With Hey, Ho, it's the Whirligig Dance

[Ithermoss]

((Closed))

Prologue

Alerar: home of the dark-elves. It never ceased to depress. Nastily humid, and with god-knows-what underfoot, Rakh slogged through knee-deep mud – the oily muck sucking at his feet as he brought them up. He was thankful that there wasn’t a creature in existence that could actually survive submerged in the foul mires, nothing living at least, so whatever an adventurer would encounter was sure to be quite visible. The mosquitoes, however, were different. The little bastards were everywhere - many of them having an insatiable magnetic attraction to the inside of Rakh’s nasal passages. These lands were something he’d much more expect to see in “Troglodyte Real Estate Weekly” or some similar publication, rather than see an encampment of surface-dwellers (let alone elves). To the Bog Drow, however, this land was a paradise: from the rotting, gangly trees extending like bony fingers up to the blistering sun, to the suffocating swamp and swarms of biting insects. Proud and highly suspicious of outsiders, the tribe-minded dark elves were known to ambush any encroachers, vivisect them, eat them, and in every respect forget the whole “ask questions later” routine.

“Why did it have to be a swamp?” the tribal grumbled to himself. He forgot to remove the strings of beaded bone around his ankles, and the feather jewelry around his shin before lumbering around like a marionette with lead feet in a swamp full of bubbling muck. How unlucky for the Weregoyle that he wasn’t nearly agile enough to not break one of the trees by climbing one, and there wasn’t any means of paddling a makeshift raft through this thick mess, so braving the goo by foot was his only option. Something leathery crunched underfoot, ruptured, and then hemorrhaged some squishy cold substance between the warrior’s toes; he didn’t have the slightest inclination of investigating this new and profoundly uncomfortable whatever-it-was, the state of which most likely being something his stomach couldn’t take. Don’t misjudge our hero, reader; he has a stomach for most things neither you nor I would even dare scrape from our boots. This, however, made him want to scream like a pig-tailed, freckle-faced elfling. His stomach was a sack full of wildcats: everything wanted out all at the same time.

“Gorrigan! How do these people survive in this place? The sky is a sheet of gray. The ground is covered in a tarry mess. The trees here can barely manage a few shriveled leaves!” he panted. “What do these people eat” he called to their guide far ahead of them. He wasn’t struggling nearly as much as Rakh was. He wasn’t drow, although he did frequent these parts quite often. He was human, which was curious, because most of the time his kind were vilified in these parts – at least so Rakh heard. He filed it in the back of his mind under ‘Things That Will Most Likely be Important Later’ and moved on. The guide, hearing his question, stopped for a moment to let the party catch up.

“It’s generally very primitive food, but quite good. Anything from toadstools, blind fish they catch in underground caves, to what their hunters manage to pilfer from outlying tribes,” he chuckled. “They’re a mischievous folk, to be sure. Guarding your belongings goes well without saying. Your friends seem to be having a rough go at it. Sure they’ll be alright?”

[Reiko]

“Mommy! It’s too close! I don’t know what to do.” The young vixen felt paralyzed as she laid belly down on the brush in a staring contest with a demon toad. It was only a demon because something that ugly just could not be anything but a demon and that dark brown horny and misshapen creature had the fox girl not wanting to move and wait for the beast to move but the Toad didn’t want to move for it thought the vixen might want to eat it.

“Inari, quit messing around, that things more afraid of you. Having a silly standoff with a silly frog isn’t going to help.” Kit sighed, something that she rarely did with Inari, and shooed off the toad with her sheathed blade and the ugly thing gladly hopped off into the nasty water.

“Thanks mom.” Inari wagged her tail with relief as she stood up though anxiety took her when she saw the disappointed look on the red vixen’s face.

“Inari you’re the one who wanted to go on this adventure, you wanted to see Alerar.” Kit wasn’t sure but she was disappointed with the place and realized why the dark elves were so bitter, all they got were gray skies and fog that stank, and thank the gods that neither her nor her daughter got sick.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to get scared.” Inari apologized as she looked at her mother with wide puppy eyes.

“That wasn’t even a monster.” Kadenzaa shook her head as she debated on dragging her daughter from this swamp by her fluffy blue tail. But this wasn’t the little one’s first adventure and she tended to pull through when things were tough and seeing that toad so close would have scared her too. “Well just be careful, I want to be done with here and get some of the treasure and be done.”

“Why do think there’s treasure in this smelly swamp?”

“Just a Rumor but I have a good feeling and I don’t think that a tough place like this would lose its treasure easily.”

Inari nodded then shook a little. “What about that guide, does he know about the treasure? I don’t know if he’d share he seems so creepy.”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so since it was his idea to come here, I’m not terribly sure. I don’t really know what’s he’s up too.” Kadenzaa decided to lean against a tree as she waited. She hated dealing with men she couldn’t tell heads or tails of their motives, as it could often lead to trouble but if trouble came she wasn’t going to get her child killed, she would be sure of it.

[Uukan Kimari]

Breathing in deeply, an assorted amount of smells berated Uukan’s senses, yet the horrible odors were the least of his worries. Ithy walked several paces ahead of him, where a nervous tick set in. Uukan’s hand encircled his upper thigh, lazily rubbing the silk of the kimono between each finger. The man that he admired in the Red Hand and giver of his second name, Hragh’Bahal, once again leading Uukan in this world. With his return young Kimari felt motivated to learn more of the Thayne religion and its origins.

How can I talk to him? I could do nothing except watch Ithy fade away into the hollows. No matter how long it had been, the guilt of losing his friend once etched deep within Uukan’s heart.

A knee jerk reaction sent his palms to cover the few tears that escaped their grey prison, when a queue braid fell from a sleeve with mud splattering on his sandals. He stopped in his tracks letting the sheathe control his movement. The muddy hair of the lock brushed his skin with its rough texture, and the now hunched figure slowed the group from moving on.

“Ithy, I think this is yours.” Uukan cautiously yelped.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah knew climbing through the bog might be trouble. She had heard many things about all sorts of bugs and lizards that seemed to enjoy crawling into people's clothing. So, when she decided to come along, she made a smart decision, she left the skirt and tank top at home, opting for the more tight fitting shorts and sports top. Her arms were covered with the sleeves, held down by the dragon bone bracers, and most importantly, her hair was tied back so as to not form an easy place for bugs to cling.

She had no idea how much she would be thankful for these facts until they began the trek. As they began to sink into the mud she sighed knowing her boots would require a thorough cleansing later. Her legs would undoubtedly be caked in gods knew what, and the mosquitoes were finding her very adept at quickly swatting any that tried to land on her skin. While more than a bit of it showed, she was more than capable of defending her blood from the bite of the blood suckers. However, this was not the most annoying part of the journey.

It was the people she was with. She could have been with any other lot in the world, yet here she was, stuck with a tribal, who looked like he was suffering a similar distaste for the situation, two kitsunes who she was not comfortable around, and some boy that if you sneezed on him he'd blow away in the wind from the looks of him. With the talk of the cannibalistic kleptomaniac elves, the girl whining about the toad and the boy holding onto gods knew what, she was about to hit her limit. Still she remained somewhat patient as she continued to trudge through the bubbling muck, knowing that she had to be on guard.

However, she had to endure. She had to beat Seth, prove she wasn't just another Seth Dahlios. She was her own identity now. She had won that through blood sweat and tears. Now, she needed something to put her one over on her estranged "brother". While she trudged through the muck she kept herself going, promising herself a nice bath with a bottle of Lavinian Ale for putting up with the murky depths of the bog. The treasure alone would be worth the trip, and since Seth hadn't dared enter the bog, she would be known for something her brother could never one up her at.

Hope you're enjoying this Fate, when I find something to kick your ass you can be sure I'm coming for you..., She thought bitterly as she continued to trudge. Finally she spoke up her voice sounding somewhat irritated, "Is there a village or something soon? I've about had it with the muck. I don't even know if I could classify my boots as usable anymore, I'm pretty sure I lost them back there and I just think I'm wearing leather..."

[Ithermoss]

Rakh took a breather, which Gorrigan apparently didn’t need. Eyeing the guide’s garb, he noticed that, for some reason, the mosquitoes weren’t harassing him in the least. He wore as little clothing as possible as to save himself from the heat, but he had used the muck they were all stomping around in as a sort of mosquito repellant. Upon closer inspection, the man’s face, arms, neck, and every other portion of exposed skin was covered in the tarry mud.

Rakh, who was wearing little more than a loincloth, frowned at the realization that he’d have to dive under the surface to get anything close to resembling protection from the swarming insects. His exposed flesh wasn’t going to survive much longer without being riddled with bumps of all sorts. The weregoyle pinched his nose, held his breath, and fell forward into the sea of bubbling gray that surrounded him. His guide was laughing his fool head off when Rakh emerged almost completely gray.

“You’ll fit right in with the dark elves now!” Gorrigan laughed, his face getting red despite the gray of dried mud on his face.

“Oh, I’m sure. I’ll never comb this out of my hair.”

When Uukan caught up, he vaguely remembered the human, but remembered better the long and coarse honor-braid that he had been charged with carrying when Rakh passed from his previous life. “Thank you, Hragh’Bahal. That is what I named you, yes? You are the last in the line of Bahal, the Burning – the draken ancient from which I hailed when I went by another name. You look older… more somber,” he said. “What a shame that we weren’t able to share whatever trials you’ve faced.”

Graciously receiving the honor-braid from the human’s hands, Rakh (or Sad Brother Oblivion, as the gods named his soul) hung it around his neck after the mud there caked in the burning sun. The others caught up, then. The two kitsunes seemed to be managing quite well in this tarry morass, but the human female looked a little worse for wear. Off in the distance, he thought he saw someone else coming, but it might have just been the heat getting to him. Rakh nodded in reply to the female human’s question; he too wanted to know if they were soon to reach their destination.

Their guide turned to address them all then, his necklace of serrated teeth dancing against his chest. Gorrigan was most certainly a capable man, and it would be quite a task indeed to have to wrestle him to the ground. He wasn’t a weakling by any means. “I’m not sure I caught everyone’s name here. Rakh, I met,” he nodded to the weregoyle. “But the rest of you, I’m not sure we’ve been formally introduced. We’re all on the same journey, which I assure you all is soon to be over, but I assume for different reasons? What, pray tell, brings you all here?”

[Reiko]

“Hey Kit he’s stopped are we almost there?” Inari was glad for the rest for it seemed the mosquitoes didn’t like going near her mother and so staying close really helped keep the bugs at bay but matching her mother’s grace that kept them from falling in the mud was very tiring in the heat.

“I think so he says it’s almost over.” Kit smiled to her daughter as she placed a hand on her child’s shoulder. The vixen was sure it’ll be over and somehow she would like that very well, there was likely a prize at the end of this and the vixen truly wanted that.

The company was strange enough and one Kit never thought she would join, especially a scoundrel of a girl that seemed to have little like for the mother and daughter though she easily could be called a vixen as the two kitsune but the scent of her aura made Kit sure that the woman didn’t have much patience for the two fox girls.

I hope they don’t send us away for Inari’s stunt. Kit shuddered at the thought of leading her daughter back alone with nothing but failure. The girl was scarred and that was all, the boy seemed like he might do the same if he confronted the ugly frog at some point.

But it seemed to be just some introductions and the like. Maybe once the group got to know everyone then things would go better for everyone. Kit smiled and bowed with Inari as they wagged their tails, simply to show that they were not in the least uncomfortable in the swamp and it’s stinky mud. “I’m Doji Kadenzaa but Kit works better.”

“And I’m Inari, pleased to meet you.”

Kit started to speak again as she leaned against the trunk of an old but healthy tree. “WE just wanted to see Alerar and find some treasure, this expedition seemed like it had a fair chance of that.”

Inari swished her tail shyly wondering if the group was thinking the two vixens were foolish and/or greedy. “We know that we might not get any treasure. And we’re happy just to see this place.” The girl was actually happy to see all the life of the swamp. The pretty moss covered trees that stick out of water and many of the birds were quite pretty messes of color.

[Ranger]

“By the Thayne, Alerar of all places and the Fields of Khu’fein…”

Despite the rather malicious words the voice was one of serenity. Behind it was a drow, a creature of the shadowed nation of Alerar. His face held high set cheekbones, a sharp nose, thin and pale lips, and a pair of ears characteristic to the elven people. His eyes were of the brightest platinum coloration, sharp and pristine. His hair was of the same silver color, smooth as silk and as thin too. It had grown to a point just below his shoulder blades, most of it rested on or in front of his shoulders though. As was customary of the drow people his skin was of the darkest tint, almost a deep greenish-black in color.

The man was something more then most people of Alerar though. Having once been a soldier of the grand army of Alerar he knew the ways of a warrior. Across his back was secured a monks spade—a pole arm with a broad titanium head, a titanium crescent at its end, and an oak shaft to hold it all together. After his fleeing of the lands of his ancestors he had taken up the call of a cleric, following a ‘god’ of the light and strength. It had been a farce. The ‘god’ Pelor had been a demon of ancient times, and with its death the ex-cleric had taken another step in his life.

He had become a prophet of the Thayne.

Ranger was a miracle worker. He was a prophet of the gods that held domain over the world of Althanas. His devotion was to all of them and yet not one alone, he could not claim one deity higher then another but all equal instead. At the forefront of his ambitions was to discover and study with under the clerics of each Thayne, at the highest temples of worship. In his quest to do so he had found himself in Alerar, following and searching for signs of an old leader once called Ithermoss. If anyone could help him it would be the former draken lord.

Underfoot the mud looked and acted like tar. The first steps, so long ago, had offered the drow a very unpromising encounter. A squelch had been the only noise offered as his feet hand slipped beneath the surface of the bog. A prayer for help to the Thayne had given Ranger a better footing though, and even as the mud dried across his boots and the base of his kneecap he had moved forward. Instead of slipping under the surface the drow had begun walking across it, like walking on water.

“Could that be them?” Ranger had stopped, leaning against a small gathering of rather trees in a rather poor condition. Whatever the trees were they were resilient enough to draw enough to survive in the harshest of conditions, among the bog. At the back of his thoughts a picture of the bog drow also came to mind, an off-shoot of drow that had taken to life in the bogs. They too were resilient.

But at the forefront of thought was not the bog drow, or the trees, or anything else that may have called the bog home. In the distance, not too far off, was a small group of people. From the distance it was impossible to tell if they were the people Ranger had been told to look for—a guide, Rakh, and three others. The numbers were all he could count, though there seemed to be six in this group instead of five, perhaps they had picked up a final one after the informant had given Ranger his information.

Whatever the case the drow took a final slug of the water from his skin before whipping his brow free of the thick coating of sweat. As if the bog was not bad enough it was accompanied by a thick wall of humidity that even worse then the normal part of Alerar could claim. Around him a near swarm of mosquito’s had taken to biting and sucking his very being from him. The ex-cleric would have none of it though and had set his powers of light to work.

A zap here and there took the buzz of the air down a decibel every so often. Paper-thin strands of light were cutting from the drow’s exposed skin—and very well any place that a mosquito happened to find itself. They were only projected two inches at most, but it was enough to cut any naive blood-sucker from getting too close to the drow. Each one fell with its wings clipped, but not dead. It was almost worse then killing the things.

“If that is not them then the group may be able to at least send me on the right path,” Ranger said as he lifted gracefully strode forward towards the group. Apparently they had stopped for a quick break, to talk or to complain was all that the drow could assume. Whatever reason it was enough, if they had taken notice of him then they might stop and wait. If not he would gain on their slow progress quickly without the thick muck of the bog to hinder his stride.

((The ability to walk on the mud is from my ‘miracle’ spell. It will work up to a radius of ten feet in all directions of him for the other characters, animals, ect. I think that is fairly equivalent a spell for a level 4 character.))

[Lavinian Pride]

Pulling her blade and moving closer to a tree she pulled herself out of the muck as she began to scrape along her leg with the knife. Hearing the introduction of Inari and Kit meant nothing to her, and still the fragile boy remained silent. Rakh, the tribal from what she could tell, was also stoically looking around after covering himself with mud. While she had the compulsion to follow suit, the talk of being near a rest stop was too tempting to dirty herself needlessly. She was close to a spot she could clean up, why bother getting dirty?

Scraping more mud off she breathed a sigh of relief at the fact there was indeed her boots on her feet. With a flick of her wrist the mud came off as she continued and spoke, answering the question posed to her, "Sarah Dahlios. I came to see if there was anything of worth besides mud, mosquitoes, and gods know what else..."

At the sound of buzzing by her ear she flicked her hand deftly hitting the bloodsucker trying to land on her shoulder and sending it flying. Continuing with her work she sighed as she got one boot finally clean. The leg was quickly left dirty as the mosquitoes seemed to be more concerned with her uncovered flesh, and the leg was more than likely going to be thrust down into the bogs.

Working on the other shoe in order to lighten the load she sighed as she waited. She wasn't the type to give out unnecessary information. They asked a name and to state a reason, and they had gotten just that. There was nothing to suggest that she would have to open up to them anytime soon, and while the Boy looked far to unusable, Rahk did however look the type that she could get along with, if only because he was far more silent than the rest of the group.

Looking around after cleaning the boot, and with a deft flick of her wrist once again sending mud off the blade, she wiped the edge of the blade against her shorts. Absent mindedly before with a casual twirl of confidence the blade was deposited beside its five cousins and its single sister. What she spotted was a peculiar sight, a Drow walking atop the mud, and one she vaguely remember from her time as Seth. An ex-comrade of Seth’s from the Black Hand he was a rather strange sight to the female Dahlios.

Muttering under her breath she sighed, "Well, seems like it won’t be a boring trip after all..."

[Ithermoss]

((Alright. Tired of waiting. Screw post order.))

Gorrigan chuckled to himself, the leather vest over his shoulders flapping against his chest as he heard most everyone’s intentions. “Yeah, that’s what I usually get. Never fails. A treasure hunter here, a bored soldier there, and the occasional historian looking for lost relics. I’ve led people into these parts for years. The swamps I practically know like the back of my hand. You wouldn’t think it, but these trees are practically a map. Judging by them,” the guide paused, “we’re almost right on top of it.” The guide scanned the mud below, fishing around in it blindly with his arms as if he’d dropped a pair of glasses.

Rakh’s expression melted into one of disgust: he knew that mud didn’t smell good, and for someone to have his face that close to its surface was a place he knew he wouldn’t want to be. He’d already dived in anyway. Amidst the high-pitched whirring around his ears, a faint hum could be heard in the distance. Gorrigan heard it too, and stopped what he was doing almost immediately, and shot a nervous look Rakh’s way.

“Hope you know how to fight, mate. We’re not going to make it in time.”

“There was no mention that we’d have to defend ourselves.”

“It’s Alerar, mate. The swamps have to defend themselves. Get ready. It’ll be on us in a minute.”

“What is it exactly?”

The question answered itself, practically. The guide’s complexion blanched despite the muddy, caked armor it had established. A black dripping hand pointed east, where through the steam rising off the mud, the dancing silhouette of a gangly insect of monumental proportions could be seen darting straight towards them. Breaking through both the veil of mist and the wavy mirage that the sun made off in the distance, the spindle-legged creature looked like a massive mosquito. The guide frantically continued what he was doing before; searching the mud for what Rakh could only hope was an entrance to shelter.

“Something’s coming from our right!” the warrior called out as he drew his salt-dagger from his side. “Everyone get ready, and beware your footing!"

It wasn’t flying, strangely enough. In fact, the thing was sprinting across the mud effortlessly. The wings it had were simply used for propulsion as it practically skated towards them, weaving in and out of trees wildly like some sort of bizarre marionette having the wrong strings pulled. Rakh estimated that the thing had to have been about two to three times the height of an adult human. Whatever it was, it didn’t look friendly, nor was the thought of fighting something that fast while he was bogged down in the mud.

[Ranger]

The distance was relative. It was eaten up quickly by the swift stride of the drow. The mud remained underfoot; it looked like a glass walkway across a plain of mud. Ranger was quite impressed with the miracle the Thayne had granted him, impressed with the strength of it.

Within mere minutes he strode in from behind the group. It was definitely the people that he had been told about. One was of neko heritage. She was obviously skilled in wielding the sword at her side, but it was the younger doppelganger of her that caught the drow’s eyes. It was cute, young obviously, and held a much different coloration then its larger counterpart. The woman gave a certain alluring aspect with her dress and the way she carried herself. The child did the same, but it was less alluring and more humorous.

With the group was Uukan, and old member of the Red Hand. The boy was odd, seemed extremely frail, and had once been under Ranger as a young miner. The platinum eyes of the drow gave him a quick stare and an approving nod. The boy looked somehow older, perhaps a little more worn since the drow had last seen him. Before him was another, Sarah Dahlios, she was a sister or relative of some sort to Seth Dahlios (a rather cocksure thief that always seemed to agitate the prophet).

Hopefully you are not near to heart as your brother, he thought while he made eye contact for a split second. But little more attention was pressed to the subject.

“Rakh,” the name sounded foreign to the drow even as he spoke. “Lord Rakh, formerly Lord Ithermoss Hec’Bahal. It has been long since I have seen you and this form is still alien,” Ranger laughed lightly as he quipped with the man. He moved towards him quickly, a broad smile lighting his face. His arm extended towards the muddied former leader of the Red Hand, a former Lord. “Your Tel’Amnrach has come to your aide and side. It has been a long while and I have changed much, as you seem to have. It is good to see you again.”

[Uukan Kimari]

Uukan, unable to see his proclaimed father receive his gift, felt the presence of the progenitor of the Red Hand. The passing of the prized honor-braid brought the guide to mention something. The young Kimari then nodded in silence to the man’s words.

This humid air of the swamp burdened Uukan’s senses as he tried to follow his faithful companion, Wolfy, through the unstable footing of the mud. Once a property of the Red Hand, the Dire Wolf now aids young Kimari in his journeys as a gift from Rakh. Unlike most of the group, Wolfy plopped each paw onto the sticky mud that swelled below, keeping his stride across the harsh surface with ease.

“What?”

The sound of person diving to the muddy surface hit Uukan’s ears as too the sound of a dagger drawn swiftly from its hilt. The guide’s words caught the young Kimari’s ire as he too fell to the pudding mattress in an instant clutching his furry companion with an eggshell grip in response.

I did not get to introduce myself yet.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah watched as Ranger approached, and while he seemed all too concerned with revealing himself she sighed as she heard the warning. Of course with the swamp there was always something higher up the pecking order that tried to make a meal of the denizens. In this case however she watched as she could almost feel the revulsion. The massive mosquito made her wish for the smaller brethren she had squashed any day as its large needle like mouth seemed to almost twitch in anticipation.

She looked down at her boots seeing them starting once again to sink into the mud as she growled. Mobility was at a premium, and so she did was anyone smart would have done, moved to where her lithe agility could be appreciated. Grabbing the nearest branch of the tree she hoisted herself up as she crouched on the branch closest to the trunk. She then drew a dagger as she waited for what seemed like forever.

Normally she might have said something in regards to the large bug, and hell she had already had plenty of witty lines to dispense, however she was already frustrated. To look upon her face would show that, and the fact her lips were pressed in a firm line spoke volumes about how frustrated she was. For a Lavinian not to talk was almost like saying a dark elf was too brightly skin toned.

Still she prepared for battle, knowing she was about to get far closer to a bug than she would be comfortable with. Her chest heaved in anticipation as she licked her lips to moisten them. Ignoring the others and any plans they would surely be hatching at the moment.

[Ithermoss]

The weregoyle met his compatriot’s hand with his own with a smile, albeit a fleeting one. In a past life, the chieftain helped train the cleric in both combat and craftsmanship. The monk’s spade his friend often carried practically a calling card – one his enemies would fear his skill with, and one his friends would depend on. He was the Tel’Amnrach; the Soul Keeper, for it was he who was charged with the protection of the chieftain’s ashes to ensure the his safe passage into the afterlife.

He remembered that day when he returned to Pandemonium’s Fist, his stronghold under the mountain: his tribe met to greet him (more like confront an intruder) at the Atrium, everyone smiling with that invisible dagger to their throats. Trying to remember everyone who hadn’t participated in the naming ceremony was like God reshuffling all his angels, only to draw and discard the fallen all over again. The ceremony was an old Gorandian tradition of placing a name of honor over the head of a friend who helped the dying in life, so that he could return the favor from the grave, or even beyond. Tel’Amnrach was in actuality, his longest standing friend.

“Good to see you, Ranger. It’s been too long. I’m still getting used to this form myself.”

With a nod to his compatriots, ensuring they were all prepared, it was the two fortune hunters who caught his attention.

“What are you doing!?” he hollered. The monstrous insect was no less than twenty feet away, and closing extremely fast, quite obviously targeting the two ladies – a fact they seemed completely oblivious to. Rakh dove at them in order to save their careless lives, the creature’s massive needle-like mouth flashing down to hit nothing as it dashed past. “I said be on your guard,” the warrior spluttered as his face met the tarry black mud.

“It’s a Berberith!!” Gorrigan screamed, as he grabbed a chain from under the muck and wound it around his arm. His back arched as he threw all of his body weight into pulling the slippery chain, though it did him little good. It didn’t budge. “It’s coming around again!”

Indeed it was. Racing over the mud as if it was flying, it dodged in and out of the sickly pale trees as it prepared a bladed appendage for a swing at the Drow’s head. Fighting something that relied on speed whilst bogged down in a morass of black wasn’t exactly Rakh’s idea of a calm vacation. Their lives stood on a knife’s edge; Rakh knew it, his friends knew it, and Gorrigan most certainly knew it – the guide had quite clearly already lost his nerve.

[Reiko]

The drow approached seeming to walk on the pool of mud as if it were truly solid instead of just being a viscous pool that no one wanted to take a dive, save for maybe the guide. There was a strange aura around the drow, something that separated him from the normal people that ruled the land of Alerar.

Kit could feel something that made her tails shiver and her belly quake, magic, not that of a mage but a priest of true faith. Magic of the gods (save fox gods) didn’t go well with fox magic. Kit used to not worry so much when she relied on her sword more than magic but now she had a daughter who was pretty much defined by her sorcerous prowess.

But the priest was a friend and nothing to worry about for Kit or her daughter and that gave the mother a chance to sigh.

“Hey Mommy he seems nice.” Inari chirped as she looked at the newcomer. He was definitely a friend.

Kit nodded but her ears perked, a buzzing sound that would shame most the engines in Alerar could be hear and Kit looked to see a monster that was a cross between a mosquito and tick that acted like a rider on horseback. How in the world could she have missed a beast so raucous? Perhaps it was the scent of the priest and his magic had affected her brain

“Inari, get behind me and stay close.” Kit bought up her sword and was ready to knock the lance nose away and wide and perhaps to strike at a weak spot as the creature missed and passed by. But a weight fell on the girls as it yelled. Inari shrieked as she fell in the mud, not sure if it was some other monster.

The creature passed, unable to skewer anything. The wind brought by the wings whipped around the furred tails as they stuck out of muddy bodies. Kit stood up and wiped the mud off. The creature was still attacking and Kit took her child’s hand and helped her daughter up. “Inari, are you ok?”

“Yeah, I just have mud all over me.” Inari answered almost stunned from the fall.

“What was that for? I’d be fine and a lot less muddy if you didn’t tackle me like that.” Kit was in a far worse mood now that she was covered in the slimy and smelly morass of the swamp. Kit kneeled down and retrieved her sword, luckily the monster had it’s sights elsewhere.

[Ithermoss]

“Do I have to wipe everyone’s asses too?!” Rakh spat as he regained his footing. “I said on your guard! I can’t watch your backs for you!” The wet towel way Rahk’s face sunk when Reiko was fumbling around at her weapon in the mud was typical. It’s not that he wasn’t being patient with his new friends, so much as it was him being so burningly frustrated. Here he was, quite literally up the creek, and his fellow without-a-paddlers didn’t even have their weapons drawn. With only a dagger, the loincloth-clad tribal rushed out to meet the fiend head-on - not at all happy that his companions didn’t have his back.

Or even their own, for that matter. At times like these, people always say it’s the little things that start getting to you; little annoyances like Lenny the Barbarian whistling the same stupid song for an hour, or Hwynneth the Druid tiptoeing through the daisies while she was supposed to be conjuring the power of a force of nature with a name just as unpronounceable as hers. Oh, Rakh had heard horror stories from other fighters of just how irritating companions can be sometimes. It wasn’t anything like this, though. It’s one thing to look imminent death in its ugly face – quite another to have a few of your friends go catatonic while also looking said imminent death in its ugly face. “At least scream a little. Flail your arms around. Do something,” the warrior mumbled.

With a yell, the bare-chested, mohawked warrior slogged off through the mud like a man gone insane. The harder he pumped his legs against the muck, the harder it sucked at his feet when he tried to bring them up again, but it didn’t stop him. Changes were beginning to mark the warrior: a slow but steady growth in size, patches of thick fur, and a set of terrible looking claws. The set of bear claws around his neck had activated seemingly on instinct. He reared back for a punishing swipe at the incoming creature punctuated by a throaty, gristly roar.

His stroke never fell, though. An explosion sounded far off to their left. A breath later, the Berberith was struck with what Rakh only could understand as some sort of powerful magic. The creature gave an initial lunge towards Ranger as its bladed foreleg shot out at his neck, but was suddenly overcome by a force that swatted it around like a rag doll. The Berberith’s body seemed to buckle and fold around whatever had struck its abdomen, as if hammered straight into the ground only to destroy a small cluster of thin gangly trees.

The explosion still echoed in Rakh’s ursine ears. Bear-like features melted from his startled figure as he returned to like-human form. Scanning the flank, there was a man standing on a thatch of rotting trees and reeds, using it almost like a raft. He was oddly dressed; a black piece of cloth covered his face, ornamented only by an embroidered bone-white cross. How he made it through the swamps with the massive stick he was holding at his shoulder was completely beyond the savage (it was about as tall as he was), but he seemed to be paying much more attention to his stick than he was to the creature he had slain. Rakh was focusing on the stick too; one end was smoking, into which man seemed to be packing something down with a smaller rod, seeming to glance up every now and then at the party he’d just saved. Gorrigan had managed to get the latch open as the muck started to pour thickly into the enclosure that had risen up to the surface.

“Now would be a good time to find some shelter.”

[Ranger]

Ranger had seen the beast from a distance, but had not counted on its speed. With his back turned while in greeting, he had not noticed it gain so much distance. As he turned, leaving the fleeting smile of his master and friend, his platinum eyes caught hold of the beast. It was odd to say the least. The drow had never seen its like, but it had been nearly two centuries since his last visit to Alerar.

“A Berberith,” the word rung a bell, a deep bell in the confines of the drow’s mind. It was the land though, and time. The land had worsened since he had gone. Time had blurred things in his mind. As unfortunate, and rather depressing as it sounded, Ranger was lost to how to deal with the oversized insect. “Take cover!”

It was all he could think to say. The thin, dagger-like mouth sliced nothing but air as Rakh dove before the women. The monster darted past them on legs that were as thick as blades, and looked no less sharp. The tips touched the ground through the mud, skittering the hulking beast across the thick mud. Ranger realized that those around him could step on the same spell he was, at least if they were close. It was unfortunate that being that close with so many people would present a rather precarious and welcoming target for the monster.

The drow quickly spun, his staff was already in his hand before the monstrous mosquito had turned. His head was spinning. Weak spots were not very prevalent across the underbelly of the animal. It had centuries for natural selection to weed out the weak underside in favor of armor. As such the weakest spot the prophet could see was the legs, being so thin.

Come to me. Ranger thought as he watched its legs slip across the muddy surface. It took no more then a minute for it to circle around again. By that time the drow had already begun his spell. His hand had opened, closed, and was waiting for the opportune time to open once again. Held within the closed hands was a small ball of intense light, at the tips was another. To open the hand would release a pillar of light with a sphere three foot in diameter at its front.

Before the blast could be released though, the blade-like arm hanging overhead, another weapon was used. Its concussion throbbed in the ears of the drow. Its strength rocked the insect. As it struck the impact sent the mosquito falling into the mud. Ranger followed the wake leading to where the bug had just been his eyes caught a strange figure. The man seemed to be an apparition. His mask gave the illusion of an assassin, the bones an insane native. But it was the large, hollow log that the man carried on his shoulder that struck the drow as most odd.

“Shelter?” the prophet asked as he turned to face the new threat. He did not know what to think of the man, did not know what he was supposed to think. He was packing the large log again with a thick rod. The smoke from the end had nearly dissipated, but it gave Ranger little relief. His arm remained stretched, instead turned towards the newcomer. Without looking to Rakh for instruction his face turned sour. His eyes became sharp and his once noble face took on the visage of a death bringer.

“Halt where you are,” Ranger called. His voice boomed with menace and his eyes said it was far from idle. “Drop the weapon perched atop your shoulder! Name your purpose for being here!”

And just in case, because the man’s eyes did seem somewhat squinted, Ranger repeated the warning in drow. His accent was as thick as if he had spoken it everyday for his nearly four hundred years of life. It, somehow, sounded even more menacing then yelling in common despite its quiet, stern tone. He did not care so much for the threatening visage he was displaying, as much as buying time for the others. They needed to escape. From what it seemed Ranger and Rakh where the strongest present. The drow knew what that meant, it was his responsibility, or so he felt at least.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah watched from the tree before she dropped into the mud without a second thought. Brushing the brown hair from her face she looked at the monstrosity before he looked at the guide and moved over to him. Hearing Ranger's rather impressive speech towards the man she said, "Tell you what, ask questions when we're sure that the big killer insect that nearly took your head is dead or out of our immediate vicinity..."

She then looked at the tour guide before she sighed. He seemed to want to usher her into the trapdoor as she groaned and said, "Well, done worse in the name of ambition..." She then pinched her nose shut and dropped into the trapdoor after taking a deep breath. As she fell she could feel the air dry considerably until, thud!

Quickly moving out form under the flow of mud she grabbed for her mud smeared daggers and waited for the others as she looked around. To her amazement it wasn't unlike her last trip underground, and for a moment she almost believed she had run underground chasing Brock Rundgren again. Before her was a couple of caves that seemed to stretch out of her immediate sight. What allowed her the gift of sight however, was a couple of torches that were placed carefully so as to fully illuminate the area, almost masterfully placed with loving care.

She could feel a sense of unease as she waited for the rest of her little tour group to jump down. She almost felt watched, but she just attributed it to her paranoia, and rather hostile attitude towards tunnels. However, she wouldn't dismiss that paranoia, simply not let it influence her actions. Vigilance was a virtue, and she would at least practice it for now. As she looked at herself she sighed as she said, "Definitely a bath, then something stiff, I don't want to begin to think about what could have crawled in my boots..."

[Uukan Kimari]

Wolfy worsened as time continued, growling and clawing at the mud as soon as the vibrations of the noise washed over the two. Uukan coaxed the back fur of the dire wolf trying to calm his furry friend, until it purred like a kitten into the shoulder of his companion.

“Wolfy, I think you will have to get out of here.” Uukan whispered to the Dire Wolf.

Before Wolfy could hear Uukan, the dire wolf struggled from its master’s grip as the monster shot by once again and sent the wolf over the edge. It stood on all fours onto the muddy marsh and fled to the direction of where the group came from in a frantic pace.

“You will get lost.” Uukan cried out to the escaping dire wolf.

Uukan spread his arms to each end groping helplessly in the mud where he felt a tremor. With his heightened senses, Mr. Kimari noticed tree branches came crashing down to where he crawl and in response leapt forward tumbling deeper in to the mushy wet substance.

It was hard enough to move with Wolfy, and now I have to get up in this muck?

Uukan’s disheveled and awkward appearance only multiplied in the wet molasses. The slimy liquid filtering through the fibers of his kimono that formed into unbearable clumps of mud that weighed him down. After scouring the ground, he found a device once latched to his hip. With his katana in hand, he made sure to gently caress the sharp blade and adjust the tip to pierce the sludge with ease using the blade to stand under the weight of the mud.

“What is happening?”

[Ithermoss]

“Yes, shelter!” Gorrigan spat, mimicking the drow as he ushered Sarah down into the hole. “He’s not here to hunt Berberith, and he sure as hell didn’t take him out to protect us.” The guide narrowed his eyes to slits in the distant figure’s direction as he readied his weapon again for another volley. The man was staring back at them too - squinting out from under a gloved hand at his brow. “He’s got a rifle. A big one,” the guide said annoyedly. Rakh glanced nervously at his companions as he began backing toward the entrance.

“I think he’s right. We should get out of here.”

-------

“Alright, breathe,” he thought to himself. “You’ve done this before.” The rifleman finished ramming the shot and wadding down onto the powdered plyntmoss inside his huge musket. The green powder was clouding around him as he slung his capped powderhorn back over his shoulder and returned the ramrod to its place under the rifle. Under a black mask, the sharpshooter’s ears perked at the sound of the Drow’s rather stern request. “Must not be from around here,” he muttered. “Regards, friend.” They were all scrambling around, trying to get down into some sort of enclave at the sound of his shot.

Naught more than a bandanna covered his face from the rest of the world – it was an identity that he wanted to protect when he wasn’t on the hunt. The odd white cross on the field of sweat-drenched black cloth stretched across his face, holes for his eyes cut out somewhere in the pale design. It was how the Mark of Björmund knew him. He didn’t have a name among them other this insignia: a white Straker cross. A practically nonexistent breeze gave his sunburned shoulders some comfort under the weight of his combat harness and ammo pouches.

The Berberith would have just gotten in the way, although it was a shame he wasn’t able to tag one of the fox creatures with the shot’s follow-through. Anyone who associated with a Returned was to be killed on sight, and that meant that they all had to die – even the kind guide he had heard so many good things about. Resting his longrifle over his shoulder in firing position, he drew a bead on the easiest target in the group: the young human, now bogged down in the muck. The musket’s iron sights centered on the young man's chest as his gloved finger slowly eased the trigger back. He could hear the simple gears in his rifle sigh under the torque required to drop the hammer and send another round downrange. He was at he threshold now, pausing to empty his lungs.

And that was it. The hammer dropped, the muzzle of the massive musket roaring with both sparks and sound as a solid projectile the size of a human fist blasted from the wide rifle-barrel to meet its mark. When the smoke cleared though, the gunman was gone. The only sound in the air was the frantic yelling of the expedition party, and the cracking echo of what could have been the end of one man's life.

[Lavinian Pride]

"I said move god damnit!" Gorrigan spat as he roughly grabbed the young boy by the collar. This was perhaps the most fortunate of experiences as he shoved the boy towards the entrance. The bullet that would have killed the young human male missed its mark tearing into the trunk of a nearby tree and spraying out bark and wood everywhere.

As he shoved the boy towards the entrance he kept low as he said, "We don't have much time, so unless you want the next one to hit get your asses down here!" With those sage words he jumped through the trap door as he grumbled about the ineptitude of the people he was guiding.

~*~

Sarah meanwhile was waiting bored as she looked about the cavern, before more mud began to spill and a few more shapes emerged form the muck. A bit of impatience shined on her features as she said barbed, "Nice swim in the mud? Was beginning to wonder if you guys were going to join me or if I would have to go off on my own..."

"Be best not to do that Dahlios," Gorrigan said as he wiped the mud form around his eyes, "People get lost in those caverns and don't come back. I don't even know the system as well as the residents, and I'm not to keen on figuring it out either. All sorts of nasty things, worse than that overgrown mosquito..."

"So why should we trust you then?" She said pointedly a bit unnerved by the fact he didn't know the tunnels as well as he claimed.

"Because you silly little girl, I know the correct paths, not the wrong ones..." He said holding up a finger before he looked at the rag tag group. He then spoke, "We should hurry, our sniping friend will only take a few moments to figure out what happened, then come right after us..."

[Reiko]

Inari looked wide-eyed at the musketeer. The weapon made a sound like thunder and killed the mosquito monster easily though making a mess behind it.

Kit was with a similar wide-eyed look; the marksman was shooting at them and hit the bug by accident. She went towards her daughter and grabbed the younger fox girl, running behind an ancient tree. The old tree would take those bullets with no problem but all the guy had to do was go around.

“Inari, you going to be alright.”

“Yeah but this mud is gross.” Inari wiped the mud off of her once beautiful kimono, no soiled with foul muck.

“We can wash it later.” Kit had to agree that the mud was felt funny and dirty, not a way that she would like to be while being hunted down. Kitsune were as close to foxes as they were to humans but this made her feel like a pathetic animal and she wished Inari wasn’t going though the same way.

“Kit, where did everybody go?” Inari asked as Kit looked around and noticed that all their companions had disappeared.

“They must have got away. I think someone said something about shelter.” Kit smiled to her daughter. “We’ll find it or I’ll just have to kill the guy.” Kit gulped at that last part. This man was a hunter and too smart to let her get close, that’s probably why he wasn’t approaching. If he did try to circle the tree then he would be too close to Kit and she could strike but the man was waiting with patience, and it was the patient foe that was the most Dangerous.

Kit kept a lookout for the hunter but Inari saw several footprints in the mud, this must have been the others’. They were close and ended near a tree. “Mommy, why do those footprints disappear?” Inari asked hoping she was useful.

Kit knew why they did, a hidden door. “That’s where they went. We need to go there. Work an illusion of me and send it out the other way.”

Inari concentrated as she brought her fox magic to make an Image of a dirty Kit and sent the phantom fox running away in a fearful bolt. The sound of gunshots rang as splinters from shot trees rained down. The illusion trick worked and the hunter was going in the wrong direction.

“Ok you go to the shelter and I’ll follow” Inari went into the cave while Kit followed at a slower pace, moving the earth and mud to cover the tracks. Hopefully that would be enough to throw the hunter off. Once inside they were safe, panting from the adrenaline.

“Wow this place is big. Where’s everyone now?” Inari tried to find her way in the dark.

“Shh the hunter might here us.” Ki put her muddy hand on her child’s shoulder. “They shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Kit said trying to reassure her child and hoping that she was right.

[Ranger]

His warning had been unheeded. The mask of the man with the heavy rifle had concealed any show of emotion, and the words he issued had been merely mumblings. Ranger was disappointed. Was the man a foe or a friend? Would he turn the rifle on one of them next? Or was he packing it for another reason, perhaps to take another shot at the fallen beast?

As soon as the man turned his attention on the bogged down Uukan the drow instantly knew the answer to all the questions. Foe, and a dangerous one. The elven prophet thrust his arm forward but the blast from the rifle issued an ominous response. The blast of light from Ranger was loosed anyway. If he had killed Uukan then the least the drow could do for his failure to protect the boy was protect the others.

The pillar of light struck the thick base of the mud. It was not a direct shot however. The flat, thick end ran from left to right directly before the masked figure, spraying mud like a wall. It rose to heights of at least fifteen feet, the base of the wall burnt and smoking due to the bright pillar. “Move!”

As soon as the drow gave the command he realized it was unnecessary. The guide’s quick thoughts had pulled the young, fragile boy out of the way of the rifle’s fire. A sigh escaped the thin lips of the elf. At least he had not died. As quickly as he could, taking advantage of a bit of time allowed by the wall. He ducked into the caverns, mud never coating any part of him due to the blessing of the gods. Right behind him was another crack of the rifle and the duo of fox-people.

“By the Thayne! Who is that!” Ranger’s rage was focused, driven. His eyes were alight with the passion that was pulsing through him. Why had the guide done so little? Where had the man come from? Why had they not seen him sooner? “Where is Rakh!?”

Ranger spun towards the entrance and opened it, allowing more mud to flow in. If Rakh had not come in yet he was prepared to run out and pull him in. The last time the drow had seen his leader was when they were backing towards the hidden entrance…

[Ithermoss]

“I’m here,” he said, slumped in the corner of the dark enclave they were all crowded in. “I don’t know what happened. It’s like he was in my head. I blanked, and found myself huddling in the corner.” He had to admit some embarrassment on that point. He rarely retreated, and hid in a corner. The odd sort of compulsion to do so was overwhelming when the gunman was poking around in his thoughts. Treading footprint paths in someone else’s mind, however, left tracks that led back through the Gate of Dreams – the ethereal realm of Wulfgrud of the Direlings. A smug look on his face, Rakh wasn’t going to be the prey for long. “Everyone ok?” he asked, half not wanting to know the answer. “Then tread lightly,” nodding to Gorrigan.

The guide grimaced. “He is in the Mark. He hunts the dead, and those who shoulda’ stayed dead. That man can read your thoughts. There something you’re not telling me?”

The warrior felt his stomach twisting and rolling up his throat. He didn’t want to be the reason his friends were in danger, although life and danger seemed to go hand in hand these days. He felt horrible. “I was,” he half-gulped, “reincarnated. This shouldn’t be happening.”

“Yeah, well too bad he don’t see it that way, eh? This is gonna cost you, friend.”

“Let’s just move on. We’ll talk about that later. . . wait. Where are the two foxlings? Where's Uukan?”

“Shit! They’re still out there,” Gorrigan spat. “Any volunteers to go get ‘em? I sure as hell ain’t. I’m being paid to show you around, not save your sorry skins.”

Rakh stood and made for the hatch that Ranger was holding open. It was all because of him that she was in danger. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for her current state of affairs. He concentrated then. The hawk feather adornment that he wore had found its way into his leathery grasp, and then, melted into his hand entirely. Changes came upon him – curious ones. Feathers sprouted from his fingertips, rippling up his arm in waves, and flooding down his legs. He shrank to about half his size – taking on the distinct features of a creature of Y’eddan craft: a Concordian Firehawk.

He took to flight, his perfect eyes scanning both left and right simultaneously. Darting from the cave’s entrance, he sailed high above the thin white trees. He saw all: rock, muck, hunter, and hunted. The gunman was circling in a silent wide arc, keeping his distance from the target he knew was hiding. From his hybrid form, he managed a squawky call down to the two fox girls. No luck in finding the samurai. Uukan: the one Ithermoss claimed as his own son, the last living bearer of the name Bahal, and fourth in the line of Bahal the Burning - now missing.

“RUN! He’s onto you!”

This, however, drew the Marksman’s attention quite readily. The warrior knew he’d been spotted, falling into a dive into some cover before the masked man had a bead on him. Too late. Another shot sounded – the wad of metal blowing through the back of the warrior’s wing in a cloud of burnt feathers. Rakh fell, the hawkish features melting from his tribal form. His upper arm had merely been grazed by the shot, but with the size of the projectile in question, a graze meant that the flesh was torn to the bone. He clapped a muddy hand over the wound to stop the bleeding, crawling on his stomach, and fell back into the enclave with difficulty. He did his best. If the fox girls weren’t going to heed his warning, his sacrifice, and his attempt at saving their cowardly lives, the fault would be theirs.

[Lavinian Pride]

More gunshots, it seemed that the entire world had gone to hell and there was nothing but gunshots. As Sarah heard them she winced slightly as each one fired, glad to be out of the immediate vicinity. As she watched Rakh show up again however, she raised an eyebrow spotting a bit of red amongst his skin. Surely he had been hurt, and if that was the case, she knew he would need to clean it eventually. As she looked at the guide he spoke rather barbed, "If everyone is done doing whatever the hell they think is smart, let’s do the smart thing and move swiftly. That elf is not going to think twice about coming down here and killing each and every last one of us. So why not give ourselves a generous head start so we can get the hell out of here!"

With those words he began to move down the tunnels. Sarah stopped only to check and make Sure Rakh was alright, even offering a bit of aide to the man. While the guide was trying to be tough, she knew fear when she saw it. He didn't like the fact he was being hunted one bit, hence the gruffer exterior, the urging to run. While she agreed with the tactic of running, she did not agree with his attitude in doing so. Holding out her hand she spoke, "Let’s just get to the village, we can figure out what to do from there. If they follow they follow, personally I don't care much for baggage like that. Babysitting was not what I signed up for on this little shindig."

"You guys want to keep babbling or get the hell out of here?" Gorrigan's voice once more cut through the air. Sarah was feeling a bit of heated anger rising up in her, but opted instead to let it go as she breathed deeply exhaling the anger and stress. Moving to follow Gorrigan she tried to figure out just what to do about their predicament. Checking her daggers once more for battle readiness she sighed as she tried to pick a bit of the mud out form her hair.

A sigh escaped her lips as she said, "Yes, a nice long bath and a bottle or two for this. I earned it..."

[Ithermoss]

((Reiko has informed me that she will be dropping from the quest. What we're going to do now, is split up for a bit. Go ahead and do what your character's been wanting to do... i.e., rest, shower, eat, etc. Feel free to double/triplepost))

The vertigo of blood loss was quickly setting in, and waxing. Whenever he focused on one thing, objects in his periphery began to stretch out of place. It was as if someone replaced his eyes with those of a fish. Sarah’s help was much appreciated, staggering around in the dark as Gorrigan led them all down a narrow cavern that was less and less muddy as they progressed. It wasn’t so hot, either. The fumes from outside had began to subside, and Rakh’s sweat-drenched hair freed itself from the clamminess of his neck. He felt himself paling. He felt himself fading. He needed to get to a healer, and fast.

Something odd happened, then. The curse that he’d been bestowed took effect and actually helped him. The place where he was wounded solidified into rock - the wound petrifying before their very eyes. The flow of blood, the pain, the nausea: everything was washed away. The only side effect was a stiffening in his arm’s movement, not that he would even attempt doing so with a mess like he had. He thanked the girl when he could get his bearings, and after glancing behind them with resignation, perhaps with false hopes of ever seeing the two foxlings again, he felt an unfortunate sense of relief that they wouldn’t hold the group back anymore. This was no weekend retreat - they should have come prepared. They should have drawn their damned weapons, and fought. It was in the past, however.

They continued on, on through the darkening deep of the tunnels. Torches provided enough light so one didn’t trip over a crevice, but hardly more than that. They came at last to the underground - the city of the Bog Drow illuminated by sequences of mirrors that reached up to the surface. Why they didn’t have similar mirrors in the pathway to the city was beyond the tribal, but he was thankful for the sight of civilization.

“Where is the nearest healer? I need to get patched up. In fact, I’d imagine we’d all like to do a bit of resting. Sarah here could use a bath,” he grinned wryly. “I think you’re actually developing a smell.” Rakh meant this, of course, as a bit of irony; he was fully aware that his own smell could be rather ... strong at times.

Gorrigan nodded. “I’ve been starving for a good meal. Let’s meet up here tomorrow, eight in the morning. Don’t worry about clocks. You’ll know when the time comes. Go ahead and explore town a bit. Get some equipment. That sort of thing.”

[Ithermoss]

Rakh made his exit, at least long enough for him to get patched up. He walked into the healer’s tent with difficulty, lugging around about thirty extra pounds of stone along with his usual body weight, but he finally arrived and plopped down on the aid table.

“Be right with ya!” came the crackled, wizened voice of the doctor. A faint grunt came from the back room, followed by a crash, then a series of thuds. Needles tapped around on the floor as they fell from a top-shelf container. Vials dashed themselves against the stone floor - a real horrorshow for any student of medicine. But, at last, the healer emerged from the supply room with paraphernalia in hand. “What seems to be the pr...interesting. Never seen a wound turn to stone before.”

“Yeah. This is a first for me too. Any idea?”

“Hm...” rubbing his grey chin, he pulled up a chair to take a seat. “The bone looks fine, the meat’s just torn up real good. Lemme go back into the room and get some more stuff. I thought I was treating a case of petrification, when I saw you walk up to the medcenter.”

Rakh twiddled his fingers and busied himself with the medical models that lined the shelves. Here, an assembled model of a dwarf’s eye. There, a kitsune’s uterus. The tribal shook his head, and felt it best that the two fox girls weren’t here to see this. An argument could be heard coming from the supply room - the only thing between him and the room being about 15 feet and a mesh curtain, he could clearly hear the doctor’s voice.

“That’s not going to work! It’s a wound, and it’s petrified. We need to treat the petrification first!”

“Are you going to trust me or not. Who’s the relic with the knowledge of the ages? Hm? You remember last time when you didn’t agree with my instructions? The anti-gravity wand?”

“WE FIXED THE FLOOR!” he doctor hollered.

“And the love potion for local burn victim?”

“It didn’t make him any uglier!”

“And the...”

“Ok. Ok. Have it your way!” the doctor fumed in the other room. “I’ll treat him with a salve of leaflily and then a shot of this regenerative oozy stuff. That good?”

“Yes, just make sure you don’t give him too much of either. One lick more of leaflily than he needs, and he’ll have a fleshy protrusion instead of a hole in his arm. Too much jimson-sap, and it’ll all be a sloppy mess. Got it?”

[Ithermoss]

“Yep!” The drow piped, sauntering his way back to the medical table with medicine in hand. “Let’s take a look-see. Oookay,” he nodded. “This should fill in the holes pretty well.” The doctor applied a creamy substance to craggy wound, and slowly but surely, as if the stuff hardened into a plaster of sorts, the herbal remedy seemed to be working. His arm was whole, but still hard as a rock. The only signs that he’d been damaged was his crooked tattoo where the skin had been hanging.

“No kidding. That’s incredible!”

“Sure is!” the doctor replied. “I half didn’t expect it to work myself. Now... where’d my shot of jimson-sap go...” he muttered, standing from his swivel-chair to present a syringe embedded deep in his own backside. His hand found the pinching coming through his trousers, and he froze. “Oh... no. No no no no no.” And in a flash, the doctor dashed into the back room yet again. Supplies were being catapaulted from behind the curtain, most likely as the doctor searched frantically for something to counteract the dose he’d just given himself. No luck, it seemed. The other voice that he was speaking to was trying to coach him through the process of administering a stoneberry paste when it finally gave up.

“Just get the guy in there to bite you!”

“The hell I...” came the tribal’s reply. “It’ll be a calm day in the Great Nether before I bite someone else’s backside.”

The rustling slowed. The voice did too, almost like an Alerian clockwork toy that was winding itself down. Slosh. A flow of water seeped out from under the curtain as the disembodied voice of the doctor’s helper sighed in frustration. Having sat there, Rakh could do so no longer. He found himself in the same closet where the doctor had met his untimely, watery demise, and staring face to face with a orc’s skull - the eye sockets illuminated by some eerie blue glow.

“So you’re the guy, huh? Might as well take me with you. The doctors here are just about as useless as they come. Kind of a lost cause in a culture where they eat their own wounded.”

“What about my arm?”

“It’s one of the green syringes. It’s on the shelf somewhere, or on the floor. Look around.”

“Found it. Want me to use the whole thing?”

“Yep. Right in the shoulder.”

The weregoyle did as he was told. The needle pierced the unpetrified flesh of his shoulder with ease, pumping a rather thick substance into his muscle. It felt like someone was trying to shove a brick inside of his blood vessels. The stuff was just too tacky, too viscous a liquid. He couldn’t help but rub the place were he’d given himself the shot. “Is there a reason why I’m getting tired?”

“Yeah. It does that. Make sure you lie down. If you fall, you don’t want your arm to shatter before this takes effect.” Pause. “You still there?” Rakh was already asleep on the floor.

[Ranger]

As sigh of relief passed over the elder drow as he turned and allowed the mud to once again even out over the passageway. However, relief was allusive again. Gorrigan’s sudden revelation of the missing fox-people caused the head of the prophet to jerk. He peeked through a small opening in the mud, looking for the two. In his vision he was granted a picture of the hunter again. The bone caught his attention this time.

“What is he?” The drow mused as he listened to the others speaking. However, before he could turn to ask what the plan was a burst of feathers caught his vision. Rakh was moving past him in a blur of speed and wings, leaving but a fleeting afterimage in his wake. His screams for caution did not, however, do much for the duo of fox girls. Instead it drew attention to the flapping image of Ithermoss, enough to warrant a well-placed blast into the outer edges of his wings.

“Rakh!”

The words came before Ranger had time to think about it. As soon as he yelled a wave of mud rippled towards him. The impact of the shoulder-mounted weapon was enough to quake the entire area around it. Ranger barely turned his shoulder before a slosh of the thick, slick bog poured over him and down his shirt. The world was turning itself around, and then jumping.

The drow watched with a grimace as his leader poured with the mud into the hole. His arm was bloodied, his hand was holding it, and he was covered in an undignified way with mud. It was a side that the normally docile prophet had never seen from the former ‘Ithermoss’. It was the side that Ithermoss showed outside of the heart of Pandemonium’s Fist, a side of a true warrior, adventurer, and hero.

“Well, if this is our escape,” Ranger sighed as he closed the mud passage and allowed the darkness of the caverns to take hold. Instead of arguing, instead of taking a role and wandering out into the bogs not only to save the reiko’s, but too the fragile child Uukan. The others seemed to think the three gone, beyond help.

Silently the reduced party wandered through the catacombs towards the city of the bog drow. As they walked the religious drow offered a silent prayer to the Thayne. It was not much but it felt right, felt like it would be enough to save the left behind members and allow divine intervention. Ranger smiled as they approached the city, feeling warmer, lighter, better.

((I'll continue this when I get time... though I have to catch up on some other posts too.))

[Lavinian Pride]

"I think Sarah here is actually developing a smell," Rahk said jovially.

Sarah grinned from under the tribal as she retorted, "You don't smell like roses either buddy." While the fight had been rather dangerous those that remained following it seemed to be a closer knit group. Despite the fact that Sarah was an outsider, the fact she herself had never seen Rahk or Ranger Nailo, she had almost felt a kinship with them.

After Rahk moved off to get healed she sighed as she went straight to a bar. Grabbing a bottle of Lavinya's finest ale she paid quickly before she moved to the bath house. Here she could feel the damp atmosphere and knew she was in good hands. Moving up to the counter she slapped down gold and said quickly, "Private bath, no interruptions please."

The man smiled as he took the gold quickly and gestured to one of the small rooms containing a tub. Nodding as she entered the room she saw a small bench for gear and the tub itself. Beside it was a small fireplace over which a large pot of water resided, and on the toher side a pot of cold water. Nodding at the man he closed the door behind her before she began to pour the bath and set the temperature.

Once the bath was set she stripped feeling like a second skin had been stripped off her body. Sliding in under the water she carefully pulled a dagger and kept it in the water with her, to prevent someone from sneaking up on her unexpectedly. Relaxing back in the tub she let her mind wander as she closed her eyes, letting the warm water soothe and relax her frazzled nerves. It had been awhile since she had invested in such a luxury for certain.

Resting in the bath she sighed as she relaxed, before she reached over the edge and took out from her satchel the bottle of Lavinian Ale. Popping the top she took a sip and relished the bitter taste of it. Smirking softly she whispered, "Too long, I'll have to do this more often."

Her mind drifted when the alcohol released her inhibitions. As she relaxed she sighed as she felt nothing, no memories haunting her, no pain, no aches. It was just her in a bath. Slowly she began to scrub herself clean as she got the mud off her body out of her hair out of everywhere. She wanted for a second to forget she was the dirty girl she was, and be clean and pure, and whole.

Whole, was something she wanted to be for the longest time. The void within her was ever present. While it offered her much power, it was borrowed power, Seth's power. She wasn't Seth, not anymore, the few similarities slowly fading with each day, and she wanted to distance herself as far as she could from her beleaguered other half. She wanted to be free of the binds, to be her own master, rather than someone's lapdog.

Perhaps that was what drove her, but in the meantime she tried to relaxed, and be real for a few moments, before the depressing truth forced itself upon her.

[Ranger]

Among the drow again…

The feeling of home, the feeling of belonging was pulsing from the city of the bog drow. Ranger could not help but grin as he moved through their streets, watched their children play, noted their warriors practicing. It was as if he had never left the land of Alerar, never been cast aside. The bog drow welcomed him with open arms, inviting him to drink, even to stay at their houses. It was almost more then the prayers of the Thayne could even grant, almost.

“So, Prophet, you say you come with others? For what purpose?” The tongue of the drow was sweet, melodious. It had been a long time since Ranger had been given the opportunity to speak in his native tongue.

Before answering the drow took a quick swig of the sweet ale of the drow. It too was a memory long missed. Sleek, platinum eyes looked away from the bog drows at his side and towards the brick walls. Though the prophet had been born of the Alerar nation, he had never before seen a true city of the bog drow, an illusive race. “The one named Rakh is… was my leader. I have come to aide him in his endeavors, whatever they may be. But at the forefront of my ambitions in Alerar is to study under the clerics of Hromagh, in the mountains of Kachuk.”

The eyes of the bog drow lit.

“Do you know something of the temple? Perhaps something that could be of service to my path, an ease for my journey?”

“Indeed we do,” one of the few responded. “Indeed we do…”

And as a dish of roasted meat was placed before the company of Aleraran natives the bog drow began to give what information they had. Though it was little, it indeed meant a lot to Ranger… not only because of what the information yielded, but too for the comfort and security the others of his race gave to him.

[Ithermoss]

“Hey. Hey! Wake up, smelly. Rise and shine!”

Rakh stirred, though grudgingly. He had fallen asleep on the floor, and despite him being used to sleeping on rough surfaces, the crick in his neck wasn’t to be ignored. He sat up, twisted to his side, and settled down into himself to produce a nasty string of pops from his spine. The skull, the one that had been trying to rouse him all night while he slept, grimaced at the sound.

“Hey. Don’t do that. It’s not good for you.”

“Wivestale,” Rakh suggested, getting to his feet. He’d never had a medicine man tell him anything of the sort.

“I’m the vessel of ageless wisdom here.”

“A skull?”

The hollows in the skull’s eyes flared with an angry yellow glow, and he seemed to chatter his jaws at the comment. “I am no mere skull. I’m an invincible force of darkness. The legions of the Great Nether shall resound as I march through the Death Gate with your head on my sword.”

“…march,” Rakh smiled.

“Roll. I’ll roll through the Death Gate.”

“Yeah. What’s your name.” The skull didn’t answer. The lights in his eyes went out, and a grumble could be heard from the hollow inside. “Hey! Speak up.” Rakh rapped his knuckles on the skull’s yellowed surface. Nothing. He picked it up and shook it around. The jaw clattered around, and a few spiders managed to escape from the nasal cavity, but still nothing. Rakh poked a finger into its eye socket.

“Don’t do that! Argh! Everyone does that!” The little lights in his eyes winked into view again.

“What’s your name,” he demanded. “Mine’s Rakh. You would be…?”

“It’s TODD, ok? Let’s just go. I’m tired of this place.”

“Fair enough,” the warrior chuckled, and picked up a dusty satchel to drop the skull into. “You better be civil now. I don’t want to argue with you at all hours of the day.” The tribal walked outside to greet Gorrigan, having to shield his eyes from the brightness of the cave; the entire city was bathed in sunlight, and it was most certainly past eight o’clock. He was hoping that his friends hadn’t made off without him.

“Gorrigan, where are the others? Any sign of the three we're missing?"

[Ranger]

“Be safe, brother drow, and return whenever you are able.” The heavy hand of one of the bog drow on the broad shoulder of the prophet meant much. Ranger smiled as he lifted his head and placed his opposite hand on the opposite shoulder. “And keep in mind the wisdom of Hromagh that you have acquired. We rarely give information to those that come.”

“It will be well kept.” Ranger nodded and turned away. The air was not so fresh, the streets were not so clean, but the drow felt as if it was the best morning he had ever woken to. Before him the city of the bog drow was changing, he was nearing its entrance, and he knew that it would be a very long time before he would be able to return. “It will be well used as well…” he muttered as he walked away.

By the time Rakh came into view the prophet’s beaming smile was diminished and a ‘professional’ visage had been adopted. His eyes still held the glint of excitement that he had been showing since he had come, but his face was set.

“Good to see you well Rakh, and to see you again Gorrigan.” Ranger bowed slightly to both of them. The tribal form of Ithermoss looked as if it had healed well under the care of the drow. “Have we had any word on the three we lost?”

[Lavinian Pride]

After she had taken the bath she had immediately gone and slept. The relaxing and soothing water only helped to calm her nerves. As she slept soundly with the help of a bit of alcohol she had awoke the next morning with a yawn and a stretch. Deciding to change her clothes back to the shorts she sighed as she muttered, "Probably should have gotten these clean, but if its back to the swamp, I guess its better I didn't..."

Pulling on her clothing she carefully braided her hair pulling it back in a taut ponytail before she showed up once more amongst the group. Her gate was steady as the belt clung to her hips rather seductively. It was unexpected but she enjoyed the slightly sexy yet dangerous look and let it slide rather than attaching the belt tightly like she normally would. It was a style thing now, and she wasn't going to lose her daggers anytime soon.

A smile upon her face as she met with Gorrigan Rahk and Ranger she spoke up, "Sorry boys, slept in a little, guess you could say last night was a bit too soothing..." She then observed each in turn. Ranger seemed fine as usual, but Rahk looked positively great. The wound he had taken trying to help out the two Kitsunes had seemed to heal famously. As she stretched her lithe form she spoke up, "So I'm guessing it’s back out into the swamp? Or we heading somewhere else?"

Shielding her eyes as the network of mirrors did their job in lighting up the place she felt a eerie calm within her. She liked this place, perhaps it was the bath or the alcohol, or some mix of the two, but she just couldn't be angry right now. She felt clean, but she also felt free. She didn't know how else to explain it. Still she continued on as she watched her cohorts. Soon they would move on, right?

[Lucien]

This thread hasn't been posted in a month. I'm closing it up due to inactivity and moving it to the "Unresolved" Forum. Please Private message me to retrieve it if you intend on completing it further. And please do not contact me if you have no intention of finishing this. Thank you.