and approached the very edge of the room, doggedly pushing it towards the stone tiles. The steely scabbard of the sword clinked against the stone dully, the white tile refusing to yield even a fraction of an inch. Malagen poked at the adjacent black one next, but the result was the same. The blunt tip tinked and bounced off, failing to put in motion anything akin to the previous trap.

“And it isn’t too reactive. We should move...” along he wanted to say, but even as he wanted to withdraw his sheathed blade, one of the leather straps that usually held the blade fixated across his back unrolled from the scabbard and fell to the floor. Only it fell through the floor, as if it was made out of water. Malagen gave it a yank, but the damn think sunk into solid stone and remained fixated there as if the stone was actually concrete that stiffened around it in a blink of an eye. The barbarian tugged on it once more and when the leather refused to let go, his right pulled out the saber and sliced the strap off.

“Interesting.” was the only comment he had, obviously not too interested in deciphering this puzzle and not smart enough to do it either.

[Lavinian Pride]

Here eyes focused on the strap of the scabbard especially with its inability to once again come above ground. As he cut the strap away the hide that had been keeping it hooked to the floor was slowly disappearing as if a burrowing mouse never to be seen again. Her eyes narrowed as she saw this and the cogs in her head began turning. If she could figure out where a Liche kept its soul, surely this would be easy. As she continued to watch the strap disappeared completely under the checkerboard of the room.

Strategy stated that often the first trap was the fool's trap. Those that didn't know the signs of a trap would often find themselves wiped out by the subtle intricacies. The blades were merely a formality, defenses laid in order to never have to rely on the trap. This one seemed to be focused on one thing, common trash. Her mind was making connections now as she saw the skeletal hand once again. Sweeping out with a graceful hand she felt the tile before she frowned. Reaching up behind her she undid the leather tie that kept her hair together.

As her brown locks fell over her shoulders she sighed as she tossed it up into the air. The leather thong gracefully descending when, without any resistance at all she watched it sink under the floor. It was blatantly obvious now. The trap was designed to target thieves and tomb raiders, not the noble elves, "Leather, the floor won't hold leather, and most people can't breathe in stone."

Reaching down she untied her boots before she slid them off her feet and spoke, "Shoes off until we get across." She then moved across the room her shoes slung over a shoulder before she reached over and plucked the glove from the skeletal hand, "No sense leaving clues for the clueless. Might slow them down when they lose a soldier or two."

As she said this she sighed, realizing she didn't have another hair tie on her. Her hair would be loose now, not that she minded terribly, just made it annoying at times to keep out of her way. After all she was a thief; distractions were inevitable, better to be a known one, than something else. Moving across she checked the first few feet of hallway before she nodded sat down and began to re-lace her boots quickly tying them.

[Malagen]

It made sense to him now, the way things usually made sense when somebody else deciphered them and offered the solution on a silver platter. It was an ingenious trap, a fabricated quicksand that only got triggered when it came in contact with a certain material. And material just happened to be the very one from which all the boots were made of. Those that knew of its existence took the appropriate measures to evade it. Those that didn’t got knee-deep – deeper even if they wore other leather apparel – in solid stone with no way out. Malagen would probably join the latter if it weren’t for his little experiment and Sarah’s deductive skills. It seemed that keeping the thief alive was indeed a good call on his behalf. Perhaps by the end of the ordeal she would get far enough on his... non-murderous side to leave with her life intact.

“Elves and their magic toys.” the barbarian uttered, a comment that was supposed to be snide lost in the insipidity of his tone. With no trace of scorn or distaste on his face, the Dram took a seat on the cold stones and followed Sarah’s example, unlacing his high boots and taking them off. He followed the bold woman in the manner that he did pretty much everything in his life; wordlessly and resolutely, showing no fear whatsoever despite the suspicions that crept into his head. One of them was there a deeper meaning behind the fact that there were both white and black tiles that responded to leather equally. There probably was a reason for it, but once he made it safely across, he decided it was futile to dwell on it any further. Elves were queer folk with queer habits and queer tastes. Little wonder that their tombs failed to diverge from their usual mentality.

Once on the other side, Malagen stuffed his feet back in his boots and laced them tightly before he got back on his feet. He didn’t advance forward though. Instead he took his sheathed saber, picking it up by the strap that got cut during his inspection of the tiles. Without hesitation he twirled the sheathed weapon above his head once, and, using it almost like a flail, sent the bulk of the weapon crashing against the skeletal hand that protruded from the smooth stone tiles. The thing was so dry that it almost cracked at the very sight of something solid coming at it, shattering in a myriad of bone fragments. Malagen pulled his sword back and wrapped the strap around the sheath.

“No sense leaving any clues whatsoever.” he said to the thief, offering what might’ve been a notion smirk that just flickered on the edge of his thin lips and waiting for her to lead the way once again. Truth be told, the barbarian was discontented with the fact that Sarah held the reins of this underground endeavor partially because it was in his nature to rebel against authority since he was taught to be the ultimate authority and partially because she was a woman and women weren’t fit to be leaders. Bed wenches occasionally, when there was bodily need for such activities. Witches often, and in pretty much all senses of the word. Housewives most definitely, if they knew what was best for them. But leaders? No, Malagen couldn’t see a woman in that role. Regardless of how frigid and adept some of them seemed on the outside, they all had a softness inside of them, an emotional core that surfaced when triggered by the right events, and that made them weak. And he knew that Sarah was no different.

The path beyond the wizardry of what Malagen dubbed the ‘Quickstone’ trap was pretty much just more of the same that they already left behind their backs. Dim hallways illuminated by the shimmering magic stones imbedded in the walls, cobwebs as thick as maidens’ veils on their wedding days, gibberish written on the walls here and there in tongues lost to both men and elves and an occasional figure carved in gold that deemed itself important enough to conserve itself in stone. Sarah walked in front again, her feather-light footsteps testing the ground with more nerve now. Every now and then she would spy out one of the more rudimentary traps, but by now even Malagen could spot them. Not from the difference in the tiling though, but from the marking on the walls and floors and the ceiling. Regardless of how good the stonework was, there was always a small revealing notch here or a chip there that announced that there was something waiting as taut as a harp wire, prone to kill all those that made a misstep.

“How far do you think this thing goes?” the Dram finally spoke after a long period of silence. He was by no means a man that chewed the fat and disliked the silence, but the hallways seemed to go on without cease and the only information whatsoever about the place was in the book that Sarah snatched from the researchers.

[Lavinian Pride]

"Far enough to kill most people that enter it," Sarah replied bluntly. Shouldering her pack she moved slowly along the pathway her eyes looking for the trigger plates that had hallmarked the entry into the tomb. Her ears however were more attuned to what was going on around her. The click of boots, the unsheathing of a blade, the click of a sprung trap, the sound of stone scraping against stone, all of these she was straining for. Her paranoia while not forward was still there as she moved slowly.

After all, they were not a true team.

Each had their own reason for wanting to raid the tomb. Only one of them would succeed and the other would be left in the lurch with no promised goods for finished product. Sarah ahd the think of herself in the ongoing truce, and while she could figure out the traps, she only hoped there was some way she could trap the big man. She had only saved him from the first trap if only to make sure if it came down to brute force she had someone she could throw at the problem. Now, she had to figure out how to out think the brute. While not hard, if the traps were do or don't, she doubted she could convince the lug that the “don't” was the right decision.

Which lead them down the hallway. While she found the traps it was more to clean up what had somehow made it down the hallway. the marking getting noticeable as they screamed at the thief. Making sure to point them out here and there she only hoped she could get the lug to unthinkingly trust her perspective, because that was half the trick. The other was to get the trap to work how she needed. As she moved down the hallway she pulled a water skin from her inventory and took a quick draught as she felt her mouth go dry. Continuing her walk her feet stopped as she saw a bend around the corner. Looking back at her fair-weather friend she spoke, "Well, you first, or do I lead the charge on this merry adventure?"

Her eyes held a slight mirth at the question, as she seemed to test the barbarian. If he were to go first she could definitely get the drop if needed. However, if he made her go first, she knew she had a lot more to go before he unwittingly trusted her too much. Besides the view from behind was not something she was intending on giving up for long. She was a thief, and she worked alone, simply the thought of him potentially undressing her with his eyes brought a shudder to her. As she looked at him expectantly for the answer her lips curved into a soft smirk, waiting for his reply.

[Malagen]

Malagen wasn’t certain how to interpret Sarah’s sudden offer, but he realized the repercussions of the possible actions. If he refused to take the lead, he would come off as a craven and the bitch would realize why he was keeping her around; because, just like in chess, pawns went first. If he did take the lead, however, there was a rather good possibility that she was trying to lure him straight into a trap. Dead men, after all, told no tales and exacted no revenges. And while he could recognize most of the simpler traps by now, chances were that Sarah was trying to make him step into one that operated in similarly to the ‘Quickstone’ one.

The barbarian stood calmly, his dead azure eyes observing the thief that decided to take a break from leading and throw a hot potato straight into his lap. There were no answers to be read on her face; even the smile of her rosy lips was cryptic and beyond Malagen’s ability to decipher. He noticed that she was quite a pretty woman though, especially with her brown hair unbound and almost wild, but that observation served as another warning. Pretty women with pretty smiles usually sent you to your grave pretty damn fast. Still, despite his ability to control his emotions, Malagen couldn’t deny the man that was at the core of his being. And that man most definitely wouldn’t mind honoring the wench by bedding her.

But right now, there were more important things to handle then his testosterone-invoked thoughts. The dark barbarian had to deal with this situation subtly or risk the chance of losing his test subject. “Sometimes you have to follow in order to lead,” was the only answer he decided to give her, leaving her to make whatever she willed out of it as he approached the corner of the path. The passage took a sharp turn here, breaking sideways at an almost ninety degree angle. And while usually Malagen would consider it nothing more then just what it looked like – a turn – now he had to take the elf factor into account. And the elf factor was rather clear on the area of efficiency. Elves would make a turn unless they had a perfectly good reason for making a turn. Whether it was just the way the architect drew it or they ran into stone too hard to dig, Malagen couldn’t know. He could, however, take all the possible precaution measures.

Standing with his back against the stone way, the Dram slid his curved saber out of its sheathe and extended it horizontally over the edge of the wall. His seemingly dead eyes sprung to life, taking in every detail that the reflection on the polished damascus displayed. He turned it gradually, first upwards then in the opposite direction, searching for any indentations, uneven plates, plugged holes, but there were none to be seen. Granted, the illumination wasn’t the best in the catacombs, but from what his focused eyes could see, there was nothing queer around the corner. Perhaps Sarah was just testing his trust in her guidance. If that’s the case, she shouldn’t have bothered. The answer to that question was rather simple; no, he didn’t trust her, and he probably never would. It had nothing to do the fact that she was a thief or her ability to evade traps or even her curvy figure. It was much more simple then that. It was because Malagen never trusted anybody, an opportunist thief least of all.

“It’s safe,” he stated, returning the saber back into the scabbards and doggedly stepping around the corner. The fact that he wasn’t completely certain in his statement failed to affect him; fear was outlawed from his being a long time ago. Death came for all, both rich and poor, strong and weak, cunning and idiotic, surefooted and uncertain. The only choice a person had was how to face it, and Malagen had no intention of ending his own as a coward that followed some bird on the flight out of the underground cage. So he walked calmly, eyes focused and scanning the surroundings for any irregularity that might reveal another deadly contraption.

His leadership seemed just as successful as hers... for about twenty steps. What happened then made no sense. He made no missteps, stepped on no tiles that triggered some rusty machinery, and yet a barrier made out of bluish energy materialized in front of him, blocking the passage. Behind Sarah’s back, emanating a faint rosy color, another one was raised at the same moment, barring their only escape route. Malagen stopped in mid step, firing a glance back at Sarah, thinking that one of the barriers would move and turn the closed passage into a closing wise, but save for appearing, neither the blue nor the red one moved. The barbarian looked at the floor, then at the ceiling, but there was nothing that was planning to make them dead.

“What is this devilry?” he asked no-one in particular, stepping close enough to the azure barrier to feel the energy radiating from it. His hand moved, but instead of touching the translucent wall, it took out his blade once again. Malagen brought it to the summoned wall slowly, but as soon as the steel sheath made contact, a blot of electricity darted up the weapon and the length of his arm, shoving him away with enough force to send his body on the ground and his sword clattering on the stone floor. With his left arm almost completely numb and his back against the cold ground, the barbarian peered at the ceiling, witnessing a white energy field materializing above their heads and starting the agonizingly slow descent.

“Better find a way out of here fast, wench,” he uttered, his voice immune to the direness of the moment.

[Lavinian Pride]

"Leave the name calling till after you get us killed..." Sarah muttered. A few of the stronger Lavinian curses left her mouth as she began to spy the situation. Energy fields definitely were rather odd, but the odd part was the ceiling. Raising an eyebrow to the descending bright white light she knew it couldn't be good. Reaching into her pack she produced and apple, common treat for adventurers when they traveled, and tossed it up. Immediately the aroma of burnt apple filled the room as she cursed, "Perhaps I spoke to soon..."

Her eyes studied the two barriers before she sat down buying her time as she began to look through the pages of the tome. Over and over she ran her finger down the pages before she stopped. One room was purple, and had a white light described as descending upon those that knew not the path. Looking at the book she frowned as she looked up, the white light descending to head height now as she scanned the page again. While there was a bright white light, the room was far from purple.

Grumbling as she continued to work things out she sighed as she shoved the book towards Malagen. Perhaps is simplistic mind could wrap around it. She then spoke, "Hurry up and look that over, I think its this room but I can't figure out the purple clue."

She hated trusting the bastard with her life, but she had to hinge on the correct answer coming from somewhere deep in the barbarian's mind. Her own mind was thinking a million miles a minute as she tired to make sure she didn't die herself, now laying flat on her stomach. The white light was about halfway down the dusty hallway, the smell of burnt dust now assaulting her nose as the sweep continued to very quickly clean the room.

She seriously hoped the brute could come up with the answer.

[Malagen]

((Apologies for the delay.))

“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?!” the barbarian asked, his voice breaking away from the usual lifelessness just enough to give a hint of irritation. To say that Malagen wasn’t the most lettered man ever would’ve been an understatement. The intelligence of the murderous brute was limited only to the knowledge necessary to end lives, to wield both his body and his weapons with utmost efficiency. Written words and runes and foreign languages, they were redundant information that, more often then not, served no other purpose but to confound a man. Because when you spent your time thinking and mulling and going over the myriad of options in your head, you spent your time not getting out of the pickle you got yourself into. That was at least the way the Dram’s brain operated.

In their current situation, however, there was nothing to do but deliberate. His testing prod resulted with a nearly deadly shock and Malagen doubted that contact with the remaining two barriers would bear dissimilar results. “Fine, let me take a look,” he finally said, squatting in front of the descending energy field and casting a look at the contents of the page. Automatically, his mind did what it usually did; it collected the information and processed them in their rudimental, simplest form. The squiggly letters that elves preferred were discarded immediately because he couldn’t comprehend them. The illustration was broken down to the essentials. Yes, the room with the white barrier looked like the one they were currently in, sans the purple color. Instead, there were a pair of solid stone walls, a red energy barrier and a blue one. The walls had no dents, no nooks, nothing out of the ordinary, looking the same in both the picture and reality. The same went for the death-bringing ivory light that crept down upon them like an agonizingly slow guillotine.

“Other two barriers. The red one. The blue one,” Malagen’s mind went back and forth from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth, so fast that they nearly merged into one in his head. And then the solution became rudely clear. “The red. The blue. The purple.”

“The barriers,” he finally uttered, following Sarah’s example and lowering himself flat on his stomach. The buzz-and-crackle of the white barrier was almost loud enough to silence his voice, emanating heat as it descended. “We have to link them. Use your dagger to touch the barrier and give me your hand.” She was reluctant, a small wonder given how his contact with the humming field ended. But once he took out his saber in one hand and extended his hother towards her, the thief knew that this was their only chance at getting out.

“NOW!” Malagen bawled, poking at the blue barrier with the tip of his sword from his prone position. The result was the same, but this time the bluish lightning climbed up his arm, past his shoulders and down the other arm, making his body shake violently and his jaw clench tight. The azure jolt met the rosy spark that came coursing down Sarah’s arm, merging into a purple one that exploded outwards. The two side barriers sizzled and snapped out of existence, but the white one was still present, descending at its snail pace to bring doom to the pair. The barbarian could’ve just broken free from Sarah’s grasp and roll out of the way, he probably should’ve done that too; it was more efficient, safer. But instead he held on to her hand, pulling her towards himself and making their combined bodies spin down the stone floor and away from the white energy. They wound up on top of each other again, this time their roles reversed as Malagen’s muscular body loomed over the Lavinian, his emotionless visage peering down at her with icy eyes.

“I guess we’re even now,” he said, sparing another moment to gaze at her face before he pushed himself back to his feet, offering her no help whatsoever. It seemed like an appropriate thing to say; in reality, they were even for quite a while now. In return for her rescue back at the start of this giant deathtrap Malagen decided not to kill her. This latest save of his was somewhat of a bonus.

“We lost the book,” he said, not terribly concerned as he dusted himself off while the white barrier connected with the floor, devouring the pricy-looking tome, their only ticket out of the catacombs. He still had Sarah though; she was good for one more trap at the very least. “Maybe you should take point again.”

((Maybe we could make a small pause in action, just so the two of them interact a little bit. Maybe we could run into a myriad of tunnels and wouldn’t know which one to pick, so we can take a break or something.))