Open Chronicles Bump In The Night

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This was looking... precarious. With each moment that passed, both sides lost blood, and with that came a risk of failure. Alak refused to accept failure because failure usually meant death.

He darted forward and stepped quickly and aggressively to the side, managing to dodge an arrow at near point blank range as he sent a two handed horizontal swing at the man's thighs. The blade cleaved cleanly through, sending the man's upper body flopping to the ground and bleeding into the dirt. It was grotesque, but Alak didn't even pause to finish him off. Not when there were active targets on the battlefield. Alak had never been known for his merciful side.

Alak could still sense as much as see the angry glares of the two women directed at him, but he ignored it for now. They were doing their part and he was doing his. If they kept with that policy, they - and by "they" he really meant "he" - might be able to make it out of here alive. Mutually assured destruction was a dangerous but effective policy for survival.

"Can you use that cloak again?" Alak asked the half-elf, indicating to the legless man on the ground. If blood was what they needed, that was not in short supply.

"We might be able to use an artifact they're moving to finish them off. We can draw them off, and he can sneak in to grab it," Alak said to Vyx'aria, indicating Iktovian as the one to sneak in and grab the cloak. And then he noticed that Vyx'aria was still preoccupied, and maybe not in the best position to answer him. But the plan might still work!

Of course, the plan was a risk. While he could sense something powerful in the crates, it might be difficult to find or it might not be a weapon at all. Risky, risky. Wit Sreeya Draedamyr
 
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His wary gaze took in the scene. The one with his sword, now bloodied, had turned to face the challenge. She was still in the midst of her raiding party. If she held him for long and the dark elves finished the guards then he was walking to his death. If he turned the tide against them then he would leave here with his sword. Perhaps some additional payment for his trouble too. It wasn't like the dead humans would be taking their protection fees.

Behind him was open ground. A dangerous road ahead but he wouldn't attract much attention alone. Once the dark elves had slunk back into the shadows he could always return for supplies.

There were few left who even remembered the sound of the name of his birthplace. The heirlooms of that once great city were scattered across the world, many in the hands of humans. That sword was one of the last to have left the magically imbued forges, crafted by artisans whose like would not be seen again. A sword he had spent centuries learning to master. Draedamyr made up his mind.

That didn't mean he was above dishonesty. The dark elves showed disdain for the surface dwellers, males in particular. The guards they fought were distinctly limited swordsmen.

His footwork was deliberately sloppy as he approached, his first swing quick but with too much weight behind it. Draedamyr was cautious not to overdo the ruse, but with the skirmish still going he wanted to try and draw her into trying to finish the fight quickly.
 
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Iktovian took a step back as the drow stalked away, letting out a tired chuckle as she shoved past him. "Guess we're even now!" He called out after her as she pulled her blade out of the man whose attack she had just saved him from.

He was still smirking when Alak walked over and proposed his plan. With so few of them left Iktovian couldn't think of a better solution, though it was going to cost him. But then again, what difference would it make if he died here. He had thrown his lot in with the drows to try and get his hands on whatever was in the caravan, might as well see it through.

"Can't use that unfortunately, has to be my blood. As beat up as I am I can probably do another half minute, maybe less. But if you can pull them away that might be enough."

As he let the others come to a consensus, he tried leaching off of the emotions of the remaining soldiers, trying to find charity within their battle rage to try and head himself. But he found almost none, overcome as they all were with the thrill of the fight. Letting out a disappointed sigh, he waited for the drow leader to share her opinion on Alak's plan.

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya Draedamyr​
 
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As Alak called out to her, Vyx’aria didn’t shift her gaze from the captured elf, “What artifact?” She growled in response without looking, “Never mind, do what you need,” She had no time to focus on Alak and the half elf, her attention on the elf in front of her. Vyx’aria tossed the stolen blade in the air and caught it, grinning at the prospect of a duel. When he rushed towards her, she was disappointed with his movements. They were entirely too similar to how the humans moved – had being on the surface dulled all his senses?

Vyx’aria pivoted on her foot, leaning back and skirting out of the way of the strike. She was just out of blade’s reach for him, having no intention of doing a follow up attack. Just like with the guard before, she was toying with him, a nasty grin on her face at all times. Was he truly foolish enough to give his life for a blade?

“Slave…of humans you are?” She called out in the common tongue, light and nimble on her feet. Up above, thunder began to grumble, the first drops of rain splattering down on the caravan and warriors below. Within moments, a storm would arrive and add another element of chaos to this disaster.

Vyx’aria’s remaining warriors were at Alak’s disposal, and it was clear they would assist him with what he needed. One of them had worked with him before, though Alak would only notice it now that she was standing next to him. It was the same soldier that the half elf had his eye on – Kazriel Liawyn.

Cynical Phoenix Wit Draedamyr
 
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Draedamyr didn't know whether he believed in gods. Regardless, a hope was thrown out into the ether that the lightning could come closer. A flash of light forking across the sky would be a minor distraction to him. To a drow it would be random and painful.

He took care with his footwork, yet instead of fluid motions they were very deliberate. Over the centuries he had trained many with the blade and knew how to mimic a swordsman with limited training.

There was only so long he could continue to be her play thing however. Not only were the strikes to his head starting to take the edge off his concentration but they were too close to the rest of her kin.

"I'm not their slave!"

His face contorted into a mask of feigned frustration as he closed and threw out a pair of swings that left the centreline between them too open. Rather than anger the dark elf playing with his own blade had consensed his emotions into a cold ball of determination. The first drops of rain landed on him, cool beads running down the side of his face.
 
Only now that she had drawn close did Alak realize that he knew one of the drow soldiers. It had been many years, but they had spent a long period together in the underdark, fighting and on patrol. He had known her for almost as long as he'd known Vyx'aria.

"Long time, no see, Kaz," he said, addressing her nonchalantly and in abbreviated form mostly because he knew how much it would bother her. Do have a male worm out of his place? Oh the horror! Let it not be so!

He suppressed a spiteful grin as he looked back to the battle. If they weren't already down on bodies, he knew she would have probably stabbed him, but to do so now would almost certainly result in her own death as well. That was too high a price, even for a stubborn drow.

"Very well. Go. You'll know your moment," he said to the half-elf. Alak intended to draw their attention away while the half-elf made his way around, waiting for the last moment to gain the item for himself. Alak could only hope that he'd know how to identify it when he found it, but if he was attuned to magic - which he certainly seemed to be - the flow of power should be unmistakable.

At the moment, only two guards stood between Iktovian and the prize. A storm began to rain and Alak had to shout to be heard above the rain that had begun to pound down in the darkness.

"Guards! How many more of you will die for goods that are not your own?" he shouted. Several of the men seemed hesitant to answer or attack. No doubt having watched their comrades fall they were wary of drow trickery. Hopefully that wariness would be precisely what drew their attention away from the actual trickery. Sreeya Wit Draedamyr
 
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Vyx’aria scoffed at the elf male’s words, as she knew she was getting under his skin. She was entirely too egotistical to see through his ruse, and she fell for it hook, line and sinker. The dark elf moved with grace once more as he went for his second attack. She spun to the side, coming up towards the elf’s right flank to whirl in with a strike to his ribs.

However, that was when a streak of lightning cut across the sky. The flash was enough to almost blind her, and she jumped back from the elf, still reeling. The warriors that came with her all had the same reaction, the women shrieking from the pain to their senses. Vyx’aria had her blades up in front of her to shield herself from surprise attacks, and she slowly opened her eyes again.

For the first time, there was true terror in her eyes, and she looked up at the skies. The rumbling and thunder was frightening, and her reaction to it would be absolutely comical to a surface dweller. Vyx’aria shrank back from the elf she was fighting, noticing how he didn’t even flinch at the wrath of the gods from above. Was he causing this? What was he!

“Stop...stop that!” Vyx’aria hissed, her eyes wide in terror. She still kept his blade clutched in her hand, entirely too proud to give it back. She jumped as the drops of rain landed on her, entirely new to concepts such as storms.

Unfortunately for Alak, the drow with him were just as frightened, suddenly shrinking back and terrified. The lightning made them hiss and shield their eyes and the thunder made them fearful. To them it was some act of the surface gods or the work of some powerful enchanter present. It had to be!

The group began to shy back, Vyx’aria glancing towards where the path led back to the underground.

Cynical Phoenix Wit Draedamyr
 
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They didn't just shy away from the bright lightning, they had absolutely no idea what it was. The rain came down harder, beating against the thick canvas stretched over the each wagin. Loose strands of his hair were plastered to the side of his face. Another softer flash of sheet lightnight and he became the creature of darkness, the silhouette against the light.

"My sword," he growled. Draedamyr had wanted to continue the ruse and let he see her mistake just a moment befure he cut her down. The chance of the dark elves retreating or finishing the guards and turning on him was looming. He would settle for his blade back. She could think what she wanted about the source of the light.

Draedamyr stepped in, his footwork suddenly precise and fluid. With no warning movements to give her burning eyes much to follow he cut straight. Expecting the dark elf to defend her centre on instinct, he quickly changed the angle of attack. His stolen blade whipped around as the thunder rolled through the trees, looking to catch the outside of her forearm.
 
Alak had been on the surface for years now, and he'd seen lightning before, but he remembered when he'd seen it the first time. He'd spent that night in his camp, huddled under a tree to escape the rain in a hole he'd hastily dug with magic. He'd watched as the bolts leapt to and fro across the sky, wondering what type of wizard it took to cast such incredible feats of strength. When he finally reached a town to ask, he'd been laughed at until people were red faced and panting.

It wasn't a fond memory.

"It's only a scare tactic! He cannot harm you with it!" Alak shouted. His voice boomed with magical enhancement so that it would carry to the ears of the drow women over the sound of the battle. Although it was only a partial truth - there was no one actually controlling the weather - it was much easier to explain this way than to try to explain that this was one of those things on the surface that just happens.

He could sense that the power of his crystal was lessening, and he wondered how long he would have until it ran dry. There's still time, he decided. It had just been refreshed with a new life, he reminded himself, and that bought him a host of time in fact.

Its speed carried him back to the duelist quickly, loosing a blast of concussive force from his left hand that would be enough to knock the duelist from his feet before he could close. While Alak and Vyx had their differences, there was something to be said for keeping her alive. She was a skilled fighter, and one of the few who could keep the other drow in line. Besides, the two had a begrudging respect... he hoped... Sreeya Wit Draedamyr
 
Iktovian nodded in agreement and ran off to find some cover, slipping behind a toppled crate and waiting for his opportunity to try and steal whatever was the artifact Alak was hoping to find within the caravan.

Things started out well enough, as one of the two guards moved to intercept the approaching drow, and Iktovian used that moment to slice another cut across his hand to draw forth more blood, feeding the nefarious enchantment that resided within his cloak. Invisible once more, he started moving carefully towards the caravan when everything went to shit.

The lightning strike threw the drow warriors into chaos, and the guards took advantage, striking at another one of the female warriors who had accompanied Alak. The guard who had remained with the caravan sought to take advantage of the sitaution and was pulling back on a bow to fire a shot when Iktovian threw wind to caution and started running towards him. As his cloak started flapping parts of him became visible here and there, but it confused the guard just enough for Iktovian to catch up with him and slash his dagger through his throat.

Well aware that the situation was going to shit, he started rummaging through the contents of the caravan, hoping to find something to help them out but while he found many an item that would fetch a great deal of coin in the right market, wines, silks and the sort, there was nothing there that could help them.

Letting out a curse, he turned around to witness the battlefield and decided to play his last card. Jumping onto the caravan, visible to everyone now that the his cloak has run out of blood and tapped onto the tiny reserves of avarice he had at his disposal. He couldn't call down an actual bolt of lightning, but he could just about bring forth a web of sparks to start crackling to life all around him. "Lay down your arms or i shall call down the storm's fury on all your heads!"

He shouted the words as sparks danced around him, hoping that the theatrics would convince them that he could actually come good on the threat. And as if the gods were pleased with his little gabmle, thunder rang out in the distance as a bolt of lightning crashed down in the distance behind him. That had been his last gabmle, pure and simple luck.


OOC: Made two rolls, roll 1 for finding something useful in the caravan (25 - fail), second roll to see if lightning from the storm randomly struck down in time to help with the ploy (72 - success).

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya Draedamyr​
 
Down on one knee with his right hand splayed open, palm down beneath a thin layer of mud, Baalyr bowed his head against the falling rain with a look of deep concentration twisting his features. A massive she-wolf paced restlessly behind him at the head of a pack, the beasts and their riders silent and still despite the growing downpour. The kneeling Orc hummed low under his breath, the bass sound reverberating deep within his chest in time with the thunder booming overhead. Frowning, he uttered a curse and rose to his feet, head snapping around to meet the eyes of his second even as he mounted Galerunner and ripped his spear from the mud.

"The spirits sing of blood wetting the soil, of darkness from below now above, and foul magicks. We are late."

Magora grinned savagely and hefted the great bow at her side from the back of her black-furred beast, the flash of lightning reflected on her bare head and the crude metal piercing her lip and tusks. "We're not the ones who stopped to chat, Commander."

Rolling his eyes at the sarcastic tone and responding with stony silence, Baalyr raised his spear and nudged Galerunner forward into a loping run. The wolfpack and their riders surged into the darkness without a sound, racing in the direction of their contracts target.
~~~~~~~~~
As Iktovian stood upon the wagon and made his threat, the rolling thunder in the distance faded only for a new sound to rise in its place. A lone howl ripped through the silence, and the answering chorus of baying and howling only grew louder. Wicked laughter and the guttural language of the Orcs rose with it, battle songs and bellowed war cries preceding the sight of fifteen massive wolves charging down the road from Elbion.

The wolf riders hit the human caravan guards from the side, the massive Orc at the front catching two men on the point of his spear like some macabre kabob before leaping off his grey-furred steed and hefting a heavy Warhammer in one hand while the rest circled the humans in a ring of snapping fangs and jagged weaponry. The apparent leader looked over the humans with a sneer of disgust twisting his lips before turning to look down at the elves.

"I am Baalyr Flamesinger, leader of the Stormhowlers. We're here for Lord Fairbrooke. Do not interfere and we will leave you to your business."

Sreeya Wit Cynical Phoenix Draedamyr
 
Vyx’aria may have been at a disadvantage due to the storm, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t an exceptionally skilled warrior. Without the skills in magic, her entire focus had been martial combat. As the elf launched at her with his blade, she abruptly ducked below, swinging her blade horizontally along his legs to cut into them. This also got her out of the way of the feint, and she would follow regardless with a roll to the side to come up once more. The entire movement was fluid and seamless, a testament to her years in combat.

It was around then that a blast came from Alak’s direction, aimed directly at the elf she was fighting. Vyx’aria jumped to her feet, preparing to finish the elf off. However, another interruption in the form of some unnatural sounds cut through the air. She had never heard the howl of a wolf before, and the sudden arrival of yet another force was enough to make her reconsider this entire operation.

Vyx’aria looked towards Alak, silently pleading with him to run, right before she gave the signal for her troops to rally to her. The drow quickly raided what they could from the caravans before bolting away with Vyx’aria. The entire time, she continued to keep a hold of the surface elf’s blade. If he wanted it back, he would have to come to the depths of Zar’Ahal himself.

Rom Phoenix Wit Draedamyr
 
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Draedamyr didn't roll during a duel. He embodied economy of motion, slow and cautious or quick and deadly when required. He no longer had the stamina of the younger elves but experience came with age.

Seven hundred years of experience was enough to slide a leg away from the low swipe and to follow the direction of the roll. He refused to give up position.

It wasn't enough to muster any kind of defence against the sudden wave of energy that struck him in the chest. It lifted him clear from his feet. A flash of sheet lightning uplit the smooth clouds. The trees forming sharply contrasting black spines before vanishing again.

The mage hunter couldn't help but think that it was particularly beautiful. Until the back of his head struck a rock and the thought was chased from his mind.



It was with some degree of surprise that he found he could open his eyes. The moon Lessat and her wide rings were directly overhead. Just thin whisps of cloud in a clear morning sky. He tentatively sat upright and touched two fingers to the back of his head. They came away free of blood, but he felt disoriented and nauseated. Standing up seemed like an arduous task indeed, let alone tracking the dark elves.

By now they would be underground again. If their settlement was close there was a chance he could follow them. They might even have set a camp close to the surface. That would be following them into their element. Even in the darkness he would back his skills against one of them, but not two. His memories were a touch hazy but he had counted at least five. One had been a mage and their commander had been exceptional with his sword.

With an involuntary groan of protest he hauled himself to his feet. The dead drow's had been under his leg and left an entire stretch of his thigh numb, but at least he had a well forged weapon rather than some crude human steel.
 
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