Open Chronicles Astray

Nuir
Location: Slave cells



There was nothing to herald their arrival. No sound or flash of light. A small group appeared in the middle of the corridor in an instant.

"Hey!" cried one of the guards.

Aurra had been listening to the ogres that guarded the cells. They had been finding all the spots people appeared. The one outside of their cells was the most convenient.

As the small travelling group looked around in confusion, a group of ogres encirled them and lowered halberds.

"Weapons down!" cried an ogre.

Aurra had been in her cell for two days. Arriving with a weapon, she had been chosen for entertainment in the fighting pits.

She didn't know if the alternative was worse. This was likely to lead to a very brutal end. She could have lived a longer life as a slave in the mines, or doing worse, but the quick death would perhaps be a mercy.

Aurra stepped up to the bars to look at the new arrivals.

One minute he had been marveling at a the long forgotten intricacies of the ruins. The next he had found himself not at all in the city of Elbion. Or at least he assumed the city wasn't supposed to be this bleak.

Nuir had arrived in another part of the fortress only a half day earlier. Confused and unaware he had quickly found himself at the end of a halberd just the same as the group now arriving by the cells. Still he'd had a small chance to get some notion of the layout. He saw the group of arrivals as an ogre, half walked, half dragged him toward the cells.

To his surprise there was a familiar face though not the one he had been looking for. He had some notion that Haydn the hunter might have been caught up in this as well. However, he hadn't been able to confirm that. If he had also been dropped here instead of his destination then they had been separated.
"Miss Brylee!"
Nuir felt the first emotion other than dread and anxiety since his accidental arrival. Not that he had been in this place long enough to have any real taste of despair. He allowed himself to be shoved into the same cell as her. He hadn't seen Aurra Brylee since their adventure in the under dark. He was quite happy for the reunion even if it was under somewhat dire circumstances. He gave her a small smile and a shrug.
"I don't suppose you have any idea what all this is about?"

Cerak should have been the place that was a get in, get out situation.

She had been here more than a few days, long enough to hear the commotion of new arrivals, but that was only just a rumour. Carling simply came to deliver the head of whatever that monstrosity was called, but killed it nonetheless as was contracted, and waited for her coin for carrying out the deed.

However, it seemed Tall Teddy was friends with everyone here in Cerak.

A month ago, she had commandeered a carriage last time she was here, stealing the ride right from Tall Teddy's grasp on a rainy day. The orc aired his grievances to her, but despite paying him for his inconveniences, each time she saw him on that trip, it went horribly wrong. Spilled a drink over his boots. Shouted him a round of drinks of the most expensive bottle... but the bottle went sour.

There was no need for wanted signs to be put up. Not that they would even replicate her likeness, but word and infamy held strong here in Cerak At'Thul.

The fighting pits was surely Tall Teddy's idea, but it was his friend that insisted Carling marred the bloodied head of the what'sitcalled when the instruction was different. Surely, a week in the pits would teach her a lesson. Carls didn't bother to fight this, of asking for help out of this situation.

Not when the jailer decided to bet on her.

But in her nicer cell, the rumours of different people showing up out of nowhere reached her. Was magic at play? Was she fighting them, or creatures?

"Fiddleshits." Carling whispered, realisation circling in her thoughts. She had thought she had the upper hand coming into this... but it seemed all of this was a larger game to play.

Nuir Aurra Brylee
Afanas pushed himself up from the cool floor with eerie calm. He was towering, unnaturally poised, with flowing dark hair that stired ocassionally as if moved by an unseen wind. His skin was pale, like carved marble, and his angular features carried an elegance touched by something inhuman. Chains and delicate brass filigree coiled around his slender waist like creeping vines, glinting in the dim torchlight. A wide-brimmed hat shadows his face, which at the moment carried a neutral expression, betraying neither comfort nor absence of it.

His sword remained slung horizontally across his back--broad, ornate and untouched for now.

Around him, the dungeon flickered with torchlight, casting shadows that danced across the stone arches and barred cells.

Afanas tilted his head. His gaze, cold and calculating, scanning the cell-lined corridor. He took a single step, the clink of his belt and boots echoing unnaturally in the quiet. He watched as the ogre guards brought up their weapons, before shifting his gaze to a handful of people in his general vicinity, some in cages, others free, like him.

“This,” he said, his voice smooth and unconcerned, “is not where I intended to arrive.”

Hazen had just been having a piss. A well-earned piss, at that. He'd just helped liberate a merchant caravan of its burdens (namely gold, silk, and ego), and was riding the euphoric high of a job well done, bellied up in a roadside tavern with two girls and a bottle of something so strong it had singed the hairs in his nose.

He’d leaned one forearm against the cool face of a massive boulder outside, other hand handling his business, boots spread in the practiced stance of a man who didn't care to get his boots wet. His head lolled forward, and he muttered something incoherent under his breath, a song maybe, or a threat to the rock.

And then, everything shifted. No sound, no warning, just a sudden lurch, like the whole world had hiccuped and spit him out somewhere else.

His forehead thunked hard into iron bars.

“Ugh—fuckin’ ow,” Hazen grunted, still mid-flow, boots thoroughly splashed. "Shite."

There was a clatter of chains and low groans nearby. The air reeked of blood, piss, and damp. Dim torchlight flickered against damp stone walls. A rat the size of a small terrier stared at him with a judgey expression. Hazen, still peeing, blinked at it.

His eyes slowly tracked up the walls. Bars. More bars. Moaning. Screaming. A guy coughing up what sounded like part of a lung.

He hiccupped. Adjusted his breeches one-handed, wobbling slightly.

Then turned in a slow circle, scratching at his jaw, taking in the dripping walls, rusted manacles, and the clear smell of something dead just out of sight. He gave the bars an experimental rattle. Solid.

“The fuck kinda latrine is this?” he muttered aloud, genuinely perplexed. "Wench!? Another beer." he called, trying, and failing, to snap his fingers.

Nuir said:

"I don't suppose you have any idea what all this is about?"

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"Nuir!"

For a fleeting moment, she smiled. It was nice to see a familiar face, but then came the realisation that someone she liked would be suffering the same fate as her.

Afanas said:

“This,” he said, his voice smooth and unconcerned, “is not where I intended to arrive.”

Click to expand...

She glanced through the bars. A new arrival was almost a break in the monotony. She hated herself a little for that thought.

More ogres came. This time not for the new arrivals, but to start picking out some of the prisoners.

"Stay close," she hissed at Nuir.

PATH 3

The dingy light bounced off Nuir's white hair and cloak in a soft glow. The delicate undamaged and relatively spotless quality of his clothing was a testament that he had not yet suffered any of the rougher parts of Cerak At'thull. Nuir was more than a little keen to be away from the smells and dirt of this place. Now that he had at least a friendly ally in this place he was feeling less apprehensive about being caged in.

He too looked towards the new arrivals. His mismatched eyes following along the pointed spears to the stranger. Nuir's face was blank for a moment in thought. For a moment he had this nagging feeling he had seen the tall one before. It was a striking visage so he was certain he couldn’t be mistaking the stranger for someone else. After a moment it came to him. “Ah, the man with the interesting sword.” He said aloud more to himself than to get the man's attention. He had tried to forget about the crazy one that barked at the sky. There was little that truely unsettled Nuir. Whatever that one had called did unsettle him. He might have been inclined to call out to strike up a friendly introduction under different circumstances. Seeing as there was a set of bars and armed ogres between them it didn't seem like the right time.

His attention was likewise moved to the approach of more ogres.
He met Aurra Brylee 's hiss with a small nod. “Ok” , his tone quiet and calm. He likewise wasn't keen to see one of his acquaintances suffer. Nuir couldn’t help much in the way of combat. He had little more than a long knife on hand for defense. Nuir hadn’t put any new efforts into learning any weapons. He could at least ensure that no injuries she sustained were permanent. He was more than happy to follow along her lead. In that way it was much the same to their previous adventure albeit that one had been planned. Here he was again having stumbled into a place he had no place being and about to be in danger he wasn't even a little equipped for.

Afanas

Nuir Aurra Brylee
Odessa

Laying horizontally over his broad back, his scabbard trembled — then erupted with a flash of pale blue-green light. The sword didn’t so much draw as launch itself free, guided by invisible force, spinning with purpose into Afanas' outstretched hand.

It never reached him.

Afanas’ fingers curled in the air, and the weapon halted mid-flight, hovering. Power surged around it, thin tendrils of arcane light crackling along the blade’s surface. The runes etched deep into the dark metal pulsed, each one igniting in sequence like a chain of sparks. Then the blade moved.

It shot forward, a blur of steel and glowing script.

The first ogre raised his polearm, far too late. The sword split him from shoulder to hip in a single, fluid arc, trailing mist and blood. There was no clash of steel or spray of sparks—just the soundless whisper of air parting as the blade passed through flesh, bone, and armor as if they weren’t there.

The second ogre roared in fury and brought down his halberd with the strength of ten men. But the sword twisted midair, feinted like a duelist, and drove itself into the creature's barrel chest, hitting point-first while spinning like a high-powered drill, bursting out his back in a spray of gore and steam. The ogre sank to his knees, gurgling, and then was still.

The blade hovered in the air a moment longer, still humming with residual energy. Then, as if responding to an unspoken command, it glided back toward Afanas. It didn’t return to its scabbard—just floated near his shoulder, tip angled slightly downward, its edge releasing small bursts of green- no, teal-colored energy that looked like both flame and lightning come together, but also neither at the same time.

It circled him slowly, a silent sentinel in motion, tracing glowing arcs through the air. Afanas didn’t move. His eyes were already upon Nuir and his cellmate.

"You..." he drawled, "where are we and what are you doing in that glorified cage, elven boy?"

PART 3

It brought her just a little relief to have a familiar face. Logically, she knew that it meant an aquiaintance had been doomed to an early death in this place. She felt that way regardless.

Aurra watched as one of the newcomers despatched several ogres. He addressed Nuir, so she decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and comment on the decidedly inglorious nature of their cages. Nuir could explain the situation

She rushed down the hall, only to come to an abrupt halt. She saw only one way out of this tunnel. Out into the fighting pit. A crowd was gathering.

On the far side she saw a woman clutching two sticks. Then she heard the braying of a foul monster. She hadn't been able to see the pits from their prison, but she had heard the bouts.

The crowd cheered as another gate opened and swift creatures rushed onto the sandy floor.

She swore under her breath. She didn't even have two sticks.

And so the interesting sword made another demonstration.

He was momentarily very distracted from his conversation with his fellow Aerai. This was in some ways more gory than the last time he had seen the blade. Seeing as the lad that barked at the sky had done most of the real damage all by himself. Not that he was opposed to violence on principle but he hadn't seen such a bloody display in some time. It caught him off balance.
He blinked blankly at the slain orcs before flicking his eyes back up to the tall man. Now that the stranger had come and slain the guards so easily he almost felt silly standing here. He gave a slightly awkward expression “....waiting…?” He replied in a slow tone less like a joke and more a genuine guess.

As for the where and the how he was just as lost as anyone. The guards that apprehended him hadn’t been very talkative.
“well....that is.....I only just found myself here by chance a short while ago….you weren't also on your way to Elbion via portal stone were you?”
He had almost thought that perhaps he had somehow used the portal stone wrong. How could that be though if other than fate.
It occurred to him that he hadn’t asked Aurra Brylee how she had ended up here. He turned to ask only to realize with a small surprised noise she was gone. “...Ah” Nuir took a quick glance around the cell. Then he leaned slightly to look around the side of Afanas . When he finally caught sight of her she was already at the end of the hall.

His gaze returned to the stranger and he wavered a moment. Ultimately Nuir decided that introductions would have to wait again this time. He gave a swift sort of half bow “excuse me.” He replied quietly before politely ducking past him to catch up to Aurra.
“Miss Brylee! Must you run ahead?”
He called in a slightly worried tone as he caught up to her at the gate. His concerns were no less abated when he followed her gaze to outside of the gate. The mostly defenseless combatant, and an emergence of something very fierce. Well now. Those were certainly some sharp chompers weren't they. He wasn’t thrilled about combat in the first place but that creature was just about all spikes. Rather than because of the joining (this he had not done.) And more because of the face she was making, Nuir could see Aurra coming to the conclusion that this was the way out.

Reflexively he glanced back down the hall to see if the swordsman had followed.

Carling d'Argent

Nuir Aurra Brylee

The heavily armed guards, underground prison cells, the faint aroma of the sea, abundance of slaves, it all pointed towards one place: Cerek At'Thul. And to think the halls looked somewhat familiar to him...

"Something such, yes," Afanas admitted as the corners of his mouth curled ever so slightly upwards. He regarded Nuir for a second longer, before his inquisitive gaze swept over the bodies of their ogre hosts, crumpled in death—massive, hulking forms sprawled in pools of blood that steamed faintly in the chill air.

Afanas loomed over the bodies, his imposing frame silhouetted by the flickering light—taller than even the most developed human men by head and a half, yet still dwarfed by the sheer bulk of the ogres. The silence deepened as he knelt, the motion slow and deliberate. His long fingers reached for the weapons still strapped to the ogres' belts—wicked blades forged more for brutality than finesse. In their owners’ massive hands, they had been daggers. But as Afanas held one up, testing its balance, the blade gleamed like a short sword in his grasp, heavy and jagged, its edge chipped from crude use.

He turned the weapon in his hand, examining it with a soldier’s eye—noting the weight, the curve, the blood still slick on its edge. Primitive, but serviceable. With a slight nod, he slipped it into a loop at his hip, then reached for the second. He held the second blade out, towards Nuir, gesturingthat the boy take it from him. The other, still bound to his hip, he intended to give to Brylee.

"Mayhap you and that dusky friend of yours can wring some worth from these rough-forged trinkets—we are bound for the gladiator pits, and steel speaks louder than words in such places."

Aurra Brylee said:

The crowd cheered as another gate opened and swift creatures rushed onto the sandy floor.

Click to expand...

"Ah, fiddleshits." The Yaegir's lament was short lived by the winning grin on her face. "It's got a tail."

Her grip on the two sticks she had been given tightened, prepared to wield them as soon as the gate to their tunnel opened. She keened her head to one side, speaking to Aurra who had come at her side. "Alright, friends and comrades, who has fought monsters before?"

Her pendant shone at her neck, danging from the leather that wrapped around her neck. The string used to be longer, that was until the time she had hunted down a Bayou Bog Golem and the pendant arced upwards and chipped her tooth. It told the world of Arethil the order she belonged to, that she was a Noct Yaegir.

Hunting monsters like these was her job.

"Oh, that is smart thinking!" She noted, nodding to the liberated blades. Her eyes were alive, eager to get going the moment the gate went up.

Aurra Brylee Nuir Afanas

Nuir said:

“Miss Brylee! Must you run ahead?”
He called in a slightly worried tone as he caught up to her at the gate.

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"You're sweet," Aurra said. She turned to look at the shorter elf. She offered a sad smile and a shrug.

"I'm sorry we might be about to die."

Gallows humour was nothing new for Aurra, but she usually felt in more control of her destiny.

Afanas said:

"Mayhap you and that dusky friend of yours can wring some worth from these rough-forged trinkets—we are bound for the gladiator pits, and steel speaks louder than words in such places."

Click to expand...

Aurra took one of the daggers. It had a wicked, curved edge. Even though the blade had chips in the edge, it had a good weight.

She took it in her right hand. She drew her left hand in a straight line and pulled a crack into the aether of reality.

A blade of spirit glass appeared in her left. It was even sharper, but left a very thin wound that a beast might not notice until they dropped dead. That was plenty of time to chew through her.

Carling d'Argent said:

"Alright, friends and comrades, who has fought monsters before?"

Click to expand...

"Only when I have to," Aurra muttered. "They think we're about to be pushed out of here by the ogres. I say we rush the monster and then try and climb the wall before they release anything else."

Nuir reluctantly accepted the crude blade from Afanas with a bit of a blank expression. It was a good idea in theory. However his artless grip on the blade made it clear he had no notion of what to do with such a weapon. He generally avoided having to swing anything sharp around.
He supposed he would have to make an exception in this case.
"oh, Thank you." He replied politely in a very 'it's the thought that counts' type of tone.
He considered that the tall man was being fairly considerate. A blade able to slice ogres so effortlessly surely could have handled a mere gate. To him it seemed the man could have forged forward without much resistance.

Then again perhaps even a skilled swordsman wasn't thrilled at the prospect of being caged in with a sharp hungry creature. He turned his attention to the Elven fighter who seemed in very high spirits all things considered. "Ah, you may use this one if you prefer." Nuir replied regifting the blade if she chose to take him up on the offer. He would retrieve a long dagger from his robes in any case. Might as well use what he was more used to holding. Even if he did use it more for gutting fish than monsters.
Carling d'Argent

Destiny wasn't set in stone as far as Nuir was concerned. Even so he often naively fell into calling happenstance, fate. He had long since surrendered to the notion that the Gods-from-Stars held sway over the threads of his tapestry. It was why he used his power so freely despite the pain. If his path intertwined with a being injured then he felt it was his fortune to assist.
In this case having reunited with Aurra Brylee he felt certainly compelled to see she didn't end up monster chow. Her sense of humor did force him to confront a bit of reality. He met her grave wit with a small awkward smile. Nuir wished he could reassure her a bit but it would have felt hollow. After all he couldn't prevent her or indeed anyone from being maimed here, he could only hope they all made it out in one piece enough for him to fix.
"I'm rather hoping that we can find a way out before that beast can find out if any of us are sweet."

With a small nod Nuir was in quiet agreement. "Surprise may be our best option. Or the eyes...." Few things weren't vulnerable in that way. But one wrong wrong stab and it was an arm full of teeth. Whether they took down this angry lizard or not he imagined they would just send more threats their way. Not much point in sitting around in the arena if they could help it.

Carling d'Argent said:

Her grip on the two sticks she had been given tightened, prepared to wield them as soon as the gate to their tunnel opened. She keened her head to one side, speaking to Aurra who had come at her side. "Alright, friends and comrades, who has fought monsters before?"

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Afanas raised a hand and wiggled his long, multi-jointed digits. "I have. Then again, many consider me a monster. Do what you will with that information."

Aurra Brylee said:

"Only when I have to," Aurra muttered. "They think we're about to be pushed out of here by the ogres. I say we rush the monster and then try and climb the wall before they release anything else."

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"Spare some of the beasts—aye, those war-things. My strength fades with each passing exertion, and if I’m to rise again with spellsteel in hand, I’ll need their blood to fuel the fire in my veins."

Afanas removed his wide-brimmed hat with a fluid motion, letting his long hair fall free. He followed by unfastening and sweeping off his cape in a single, practiced gesture. Without hesitation, he raised his dominant arm, and his longsword—hovering nearby—flew into his grasp. He caught it firmly and set it across his shoulder, his hands gripping the hilt in a high guard position, poised and ready.

"Stay close and keep your wits sharp. I make no vows of your safety, but so long as my sword arm holds, I’ll carve a path through whatever stands before us."

Nuir

• Path 2 for now. Likely headed to Path 3

Vulpesen groaned and reached to rub his head, only to find his hands restricted by a set of manacles attatched tot he wall behind him. "Where the hell am I?" His tail lashed and he reached out to the three cores of power within him, the contracts with his mighty patrons. The Brothers Vitae were the sort to make short work of imprisonment. At least, they were when they weren't in immediate contact with... His eyes moved to the manacles around his wrist. "Iron. Damn." If there was one thing that doused fae magic like water on burning tinder, it was iron.

He reached out again, this time not for power, but for the very presence of his patrons. Perhaps they might have some advice. All he found was a fuzzy void between him and them, like a sea of cotton separating him from the three voices that usually inhabited his mind. "Enchanted iron. Someone did their research." That was worrisome. Whoever had managed to snatch him from the portal stones knew what he was capable of. What's worse, they knew how he was capable of it.

Above him, he could hear the cheers of a crowd and the roar of some sort of beast. It was a situation he had studied far to often in his training to mistake. "An underground gladiator pit. Well, it could be worse."

The clink of keys on a belt drew his attention as a guard drew into the room, a smile on his face as he beheld the captured Zorren. "Good, you're awake. Its no fun if we toss you out there and you're taking a nap. I hope you got your rest. You're next."

Ok... it got worse.

Aurra Brylee said:

I say we rush the monster and then try and climb the wall before they release anything else.

Click to expand...

Afanas said:

"I have. Then again, many consider me a monster. Do what you will with that information."

Click to expand...

Nuir said:

He turned his attention to the Elven fighter who seemed in very high spirits all things considered. "Ah, you may use this one if you prefer." Nuir replied regifting the blade if she chose to take him up on the offer.

Click to expand...

A grin spread across her face, her bright yellow eyes agleam with appreciation for the gifted sword. With enthusiasm, she threw down the sticks, taking the offered blade and lifted it up and down to test it's weight. "Oh, this will do nicely!"

She liked the responses given by the others, perhaps just a little relieved to hear that they had experience somewhat. Carling chuckled, liking their odds very much.

"Rushing in. That's my kind of style. And takes one to know one, comrade. Monster, creature, critter. There is always a method to the madness!" She declared.

With some expert maneuvering, she twirled the blade in hand rapped against the gate with the pommel. "Let's get this over with, chums!"

Aurra tilted her head sharply to one side. Her neck cracked.

"Yeah, let's get it done."

The gate fell sharply. The crowd cheered. Then followed murmurs of confusion. Regular visitors: pirates, merchants and criminals were accustomed to the prisoners being shoved out by the ogre guards.

Aurra stepped out and moved left before rushing fotwards. She glanced at Nuir over her shoulder.

"Keep behind me as long as you can."

The other two fighters seemed more confident. Aurra was happy for them to take the lead.

One of the beasts darted forwards before dropping low and bearing its teeth.

She wished she had a spear. A group of four with spears could have kept the beasts at bay indefinitely.

Instead she flung the ogres dagger, putting it into a horizontal spin. The followed to lash out with her spirit blade but the beast turned. The ogre's dagger embedded in its back, it swung its knife-ended tail at her.

"Fuck."

Nuir Carling d'Argent Aurra Brylee
The sand was already churned and stained with the labor of earlier bouts. The air hung heavy with dust and the scent of blood, the cries of the crowd echoing like wind through a broken temple. Afanas said nothing.

From the far gate, the war beasts came—monstrosities dredged from the ugliest corners of mother nature's kingdom. Each was a mountain of twisted sinew and jagged bone, with hides like burnished obsidian and jaws built to rend plate and bone alike. They charged at once, heedless of strategy, beasts ruled by base hunger and the joy of slaughter.

Two closed low, jaws agape like pit vipers, one striking for the thigh, the other the gut. The third reared, tall as a hill giant, and swept a clawed arm broad and savage, meant to hew Afanas' head clean from his shoulders.

With a speed that mocked the size of his frame, he flowed like smoke around the blows.

The first beast bit nothing but air. The second slammed into the ground behind him, its maw clamping shut just where his thigh had been.

His sword descended to meet the third beast, a cold, unyielding kiss of spellsteel. It cleaved through the creature's crown, splitting bone and brain in a ruinous stroke from snout to gullet.

The sundered corpse of the first beast hadn’t yet finished twitching when the second lunged again, rage and instinct driving it forward. Its jaws clamped shut around Afanas’s midsection with the crunch of bone and the shriek of tearing flesh.

Fangs sank past skin, scraping into the dense meat beneath. Hot blood welled from the punctures and ran in dark rivulets down his flanks.

The beast's eyes flared wide in animal confusion. Its bite—meant to split a warhorse in twain—had met something like forged iron wrapped in hide. The creature’s teeth did not penetrate deeply enough. Where a mortal man would have been ripped asunder, entrails spilling across the sand, Afanas stood firm, his massive hand curling into a fist.

As soon as the gate was open things seemed to set in motion rapidly.

He readied himself to follow close behind Aurra Brylee .
"Yes ma'am!" Nuir chirped back quickly. He didn't need to be told twice. He preferred to be in arms reach anyway since he doubted there would be convenient lull.
Nuir kept a close eye on the creatures that spilled forth but an even closer eye on their allies.
He watched Aurra's flung knife go awry with a tight frown. Well so much for that.

At a glance he watched the tall one, Afanas elegantly evade an onslaught and dispatch one of the creatures.
Just when it looked like the swordsman might be quite capable of handling the beasts all on his own,
One of the creatures managed to get a big chomp. First blood on the battlefield. Luckily, it seemed that the creature hadn't bitten into anything instantly crippling. Or perhaps their hearty friend was just very pain resistant.
The small figure wavered between staying behind Aurra and closing the distance between himself and the swordsman. Even if he ducked over there now he would have to wait for the man to remove beast currently teething on him. It would also put himself in harms way. Or more importantly in the man's way as he dispatched the creatures. He'd have to wait for a more opportune moment.

He had to make contact to heal. If they didn't manage an exit soon he might have to play a risky game of touch tag.
He heard Aurra swear just as he turned his focus away from the swordsman back to their own struggle. In a split second he understood the reason for her distress. She managed to dodge the tail as it whooshed by. Nuir having about zero survival instinct was too late to follow her example. It lodged in his side.
He let out a soft grunt as the momentum swiftly swung him into the sand of the arena.
However ,his own pain he found much less distracting. He latched onto the tail and stabbed at it as few times until his dagger found purchase between the plate like scales. He hoped the creature thrashing about in pain would buy Aurra some time to do more meaningful damage.

He held it there for a short moment. The creature stabbing him, him stabbing the creature. It was thrashing discordantly but he knew it was only a matter of time before it rounded on the both of them. He grit his teeth and pried the dagger through with effort. Gruesomely snapping the bone and severing the knife like tip from the rest of the tail. It's blood spattering into the sand alongside his own.
He took a sharp inhale it was a lot of blood. It was his own folly. He should have been paying better attention. His eyes glanced at the wound, bright red spreading across the now torn white robe. He grimaced as he clambered to his knees. In the short term he needed to avoid another hit and to find a moment to heal himself.
He held the tail-knife out to Aurra with a strained smile. "Perhaps another go?"

Nuir hoped their hunter friend was fairing better but he had learned his lesson so his gaze did not search for her. He would need to focus on staying out of claw and tooth range for now.

Carling d'Argent

(permission was given for Aurra's movements here.)

Vulpesen struggled and growled against the chains, his efforts only earning him a blow to the head and the below the ribs. The wind sufficiently knocked out of his lungs, he was unable to defend himself from the string of curses and another blow to his head which send him stars. "You're late. Make a show, and if you die, make it look good! I am not getting in trouble for you!" With that, a boot to his rear sent Vulpesen splattering into the dirt.

"Ass," he growled, just a moment before a familiar sword belt clattered into arena next to him. "Well... at least I'm not going claw and fang." Rising up, he snatched his belt and observed his surroundings. Just a few yards away, three familiar faces were dueling and fighting for their lives. The healer elf, his dagger wielding companion, and the vampire lord of Alliria who was currently eviscerating the beasts, even as they drew his own blood. Beyond them, there was another woman who seemed eager for the challenge. At least someone was looking at the bright side.

"Alright. Lets get goin." Too late to the party to talk strategy, Vulpesen drew out his sword and charged into the fray. The rapier shaped weapon was awkward to hold as chains still bound his wrists, long enough for him to have a couple feet of movement, but still a restriction and hindrance to the art of swordsmanship. "Please work, Please work. Please work!" As he closed the distance, one of the beasts turned away from Afanas to swipe massive claw at him. Vulpesen's weapon rose up to meet it, mercifully changing form into a slow sword as it cleaved through flesh to remove the claw before swirly neatly into its jaw. The beast gave an enraged screeching howl in return. It wasn't dead, but it was certainly far less of a threat.