Fable - Ask Never A Peaceful Drink

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He let out a soft laugh, bracing himself thoroughly for Toruuk's palm to come down on his shoulder. As for the handshake, he was more than willing to shake the hand of a friend. Although, he felt as though his hand became somewhat lost in the minotaur's might grasp. Were it his will, he'd likely be able to crush it!

Thankfully these two had no ire between them.

As for Toruuk's praises, he could not help but reprove him somewhat, "be it so only if you should say, my friend!"

And as for the drink, he was more than happy to partake.

Pneria went without notice to him, having been far to preoccupied with his large friend's presence, and his company.

He shook Ispir's hand with an air of delight, and replied, "I am Erën, it is an honour."
A nod to Nico, but his eyes were quickly drawn to Lilette. She bore a resemblance that he could not ignore, however... he could not say he knew her, or her face. All the same he replied with a likewise elven reply.

"Melmë."
For a few moments, a few more casual and friendly words were shared, as were some laughs. Erën had just draped his cloak over the back of a chair, unveiling his own Celestialist markers. He reached for the chair, and --


Į̵̨͖͕̤̦̻̻̺͆̓͒l̵̜̬̬̮̮̞̯̬̔̒̄͆̒̚͠͝i̸̩̼̜͈̘͉̙̩̭̺͐̐̈́́̕n̷̖̩̭͉̝̬̻̫̩̟̠̉͂̈́̑͆͊͛̋̌͌̏̈͘͠a̴̛̞͍̯̗̻̙̟ͅ ̸̡̦̙̝̙͖̤͙̹̈́̑̎̅͌̄́̚͜͜͠ͅͅţ̶̳̪̮̘̽̓͌̓̂̈̄̏̈́̉̐̒͜ḩ̴̛̣̘̝͓̤̦̭̘̟͑̒̄̿͂̒o̶̝͉̮̅̈̚͝ ̷̛̹̠̯͆̇̀̈́̃̑͛̕̕͠s̴̨̡̛̼̩͍̖̞̣̮̤̏͌̉̂̇̌͒͒̾̓̌͑ͅǫ̶̢̻̣̻̙̦̠̮͎̝̲͗̉̍͊̋́̓̍̋͌̽̎̚͘c̶̢̡̧̛̯͙̿̇̉̈͐̀Ą̷̨̮̞͔̊̓ͅ​


Erën let out an audible groan, his hand reaching up to his head as his eyes winced shut. His balance almost failed, but he steadied himself just enough. It shot like lightning through his mind, invasive and perverted. But his was a strong mind, and although he had been given pause, he too was given an awareness.

"Prepare yourselves..."
He'd hardly gotten the words out before the first foe appeared.

 
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Reactions: Toruuk Stoneheart, Lilette Blackbriar, Pneria and 1 other person

The ale in her hand was about half-finished by the time glass shattered; and without warning, the dead walked in to patronise the bar as well.

The pint dropped from her hand, beer spilling. Her eyes went round with surprise, mouth parting, completely flabberghasted at the shambling piles of bones suddenly crawling in like undead tosspots.

And there were more coming.

This couldn't be a coincidence, but there was no time to consider that now. Her hesitation only lasted so long before she acted, kicking out of her seat and swiping her hand along a hidden pouch, ferreting out a brass-bound cylinder of a vial, flickering with a liquid that glowed like cold stars. Her fingerless gloves touched intricate brass and glass, clicking bottom and top in separate directions, priming the White Dragon with a gathering hum.

Astra knew, she had met far worse monsters. The eight-armed cistern demon. The Lord Commander. Her patron -- Petrus Iskandar.

Compared to all them, this was just a bunch of walking chamberpots, begging to be smashed.

Damned if she was going to die in some stinking tavern like the Slumbering Dragon.

She flung the vial violently towards window and skeleton, its glow winking like a magical eye in the air -- once, twice, before shattering against a helmeted skull. Fortunately, people had backed out from there; since in the next second, the air contracted as if heaving from a gut-punch, and then exploded in boreal energy. Even from here, the white glare blinded and chilled her.

That particular skeleton was now covered in a sheet of ice, literally frozen in its tracks. A barrier of voracious ice blocked the window too, tying together chairs mid-topple and tables mid-splinter.

"Shite-eating rattlers, crawl back to your sarding maggot-beds, will you?!"

The words burst out from her, unbidden, with all the caustic and colourful bile of the Shallows.

She was not dying in this sodding watering hole.
 
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As the tides of undead began to smash through the windows and screams began to fill the tavern, Toruuk calmly remained stood by Erën and finished his mug of ale in a few big gulps. Then he set the tankard down and grinned as he unhooked his axes, Pomp and Circumstance, from either side of his belt.

"Well, well..." he grumbled, pushing his way past Lilette and flourishing his favored weapons. His words came in an almost eerie calm, the warrior rolling his shoulders as he readied himself. "Buncha undead PUNKS bustin' up the place, eh? Bet you're all feelin' good right NOW...but later on you're gonna feel that you WISHED you didn't do that."

Then, like bovine lightning, Toruuk rushed forward into the nearest, densest mass of skeletons.

"PARTY TIME!" he roared as he and his axes became a living blender, smashing into any foe he could.
 
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Nico had raised his mug to the warrior elf in greeting, and was now thankful it was empty, that the moongrit was taking effect, as the windows of the tavern shattered to make way for some unholy magic that dragged the long-dead bones-at-arms toward them.

The rook took flight as Nico sprang from his seat and took two steps back. In contrast, the mountainous bull leapt forward with enthusiasm, reminding Nico to draw his stiletto. Even the seemingly delicate Lilette took up a stance against the intruders.

A road-hardened ranger type rushed by him, casting a vial that landed with a flash of blinding light.

As Nico was blinking the spots from his vision, a gnarled claw yanked him back by the collar of his coat, pulling him toward the open maw of a creature hanging half-inside the nearby window. He managed to brace himself against the wall, dropping his dagger to the floor, with his face inches away from the thing’s snapping bone jaw.

Val swooped in, fluttering wildly and pecking at the skeleton’s pale-glowing eye sockets. It was just enough distraction for the frighteningly strong abomination to slacken its pull. Nico freed up a hand and held it out to the barkeep.

“The spirit!”

The bald man was confused only a moment before taking Nico’s meaning. He hurriedly reached for the bottle of distilled life water and sent it sliding down the bar into Nico’s grasp.

The skeleton lunged, mouth agape and ravenous, just as Nico shoved the bottle down its throat, the alcohol chugging bubbles as it drained down the creature's tattered gullet. Nico ripped a lit candle from its wall mount and jammed it next to the bottle of fuel. The flame caught with a woosh, erupting from the skeleton’s mouth and eyes and flaring from the holes in the rotting remnants of flesh.

With a sickly gurgle of a scream, the creature released Nico, and he thudded to the floor on his backside. He scooped up his dagger and scanned the tavern.
 
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To say that this was the single most confusing, disorienting fall Ispir had ever experienced in his life was a great understatement. One moment he was wiping wine from his face and sputtering a thin mist of alcohol into the air above him, the next he was wincing at the sound of the undead approaching, Erën 's warning, fierce battle cries from the Champ, opening his eyes to see nothing but the white curtain of Lilette Blackbriar 's hair above him, then yelping as some sort of magical potion thingum exploded and almost blinded him. Causing him to cover his eyes, rub them, and groan in exasperation before hearing Nico yell something about a spirit.

'Oh no.'

He thought.

'Not ghosts...'

After mentally scheduling a visit to the nearest healer to get his eyes mended Ispir would slowly sit up and gently place a hand on Lilette's back to let her know he was there, safe, and he would quite literally scream in fear as even Toruuk Stoneheart 's impressive frame couldn't barricade ALL the shambling undead from swarming into the tavern. Some of the patrons joined the champ in fighting, Pneria 's explosion cleared away a cluster that had been surging around the wall of Toruuk and the braver patrons, but from all around windows broke, skeletons swarmed, and... strangely there weren't really any outright zombies amongst the horde. At best they possessed the tattered remnants of ancient flesh on their forms but none were the shambling, rotted, fleshy corpses one might expect. And there were a LOT of them.

Any of the intrepid heroes near the windows, but especially Nico, could see through the thick fog innumerable glowing green eyes staring into the tavern, the horde all but lined up to enter, to surge into the tavern, as soon as physically possible and given the screams of the town beyond this was not even all the creatures present.

That surging, pounding voice in Eren's mind that had slammed into him like a rotting sledgehammer would be joined by a chorus of the wailing dead. Evidently this corrupted member of his kin was also using their telepathy, mixed with their necromancy, to control some number of the undead in the area. As when a voice coming to Eren's mind it echoed with a chorus of tortured souls behind it.

The Voice

The Champ would find himself assailed on all sides even as his mighty bulk cleaved apart rotten bones and desiccated armor like scythe through wheat. More and more and more undead arms with swords, spears, scythes, maces, all lashed at him as quickly as they could before.... an arrow. Poisoned, chipped, ancient and fired with unfeeling accuracy would graze Toruuk's shoulder. For now only one skeletal archer could see Toruuk through the tavern's main entrance and it was a clumsy, inaccurate threat, but given Toruuk's size even it could possibly land a threatening blow if given time.

The patrons who were terrified, minus Ispir, began to be ushered up the stairs by the tavern's owner after he had tossed Nico the spirits. Nico's failed assailant would be shoved bodily into the tavern even as it flailed and burnt, only for another skeletal creature to thrust a spear directly for Nico's chest! For the moment Lilette and Ispir were unengaged but Pneria would find herself all but rushed by a trio of skeletons who bore no weapons, only their gnarled hands grasped for her while one of the braver patrons beside her gurgled out a pained noise as a rusted spear was pierced into his guy and he began to slump over, dead before he hit the ground.​
 
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Reactions: Pneria, Toruuk Stoneheart and Lilette Blackbriar
Everything happened so fast, loud, blurred, blinding even--just like that fateful night.

That boreal flash bounced in her nocturnal eye such that they appeared white-hot to all who saw them for a brief moment before they shut tight. What little reprieve Toruuk's hacking and slashing afforded her was spent rubbing her eyes, but it was Ispir's yelp that drove her push through it.

Her brother would have stood for these people, and by the gods, so would she!

Pale muscles clenched prepared to leap into action before-

"Awaah!!!" she cried out.

Flame. Blue flame lanced from his skin to hers and for the first time in her life, she felt witnessed by something far beyond her comprehension. It burnt not only her shoulder but also her soul--and measured it. She felt herself being judged in that split second, and the cosmic force found her wanting...

...but not so wanting as to render her but ash.

Lilette looked at the bard with true, breathless fear that left a blood-red tear in her eye.

Only then did she realize his fire was a warning and message both.

She could not touch the holy, but neither could she allow it to be profaned.

"It's fff-fine," she winced, patting out the small flame, "It's alright."

"I'm here, I wilt keep thee safe, I promise."

Lilette pulled a longsword from the bloodied hands of a fallen militiaman and, groaning in pain, rose to her feet.

The first undead to approach her was shattered in one, freakishly strong swing.

"Can'st thou walk, little Ispir?!"




 
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Reactions: Pneria, Toruuk Stoneheart and Ispir Sione
Three skeletons rushed her. While the sheer strength of Toruuk and Lilette amazed her, this was not her way. She was smaller than most; and even if they possessed no muscles to speak of, engaging three seemed more than a little optimistic.

A skeletal claw swiped for her neck. But it only clutched the air an inch from her; as Pneria threw herself back, dodging and rolling over a nearby table in one tumble. Mugs and plates clattered and scattered before her athleticism, the cloak whipping after her as she uncoiled, feet smacking onto the floorboards beyond.

The creatures had to rush around or over the table to pursue her. It bought her a precious second or two.

She needed distance. The whistle and distinctive thud of an arrow had caught her ear. She needed cover.

Pneria spun, sprinted up on another table, leapt in a sprawl of flailing arms and snapping fabric, kicked her boot against a column, before launching from that to catch the rafters above with her hands and elbows. Luckily, she didn't weigh much, so her strength was enough to heave herself up.

A grimy childhood of crawling in places she wasn't supposed to be in saw her rise to a crouch with uncanny speed, crabbing along this rafter, surveying the situation below her. Her hood had fallen back to reveal a grimly determined and young face, a small over-bite and angry blister crawling the side of her face making her look perpetually displeased. Particularly now.
 
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