ELBION
On one hand, the mage was always happy to see a familiar face. On the other, Rainie's presence was universally burdensome on his already limited social fortitude.
She called out to his familiar, who approached her at an enthusiastic pace. His ears drooped forward, and he hopped up excitedly at the bard. He was bigger, now; so much bigger, in fact, that his paws easily reached Rainie's shoulders when he leapt upward to lean on her.
Faurosk merely watched, amused; She'd brought the dog's affectionate assault onto herself, after all. The familiar quickly calmed itself down, taking a seat at the bard's side and willingly accepting any pets thrown his way.
His master, meanwhile, was left stranded in the group of assembled women. His face went crimson at Rainie's remark on his, ahem, '
cute bum', reddening further when Mitsy gave him a rather obvious once-over. He wasn't used to attention of this sort, and he knew that both the bard and the rougher white-haired woman were the dangerous sort of beautiful.
Oh, and then there was a wink. Just what he needed. The mage cleared his throat into a balled fist and took a half spin away from the group, taking a few steps towards the slowly encroaching fog of red. He passed another arrival on the way, a woman he couldn't quite recognize. There was a strange sense of familiarity between them, but he couldn't place it-- he didn't recognize her by her face, anyhow.
Taking a few moments to ease his obvious embarrassment by staring down the imminent danger of the fog, Faurosk turned back to the assembled crew and fished out a handful of small coins. He placed them carefully into Mitsy's awaiting hand before stalking off to where Trajan had summoned them, quietly muttering something about how he didn't need to put up with this. Regardless, he trundled on, giving off a sharp whistle and calling his familiar back to his side. The Allirian wild hound trotted alongside its master, though its hackles raised as they neared the mists. The mage, speaking down to the animal in a voice that he hoped was soothing enough, said, "I know, Dustmop. I feel it, too."
And he did feel it; the crimson mist. When one attunes themself heavily to the arcane, they can gain an innate sense for the supernatural. Faurosk had bore this "third eye", colloquially known as the sixth sense, long enough to know how to adequately filter out the sensation of nearby arcane phenomena, but the raw energy of the swirling fog stirred a primal fear deep in his gut. The hair along the back of his neck stood tall at attention, and a thundering shiver rolled its way down his spine. This wasn't the somewhat subtle, off-putting decay of
necromancy, or even the raw chaotic energy of blood magic-- No, this was something wholly new to him. It was something evil.
The mage gave a quick glance down at himself, taking stock of the equipment he'd be carrying forward. His staff in hand, the hollow rod of ornately carved wood hanging at his hip, and enough arcane reagents and materials stashed away to cause untold destruction if handled carelessly. He grabbed the rod by a leather loop strung at one end, taking a firm hold of it and pointing the other end, carved to look like a dragon's open maw. towards the mist.
He balled up his emotions-- the silly embarrassment that still lingered faintly in the redness of his cheeks, the happiness of reuniting with Rainie-- even under such trying circumstances, and, most of all, the absolute terror he felt deep down in his core. He took this wad of emotions and, with no small amount of willpower, focused them down his right arm and into the blasting rod he held at the ready. Casting aside his trepidation, Faurosk let out a loud bark that took on the form of the word "
Ventus!"
Wind rushed forth from the hollow mouth of the rod, erupting fifteen feet forward and boring a six-foot wide hole clear through the mist. The victory was short lived, however, as tendrils of crimson fog promptly curled inward and snaked around the tunnel, sealing it back into the churning mass of smoke almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Letting his mouth hang agape in befuddlement for a few passing moments, the mage subsequently hung his blasting rod back at his side and looked upon the mist with a couple beats of quiet contemplation. "... Mother fucker," he concluded with finality.
Suddenly, a sound came from some obscured location deeper in the fog. A ringing of bells split out over the subtle cacophony of dissonant whispers, and two ravens flew out from the mist some twenty feet to the party's right. Faurosk flinched away from the sudden appearance, but his staff raised instinctively to his side. Once the shock settled, he let out a small, breathless laugh. "Well, that's just a touch melodramatic, isn't it?"
Elbion_pandemonium
The bear turned towards the rest of the group. There was no sign of recognition there. Intelligence, it was or had been a svalen, but it was all rage. That seemed to make up the minds of some of the warriors. A thrown axe struck home with a dull thud. It's growl was a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through Valthar's bones.
