Open Chronicles A magical study of forgotten races

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Aethiri

Swarm Pilgrim
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The College of Elbion has many secrets hidden from the rest of the world, and many secrets hidden even from its own students. Magical research that should never be explored, spells best left forgotten, practices best abandoned, experiments left uncompleted. But there were also secrets not so derelict, and only accessible by the highest levels of authority in the college.
Thus... the Cellars...

Deep in the most forgotten corners is where the supernatural monsters were kept, cared for by the gargoyles and never able to see the light of day. kept in cages and cells with magical seals, wards, and containment circles.
Aethiri was shackled hand and foot in the middle of her cell, her hands incased in iron so they couldn't move, her face muzzled so she couldn't speak or use her lethal tongue.
A magical circle surrounded her incase she was able to be bound like a spirit, and a ward surrounded that incase she could break free by physical means. But in spite of her power she could not overcome the measures used to contain her.

During her imprisonment she had ceased to change, she could not evolve, could not adapt. She was stagnating as a creature and slowly she began to age. This was a terrible fate for a creature of the swarm, to simply stagnate out of usefulness.
But evidently the mages found uses for her. Every day they would come with their brain dead gargoyles and poke and prod at her body, taking samples of her flesh and blood to study.
To her she realized that this was how they took essence, since they couldn't evolve by consuming her flesh they had to do it through their science and magic, to become greater than they were.

And slowly... It was killing her
 
The door to Aethiri's cell opened. Two men entered. A taller man, and a shorter man, the former with a rapier held across the throat of the latter.

"This one," said the shorter man.

"My appreciation is boundless!"

And the taller man stepped back from the shorter man and punched him hard in the chin, and the shorter man spun round and smacked into the wall and limply his chin and his chest dragged down the stone until he came to rest in an awkward, arched-back slump on the ground.

* * * * *​

What a sterling opportunity! Certainly it need not be said that this particular job was of the more unorthodox variety, and yes, while it might seem like a paradox that a job of this already queer caliber did not pay as much as Majister and his band would have liked, it remained quite the opportunity indeed! For you see, it was not merely the weight of coin that had piqued Majister's interest, no. Why, even if the job did offer a luxurious payout, the simple fact that there were easier and far more accessible payouts readily on offer rolling down the roads of Arethil would have quashed his interest within small time indeed. So no, the gold was not the prize here; fortune had its lovely merits, but there were certain things that even a dragon leveraging its hoard couldn't purchase.

The opportunity: knowledge. Yes! As pedestrian as that sounded, it truly was not, for this was no mere knowledge, but in fact the most tantalizing kind!

Secrets.

Peculiar, true, how the man Trajan Meng knew exactly how to seek Majister out. Peculiar still, why he had done so specifically for him and not some other band of raiders, or--as one might have reasonably expected--a far more experienced man or group of men dedicated to such audacious acts of covert thievery. But sought Majister out Trajan had, and where he was short on answers as to who exactly he was and what group he was a part of (and even on the details of the job), he made up for with an undeniable earnestness and titillating intrigue.

Trajan's offer, recounted: He had a way to infiltrate a single man into the College of Elbion's forbidden underworld, the whispered-of Cellars. Anything found in there was up for grabs, but Trajan wanted "the most dangerous live being" released. Take the job, or leave it, and Trajan would never be heard of again.

And Majister--to the doubting of his "lovable band of dipshits", as the esteemed bumpkin Hillby might so call it--accepted.

* * * * *​

Thus, here Majister found himself. Wearing some College robes over his normal clothes so as not to draw the undue eye of suspicion and now binding the Cellar minder's wrists and ankles together, and stuffing his mouth with a gag. He had already closed the cell door (there were other minders about elsewhere, others presumably who also came down to the Cellar for their own reasons).

And now he was in this cell with the...elf of no extraordinary description. A dark elf, yes, rarer than the ones from the Falwood, granted, but a lacking sort of payoff to the build-up this minder had been selling Majister. Had he been had? Rused? It was of no large concern, of course, the other cells were just a marginal distance across the hall, but...

Well. Here's to hoping appearances were deceiving!

Majister collected his rapier from the floor and stood once he finished binding the minder who had led him here. Placed one fist on his hip and tapped the rapier against his shoulder and looked at bound elf.

"You there!" His tone hushed by necessity, but cunningly amicable by nature. "Am I too bold to hope that you can speak the Common tongue? Or shall I entertain myself with the whimsy of what could have been, but simply is not?"

He grinned.

Aethiri
 
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She watched as the two humans entered her cell. It was strange that no gargoyles were standing guard. She recognized the keeper who had a blade across his neck, but she didn't recognize the human holding the blade. She watched them listlessly as the newcomer knocked out the older keeper. Her mind wasn't totally there, the days had run together. She had lost all sense of time and on the verge of starvation since she refused to eat the dead scorched flesh they provided for her.

She looked up sharply when the human addressed her, asking if she spoke the common tongue. Right now she couldn't speak any language because of her muzzle and her mind was too clouded to speak telepathically. So she simply nodded that she could understand him.

She moved her arms and legs, rattling the chains that held them. She wondered how he would get past the wards, every time they came to test her there was a mage who would lower the shielding to allow people to approach. This human was alone.
She tried to speak around the muzzle and gag to ask him but only managed a soft squeak.
 
Gorgeous! She nodded. It nodded? Well now Majister wasn't quite so sure. On the one hand the elf looked like an elf of no fantastically wild description, which lent to being it proper to call her a "she." But the way that good man (whose chin now bore the imprint of Majister's fist) had reacted, the little details he stammered out, when Majister demanded to be led to the cell which contained the most dangerous living being here...well, perhaps, appearances were deceiving, and "she" was not a "she" at all.

Or. Mayhap. There was no deception abounding here, this elf was--in fact--every bit the elf she looked, and she was locked here for reasons more criminal than monstrous. The descriptor of "dangerous" certainly did come in a variety of wonderful flavors, now didn't it?

Regardless. She was capable of at least understanding him, and potentially for communicating back. Fortuitous! Under that purview of "dangerous," as in she being dangerous to those around her, Majister most certainly fell as well. Perhaps she could be persuaded of the merits of not biting the hand that feeds. Or...Majister would find out why Trajan had not simply done this himself, or sent one of his own men. A most perturbing thought, that.

But, a life lived without daring is a life hardly lived at all! On with the show then!

Majister slipped his non-sword hand into the pocket of the stolen College robe he wore. Produced a lavastone the size of his fist etched with some arcane markings upon its charcoal-colored surface. Trajan's inside man (whose identity had not been revealed nor leaked to Majister--yet) had laid out the groundwork for this whole plan nicely; some good old fashioned sneaking through this corridor and that secret passage and this purposefully unlocked door, combined with a healthy dose of "I belong here, nevermind me" blending in. Not only this, but he provided a one-time use countermeasure to the wards that--in concert with the mundane chains of steel--held the captives securely in their place. And one-time use meant that he would be betting everything on this elf being every ounce of dangerous that amounted to the pound of the minder's earlier stammering.

"Stand back, if you would," Majister said with a winning grin, knowing full well she could do no such thing.

He placed the enchanted lavastone at the edge of the twin circles on the ground. Fiddled with it. Stood back. Nothing happened. Majister didn't lose his cool; just brushed his hair back and took a moment to think and went back and crouched down by the lavastone on the floor again and touched it and--

A pulse. Like a sudden change in air pressure. Rattling a bit of dust on the floor and from the walls and causing Majister's eyes to dance wide for a moment. Then he looked up and experimentally tried pushing his palm forward, past the edge of the circles on the ground and toward the elf. Nothing stopping him, no blaring noise, no triggered trap. Gorgeous!

He needed to get the keys to the chains from the unconscious minder, but first...

Majister stood and sauntered the few steps closer to where the elf was bound.

He kept his voice appropriately hushed. Said, "Now then. The name's Majister, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, as always, my reputedly dangerous friend. Perhaps you think I'm here to harm you, but--quite to the contrary--I've the most wonderful news you've no doubt heard all day! Why, I'm here to tell you that today, my apparently gray lady, you have the opportunity to once more make your own luck! Save your applause, save your applause, oh I know, but you're too kind, far too kind. To business, shall we?"

Majister lifted the rapier he held leaning against his shoulder and tapped lightly the muzzle that was bound to her face. One. Two. Then leaned the weapon against his shoulder once more. "If I remove this, will you die, or something else of an untoward nature happen? And, more pressingly, will you yell, or attempt to bite me, or cast some manner of spell? Oh do feel free to nod or shake your head, the floor is yours."

Aethiri
 
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She was a little surprised that he was able to circumvent the wards, but then again she didn't fully comprehend how human magic works.

The antics of this human were odd, almost comical. If she weren't in such a state as she was now then she might have laughed.
But at least he wasn't here to hurt her, cautious no doubt, but she was growing hopeful.
To his questions of her muzzle and gag she shook her head "no", though the contraption was exceedingly uncomfortable and she had the constant struggle of not swallowing or choking on the gag, her life was not in danger.

She looked up at him with her golden eyes in a pleading look. She hated having to beg, but her time in this cell without any stimulation or change had broken down her pride and made her desperate. She squeaked again through her gag, imploring him to help her.
She had been without contact with the hive mind for so long, but now hope was returning.

If she could be set free then she could continue her mission, integrate with the humans and other humanoids, learn their culture and hopefully establish good relations between the humanoids and the Swarm... That was the queens will.
 
Majister grinned when the elf shook her head "no." Marvelous! This is no way served as a guarantor of his own personal safety, goodness no! Why, how many times had he himself lied just today, getting in here? That minder upon whose chin one could with minimal effort measure the width of each curled finger of Majister's fist, well, look what happened to him. A tale for the ages, that--trusting someone you truly ought not trust.

But! Where did he put that platitude about living life via dares? Ah yes!

Majister, having to sheath his rapier (and speaking of dares!) to free both his hands, worked on the muzzle and unstrapped it and tossed it to the ground. Likewise removed the gag. Awfully thorough, these safeguards, were they not? It spoke to the minder's credibility concerning the level of "dangerous" thus presented by the fine elven specimen before Majister now.

"There!" he said. "See? No need to look so blue, my apparently gray lady. Now before you inevitably prove me the fool that I am, spare me but a moment of your valuable time to share your name. Then, my dear, you may betray me at your earliest convenience."

He folded his arms in a stately way behind his back.

"Unless, of course, you'd like to hear what I've to say..."

And Majister waited. Smirking in the devious manner of a man who loved to see his plans borne out to be triumphant.

Aethiri
 
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Finally the muzzle and gag came off and she let out a big gasp of relief, she sucked large gulps of air to finally fill her lungs sufficiently. He spoke to her again, requesting her name and that she hear him out before she killed him.
He was still suspicious of her. She realized that he fully expected her to try to kill him, though she was still too weak to try anything effectively, especially with her hands and feet still shackled.

When she spoke her voice was rather weak from lack of use.
"Aethiri... I am called Aethiri... I don't wish to kill you, but please hurry and release me... The human drones... The gargoyles... They will not be away forever. I must feed, take essence, take strength, become alive again. I will listen to you, human. Will you help me return to my people?"

She pulled at her shackles again, even though the metal had cut into her wrists and ankles she didn't seem fazed by any pain it might inflict.
 
Aethiri. Suitably elven name, Majister reckoned. The "human drones" was a peculiar way to phrase it, as if the minders and mages that came here were, oh what was it...bees. Yes, bees. Or ants? Ah, but a true scholar of insects would know the difference! Or perhaps if it were both. Or neither! Regardless, that wasn't must...intriguing thing Aethiri had said.

I must feed, take essence, take strength, become alive again.

Hello. Now--as the saying went--they were talking. Well, the minder simply could have said "vampire" instead of trumping Aethiri up to be something of such unknown character. Yes, vampire, that seemed to be the most likely fit. They gathered together in clans, didn't they? Something they might readily refer to as "my people?" Hm. It was almost a shame, really. That the crown jewel of this foreboding Cellar would be a vampire and not something wholly...shall we say...stranger. Majister surmised that Trajan either wanted to embarrass the College or allow for some mayhem to ensue, and, hm, on that second note things could very likely still be in order for a little disorder. Goodness, what a thrill it would be if the College was working on some manner of "supervampire" and Aethiri happened to be it--now that would be good on both counts!

Majister performed a small twirling motion with his free hand and bowed slightly. Said, "Aethiri. Oh, how I simply love to put a name to a face. Ah, and you are right about those drones and those gargoyles, aren't you? Haven't I always told you that you were the keen one between us? Yes, indeed, we've scant time."

Majister went to the fallen minder and pulled a few sets of key rings from his robes. Five, in total.

He walked back up to Aethiri and her chains. Looked at the key rings he held and shrugged and picked one at random. Tried the keys. None worked. He tossed the key ring aside.

"Aethiri. Which one would you pick? I'll leverage your luck and await to be delighted by the results." Majister presented the four remaining key rings he held in his left hand. And, without truly giving her time to answer, picked one and said, "Splendid choice!"

And, by complete accident, that happened to be the appropriate key ring with the correct keys to unlock her manacles.

"Outstanding work, my dear!" Majister dropped the remaining key rings. Then tilted his head. "Can you stand? Walk? Maybe you'd like to break the diet of starvation these College folk have surely put you on and have a little drink?" Majister jerked his head back toward the unconscious minder. "Help yourself! Our fine fellow over there is far too swept away to mind. Or protest."

Aethiri
 
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Free! Her arms and legs were finally free! She rubbed them to restore some circulation, they were blackened and raw but she seemed to be able to move them. When he asked if she could walked she tested her feet, wobbly rising to stand. She had never been this weak before, how could she go back to the swarm in this state? She slowly stretched out her muscles, flexing and trying to get some functionality out of them.

He was not the strangest human she had ever met, but certainly among the few. He offered the unconscious human to her and she was a bit surprised at that. He was offering up one of his own kind? She knew humans had no hive mind and therefore had freewill, much like what she exercised for this mission out of range of the hive mind of the swarm. But to have no regard for another of his own race? It puzzled her but she wasn't about to complain.

"Thank you, human. This is a gift that I am happy to accept. I won't be long."
She unsteadily made her way over to the unconscious man and then crouched over him.
She turned him over but that movement began to wake him. Her barbed tongue shot out stabbing him through his throat before he could scream, instead he just gurgled in terror for a moment before she brought her hands to his temples and twisted it with a loud snap.
Once he was dead she began to consume his flesh, tearing off pieces of meat regardless of clothing or equipment. She ate ravenously and quickly, even eating through bone.
By the time she was finished the keeper was nothing but bits of cloth, a pair of boots, sets of keys, and a blood stain.

She stood up, this time she moved with more confidence. She stretched and flexed again, working out any remaining discomforts.
Her marked wrists and ankles were slowly recovering along with any other injuries she sustained during their tests on her.
The man she just ate was weak, but he was certainly stronger than she was while she was chained, so his meager strength was useful to her.
She turned back to her rescuer.
"I am able to survive now. We should go. Do you know of a way out of this place?"
 
Outwardly, only the slight raise of his eyebrows betrayed the inner uncertainty.

She. Well, she quite literally meant feed, did she not? The assumption of her being a vampire of some description had indeed been premature. The barbed tongue was...interesting, but not enough to dissuade Majister of the notion; he still at that point anticipated a fang-to-neck partaking, and oh he wouldn't have minded so very much. Why, it would have made for a mildly titillating show, wouldn't it have? What he did mind, what he found perturbing, was the rather ravenous feast that followed. Flesh, sure, grisly enough. But clothing and bone and practically all else on the minder's person? Seemed the muzzle and gag, far from being a touch too much, were perhaps a touch too little.

Majister considered himself unflappable. Cool under pressure. The man always in control and never without a plan, and hence ready for anything.

But he wasn't ready for that--Aethiri's feast. My goodness, where exactly did she put all of it? She was a full head shorter than Majister, a seemingly petite and frail thing, and yet there was nary a scrap of that poor bastard left.

Hm. Silver-linings: she seemed to like Majister well enough. The word "like," mayhap, to be taken with a healthy degree of relative air.

I am able to survive now. We should go. Do you know of a way out of this place?

Majister cleared his throat. Laughed quietly. Said, "Sur-vive, you say? My starving madam, I humbly suggest you've eaten enough for the both of us! Yes, your rumbling stomach should be the least of your worries now."

And Majister, with a slight and uncharacteristic stiffness, went past her and approached the cell door. Thick metal bars, activated to raise up and down with levers on the inside and outside of the cell. Presumably there was a mechanism on the outside that prevented the inside lever from working, but Majister hadn't given the minder any such time or leeway to trip such a thing. Hah! Wouldn't it just be rotten luck if this inside lever was broken now after Majister had closed the door?

Majister moved his head side-to-side, observing through the thin grating between the bars the obscured outside hall of the Cellar.

"Seems as clear as it should be." Provided Trajan's inside man had put as much effort into the getting out as he did with the getting in. Which, Majister surmised, he most likely had not. Now, of course, the true challenge would begin.

Majister glanced back over his shoulder. Smirked (trying to do away with those sights of Aethiri feasting). And asked, "Before we depart...is there anywhere you'd like to visit down here? Oh, I don't know...perhaps you fancy a little revenge on a particular someone or someones."

It was probable that she didn't know much of the layout, even in the wake of her initial imprisonment down here. But why not at least try to give Trajan his due? And, of course, should Majister and Aethiri happen to bump into some curious magical artifact in so doing...why, wouldn't that simply be a nice bonus?

Aethiri
 
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She didn't notice his unease towards the grisly scene that had been the old man. To her his passing wasn't death, but a repurposing of otherwise wasted potential. She took his essence and assimilated it into herself, in her mind, the man was now a part of her.
So she didn't quite understand his change of behavior, but simply chalked it up to the diversity of human development.

He asked her if she wanted to get revenge on anyone before she left. She had to try and remember the concept of revenge for a minute. To take satisfaction from someone who wrongfully took satisfaction from you?
She shook her head.
"I want to leave as quickly as possible and inform my queen that I am still alive and on mission. My queen gave me no task for revenge, only with learning and bringing our kind to a gentle form of awareness to the human people's."

She was just about to join him at the bars of the cell when her stomach groaned. She put a hand on her stomach and over her mouth as her eyes widened. Why now?!
She ran to a corner of the cell and bent over heaving. Instead of bone or indigestible bits of metal that the old man might have been wearing, a black ichor poured out of her mouth making a black sticky pile in the corner.
She wiped her mouth. That was so embarrassing, especially in front of the human. In her short time among humans she has learned to be a little self-conscious.
She groaned as she walked back holding her stomach, her ears drooping.
"Disregard that... Please... Let's just leave as quickly as possible."
 
Her queen. What, Aethiri had some fealty sworn to royalty then? My, what did the queen of her people eat, if Aethiri herself had such a...heartwarming appetite. And gentle awareness, hm. Strong word by all appearances, that: gentle. How much stronger would a "rough" form of awareness be then?

My, though...my, my, my. Aethiri was certainly a fine specimen of whatever fantastic race she truly was. No dark elf nor vampire, as Majister had earlier assumed. But fine, indeed. Why, wouldn't it be a shame if Majister just let that fearsome tongue and terrifying mouth go to waste? Gorgeous implements, those, and he surmised that these weren't the only tools at her disposal--hence the warranting of her imprisonment here. Think of the level of boldness attainable should he find a way to convince Aethiri that the best way to court this "gentle form of awareness" was, oh, say, raiding and pillaging prime targets laden with treasure. Perhaps she had a taste for glib mercenary or grizzled guard or grumbling caravan hand.

Yes. Imagine. Darla might be a little perturbed--Majister sensed she quite enjoyed being the de facto "queen" (speaking of "royalty") of his humble raider band--but she could be assuaged with a new map or two to study.

But first things first. Egress.

Majister watched her approach and prepared to throw the lever but then...her stomach groaned. Well, if ever there was a better cue to get that damn door open quick, fast, and in a hurry, Majister could not conceive of one--he'd rather not be the dessert to the minder's main course. However, instead of a ravenous leap upon his person, Aethiri actually appeared more so shocked than anything else. Hand to her stomach, hand to her mouth. A preferable configuration, as opposed to her hands on his stomach and his mouth, tearing them out.

Then she.

Well.

Had an unglamorous moment. Majister himself was no sympathetic vomiter--not under normal circumstances. Too much tipsy tavern fun led strangers and fellows alike to have such unglamorous moments themselves, and the slushy contents of their stomachs roughly matched what one could reasonably expect. But...black? And viscous? Hweup. Majister had a tiny moment in which his unflappable cool was nearly flapped.

But, like a stumbling man adequately regaining his balance, Majister held his smirk.

Disregard that... Please...

"Disregarded, my apparently gray lady."

Let's just leave as quickly as possible.

"Why, yes, indeed. We've much ground to cover and much to discuss afterward, and I can see you've a hard enough time already containing your effervescent excitement!"

Majister threw the lever. The metal cell door raised up.

And a large stone fist shot into the cell and snatched Majister about his neck. This stone fist, attached to a stone arm, attached to a stone gargoyle who mostly certainly was not supposed to be there. Clever bastard. Or perhaps it was Trajan's inside man who had fouled up tremendously on the information regarding patrols and timing down here in the Cellar.

Regardless, Majister was flung out of the cell and into the main chamber of the Cellar. Then the gargoyle, showing a surprising intelligence and autonomy, threw the outside lever of the cell.

And the cell door started to close...quickly...

Aethiri
 
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It all happened very quickly. Her cramping stomach prevented her from reacting in time and the door closed in front of her. This wasn't like the Gargoyles she had seen, this was a creature of stone, the creatures her tormentors referred to as Gargoyles were what she would call drones, human creatures without freewill who followed the orders of their masters without question.

This was an automaton, a creature without flesh, without essence, animated by human magic. She rushed the bars and dove, even though they slammed to the ground and locked it was never the door that prevented her from leaving her cell.
Her entire body seemed to flatten as she leaped through the bars, like a gnat slipping between the holes in a fly swatter.
She came up outside the cell and immediately jumped around it, getting behind it before she leapt onto its back.

Now what? She wasn't at full strength yet, her fists couldn't harm a creature of stone like this. She sighed to herself. She wished she didn't have to do it again but it was the only way.
She began convulsing her stomach and heaving again, this time on purpose. She spewed the black processing bile over the creatures head, hoping the corrosive substance will break it down and undo whatever enchantments made it work. She leapt backwards and landed beside her rescuer.

It wasn't in her plan, but she felt that she couldn't let this processing bile and the pile in her cell go to waste. As the corrosive bile began melting the stone head of the gargoyle she began weaving her hands and fingers in an intricate pattern in the air. She began pulling the threads of the weave, green glowing strands of magic formed on her fingers and weaved in the pattern she was shaping like a web.
At the center of the web two glowing centers began to form. On closer inspection one might notice tiny embryotic creatures growing in those centers.

She took hold of the pods, one in each hand. One she threw between the bars back into her cell, the other she threw in the bile atop the gargoyles head. The bile in both locations was reproducing and spreading at an accelerated rate, consuming the stone into usable material for the larva drone to feed on and grow.
She turned to her human companion.
"We should run now. You know a way out, yes? If so we should make use of it as soon as possible."
 
Surely not the best first impression to make on his dueling prowess for Aethiri. Why, a few more combat faux pas like that and she might rightfully think herself rescuing him from this dreary Cellar. Oh but granted, granted, Majister surely hadn't expected there to be a clever bastard of a gargoyle there, waiting just out of view to snatch him away. And it went without saying that Majister had, of course, never dueled a thing comprised entirely of stone and magic before with naught but a steel rapier.

Where did he have that Bammaram? Oh, but it was somewhere. Somewhere inside his coat that was under his acquired College robes. Certainly the Bammaram would have enough punch to it to knock a hole or two in that big stone beast.

But. Well, such wasn't necessary.

As Majister lay sprawled on the Cellar floor, Aethiri worked some magic of her own. And by magic he meant...doing the thing again with that black vomit. Oh sure, not the most pleasing sight to behold, but the results were gorgeous enough; Aethiri landed next to Majister as he stood, and the gargoyle was freshly missing its head and the rest of its statuesque body went rigid and immobile without it. And as it turned out, Aethiri had more than figurative magic to work. Quite literal magic was at her disposal as well; strange (befittingly so) as it was, the surprises didn't stop rolling in.

Surely she had a price. Surely she had a means by which some choice words of coaxing and cajolery could convince her to come along with Majister, if even for a spell. A raider band was only as good as its members, and one Aethiri stacked up quite highly against a number of Hillby-christened "dipshits." Ah, and it would be a true challenge, would it not? To not only convince a being such as Aethiri, one so possessed of such dangerous talents and lethal capacity, to join in with him and his band, but also to keep her in line with only his words and his wits. Yes indeed.

Majister nodded when she turned to him.

"Why, yes. A cheeky false wall. It shall whisk us away from this dreadful Cellar, and at least to the surface level of the Col--"

As Majister had turned to move, to head down the south-facing hall leading off from this cell chamber, he noticed someone. A mage. A College mage. Perhaps one who minded the Cellar regularly, perhaps one who had only come down for a brief something or another. And this mage stood at the precipice of the north-facing hall.

Majister had his hand on the hilt of his rapier, but before he could draw it--

The mage smiled genially and snapped a fist over his heart and gave a knowing nod to Majister and even Aethiri and said quietly, yet loud enough for them both to just barely hear, "For Mankind."

The mage looked behind himself up the north-facing hall, then past them and down the south-facing hall.

And he said, "You're clear. Go."

Majister, certainly not one to piss on luck that fell neatly into his lap, smirked to the traitor mage and then to Aethiri and gestured with his head for her to follow. Said, "To the false wall, then. It's close to, but not quite next to the Cellar's main entrance. Onward!"

And Majister started off down the south-facing hall at a brisk pace.

There was no telling what else--if anything--they might encounter, as they hurried to make their escape...

Aethiri
 
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So this human wasn't working alone, the other human had stood watch for them and said they were free to leave without being detected. This was organized. Initially she wondered who their hivemind was, but then she remembered humans don't have a hivemind. They had to lay out a plan beforehand and then execute its individual parts as assigned without knowing whether everyone was successful or not. To her it was such a confining way of thinking, to be so individualistic and unconnected with everyone around you. She had even experienced this disconnect through her imprisonment, and that was the greatest torture of all. She's not felt the mind of another of her kind for a very long time.

She followed his lead down the hall. Behind them two birthing pod formed in the cell and on the gargoyle, glowing bulbous sacks full of primordial fluid and tiny creatures growing at the center, and growing rather quickly.
She followed Majister and exchanged a glance with the mage they passed. She didn't recognize him, but she did recognize a badge he wore that the other magic users down in the cellar wore. Majister had one as well on his stolen uniform.
She couldn't imagine the function of these badges until her face made a connection with an unseen force as they passed through an archway. Majister passed through just fine, but she was prevented.
The force didn't simply stop her, but delivered a jolting force to her attempted exit, throwing her onto her back.

She recovered quickly, but her attempted exit didn't go unnoticed. Her quick eyes caught the sight of other eyes appearing, disembodied eyes that opened in the air for a moment, looked at her, and then closed again. More human magic, but she had seen it before when she was first imprisoned. They used those invisible eyes to watch her and observe her from safety.
They knew she was free, and the human drones would be here soon.
"Human! They will find us soon. What do we do?"
 
What the devil was this, then?

Things had gone well for Majister. Swimmingly, one might reasonably say--discount the earlier fiasco with the gargoyle, that resolved itself nicely enough. And he hadn't any earlier problem crossing through this particular archway in this particular corridor; didn't have one now, as a matter of fact. But Aethiri did. Majister heard a slight smack and felt a tiny disturbance and glanced back over his shoulder to see Aethiri thrown to the ground.

Majister glanced from her and to the archway and back to her again. Oh, and those prying eyes, now who could imagine a more perfect herald of disaster swiftly approaching? Whatever spark of magic had prevented Aethiri from coming through the archway had also, it so seemed, alerted a certain number of College lackeys who--surely--were not all traitors to their institution and secretly in league with Trajan Meng.

Majister--carefully--stepped back through the archway. No problem. Curious, that. Why, it had to be something pertaining to Aethiri then, didn't it? Something they had done to her, surreptitiously placed upon her person perhaps and weaved about her in some esoteric arcane way, that prevented her from crossing through. Ah, yes, but it made sense, did it not? Yet another safeguard against these prisoners in the Cellar escaping. Trajan's inside man hadn't bothered to mention anything like this; possibly because he thought Majister might be well and dead by this point. Made into a splotch of blood, some scraps of cloth, and a pair of leftover boots, much like the minder back in the cell.

Hm. A delightful surprise deserved another delightful surprise in turn. Quite. Perhaps Trajan's inside man, should Majister ever have the pleasure of meeting him (for all he knew it was that very mage back there), could do with the surprise of seeing Aethiri actually escaped entirely from the Cellar and a cordial fist to his face.

Items for the future.

"A conundrum, yes," Majister said, bringing a hand to rub the hairs of his beard on his chin. "Aethiri, might you happen to know of anything these cheerful mages may have inserted into your skin? Your bones? Or perhaps some spell cast upon you, the purpose at the time unclear?"

Majister thought. Looked up the corridor the way they had come, and looked down it to where it intersected with two other corridors. Wondering how much time they had.

"Perhaps it might serve to try going around. Or, failing all else, set up a spot to ambush our most unwelcome guests. Mayhap our unexpected friend could be of assistance, in this regard or purging whatever is preventing your egress."

He did not consider the badge upon his own stolen robes. It seemed nothing more consequential than an ornamental decoration.

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Her sharp ears picked up the sound of heavy footfalls. Armored gargoyles were approaching, those brainwashed human drones. There were halls all over the place, and it sounded like they were approaching from every single one of them except for the one straight ahead, the one she couldn't pass.
They were quickly running out of time, she looked to her left and could already see a troupe of gargoyles rounding the corner with multiple tools meant for subduing and capturing a victim.

She didn't have time to explain the plan to her new companion. She tore the badge off his uniform and jumped through the barrier, then she tossed the badge back through the ward for him to use. But she didn't go one step after that. A metal hook snagged her around the neck and pulled her off to the side. Two gargoyles stood there and once she was on the ground the other one tackled her with shackles, trying to bind her wrists again.
 
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Ahhh...so that was it, then. Not an item or enchantment upon the prisoners preventing exit, but rather a token upon the jailers allowing entry. Fortunate, yes, very fortunate. Why, they might have actually been stumped attempting to discern what covert implement or magical weaving was keeping Aethiri out, should that have proven to be the case.

A keen one, Aethiri.

If a little short on luck. Not even a handful of blinks could one partake in after she had tossed back the passage-granting badge did she find herself snared about the neck by the hook-catcher of a gargoyle. One of two, truth be told. Now the newest problem. Oh, but his rapier was scarcely the weapon he needed to take on such beasts as these.

The Bammaram, however. A timely acquisition from the wizard Grangomelle's game of peril and loot. Majister had tested the magical blowgun out on the thick trunks of a few choice trees and was very pleased with the results. Now was the time to see how well it would function as an impromptu weapon, as opposed to a door or wall breaching device.

Majister stepped through the archway with the badge. Pocketed the thing, as it might well prove useful later. Quickly ripped a hole in his robe open, large enough to extract the Bammaram. He held it in both hands. Brought it to his mouth and aimed at the gargoyle attempting to shackle Aethiri. Blew and the Ram's Head Dart flew out and cracked half of the gargoyle's skull, the Dart flipping and twirling about in the air wildly after impact--he'd have to go recover it.

But the deed was done! Half of the Shackle Gargoyle's head slid of in a tumble of varyingly-sized pieces, leaving just the one.

"Aethiri!" Majister called. "Any more delightful tricks?"

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Blood splattered her face as the gargoyles mask and head were blasted by a strange weapon and the man slumped over on top of her. There was a shocked silence, but that was all she needed to kick the body to the side and flatten her body to slip her head out of the hook. She grabbed the hook and yanked it out of the surprised Gargoyles hands before ramming the butt of the tool home between the holes in the eyes of its mask. There was more blood as a second gargoyle fell to the floor.

The gargoyles were coming up on the portal they just exited through, and down the halls she could hear more approaching. Just how many of these brainwashed humans did the college have?!
Down the hall they were supposed to go to reach their exit, there was a loud thump on the stairwell, followed by another as something with a heavy footfall made its way down the stairs, this was quickly revealed to be another monster of the college, a golem of stitched flesh animated by lightening.

Enemies were on all sides and closing in to capture her, or both of them, or perhaps they would ignore him and simply go for her in an attempt to protect him from a dangerous monster.
But in either case she knew she had to fight. And she knew she had to survive. That's what she was designed for first and foremost, to survive.
She extended her arms to her sides facing the large flesh golem blocking their way. Bone plates began to come up out of her skin, covering her arms, shoulders, back, chest, and long savage claws grew from the tips of her fingers.

She intended to face the flesh golem while Majister watched her back, but she was wary, detecting another human magic user behind the flesh golem. They had to be quick, and they needed help. Her drones should be mature by now, she activated them with a telepathic message. They didn't have to go far, but she hoped they arrived in time to help Majister.
 
Majister never doubted her for a second. Though Majister had only known Aethiri for some scant number of seconds--alright, hundreds of seconds, but it was the briefness of it all that was the point--still, he did not doubt her. But of course! She was locked away in that cell, safely stowed away behind these multiple layers of confining redundancy, for good reason!

As the other gargoyle--masked man, truly, but perhaps the nomenclature bestowed upon them by the College was confusing by design--fell to the floor, Majister hurried to retrieve the Ram's Head Dart for his Bammaram. Scooped it up from the floor. Reloaded it. Always nice to have a backup plan.

More of the men were coming, trailing up their wake and approaching the blasted archway which had caused this whole inconvenience. Commotion could be well heard echoing up and down the stone halls of the Cellar as well. Why, surely it was high time to make a run--

"Now that's a bother," Majister said, as he turned to just in time to see the emergence of the flesh golem at the stairwell. Bit of a problem, that. Yes, the default way out of the Cellar was in that direction, but so was the false wall that led to the surreptitiously dug shaft. A shaft that resembled quite heavily the kind in the wild tales of prison escape, where an intrepid outlaw dared dig his way free of his confines with some scrawny implement and a heaping helping of determination and gusto.

"Aethiri, perhaps you'd like to--"

He was going to say, take the men approaching from the rear. Well, it was simply common courtesy, wasn't it? For one's dashing rescuer to do the heavy lifting, so to speak. True, Majister wasn't particularly looking forward to fighting such a hulking construction as that golem plainly was, but manners were manners.

But, oh what a delight! Like a delicate flower with hidden barbs underneath the petals (or, in this case, an impressive set of bone-armor manifested thereupon), Aethiri proved once more the inverse relationship between her dangerousness and her dainty appearance. Why, seemed every time Majister allowed for himself to slip into being convinced by said dainty facade, out came a new surprise which thoroughly reminded him of the extreme caution of her captors, as evidenced by her previous restraints and confines.

Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous.

Majister smirked, watched her go, and called after her, "Have fun, my dear!"

And with that, he drew his rapier and held the Bammaram in his other hand and turned toward the gargoyles freshly stepping through the troublesome archway. Three, this time. Majister fought with them, using parrying and positioning to keep his aggressor's weapons away from him and to keep the other two gargoyles struggling for even the opportunity to strike.

Majister got one. Stabbed through with the rapier. Got another. A cheeky blow of the Bammaram which proved yet again quite capable of shattering skulls. But the third got the better of him, capitalizing on the time Majister needed to blow the Bammaram. His rapier was spun out of his grip (in quite the impressive move by the gargoyle, bravo, excellent swordsmanship, you magnificent bastard) and Majister had to drop the Bammaram and resort to struggling hand-to-hand with the gargoyle for control over the broadsword he wielded.

Then something...quite strange attacked the preoccupied gargoyle from behind.

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Good, he was capable on his own, which made sense because he's come to save her. But the fact that he's human gave her low expectations. Just goes to show that you can't judge a race based on a few examples.
She faced the flesh golem again and crouched into a fighting stands, her arms out and claws spread.
But she didn't wait for the beast to make the first move, she lunged at him full force, her claws reaching for his face, but she changed direction last second, going low for his torso and avoiding the swinging arm that nearly checked her flight in midair.

Her claws slid into its flesh, but the beast didn't react, even when she tore its sides up it didn't give a single grunt, but it did counterattack, slamming both fists down on her shoulder plates and forcing her to her knees from the force.
This creature, it was strange, not undead but she couldn't detect any essence in it. a conglomeration of creatures stitched together and animated to life.
It wasn't undead, but it was close enough for her to hate it. An abomination to nature!

She shot upwards, racking her claws up its torso before launching off the ceiling back down, racking again as she landed on the floor. But before she could lunge again, the creature caught her by the leg on her downward lunge and threw her savagely against the stone wall.
Stone and bricks cracked, as well as several bone plates as she slumped to the floor, stunned for a moment.

_______________________________________________​

The gargoyles kept filing through the archway to engage with Majister, though many of them were trying to get around him to focus on Aethiri. That offered the first creature a perfect passage through the warded doorway. It hitched a ride on the back of an unsuspecting gargoyle. When the brainwashed man walked through the archway it looked as if he had a long boney tail on his back... At least until that same tailed arched and stabbed its ride through the back.

A creature about the size of a broadsword stood on the back of its fresh kill, it had multiple legs and a long segmented bone tail that writhed and snapped like a snake.
The bone segments of the tail suddenly locked together and formed a bone blade, the creature then leapt into the air and did a flip, swinging its tail in a downward cleave at the next gargoyles skull.

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Admittedly. Admittedly...Majister had had his doubts initially. Upon first seeing Aethiri, the simple answer (which was to say, the most reliable correct answer) was that he had been duped by the minder whose help he had commandeered. But Trajan was certainly going to be getting his coin's worth at this rate.

Some bony, snake-like creature solved his masked man problem quite handily--a creature whose mere presence was sure enough to be Aethiri's doing, given what she'd done earlier with her magic. Cleaved through the masked man's skull, that snake-creature did, and thus Majister had a moment to breathe. A moment to recover his rapier and the Ram's Head Dart for the Bammaram and reload it.

He whirled around to check on Aethiri's progress with the golem and...well, perfection was an elusive beast to hunt, was it not? Oh but it wasn't her fault, she'd given it a splendid go, she had. Still, that golem was horrendously strong. Simply horrendous. The sound of the impact clapped harshly against Majister's ears, and the wall Aethiri had been thrown into had cracked--yes, stone and brick cracked by Aethiri's plated body.

And what of Majister's body then? His thoroughly unplated body? Should he fall into the misfortune of being grabbed or smacked by that golem, such would be his last misfortune suffered on Arethil, that much was all too certain. Aethiri seemed (seemed) well enough after so staggering a blow, but Majister knew quite well that he would scarcely experience a similar outcome if it had been him.

So then.

Bammaram first. Rapier if necessary, and hope his dueling instructors had taught him all the finer points of ducking and weaving and eluding they had known.

Aethiri had rended open a savage and sizable hole in the golem. So Majister, keeping his distance for now, aimed and blew the Ram's Head Dart of the Bammaram into that bloody cleft of the golem. Perhaps it would pulverize some vital something-or-another inside the brute before popping out the other end (and Majister hoped quite dearly that it did pop out the other end).

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The Rams Head certainly did punch straight through and struck the stone steps behind it, pulverizing animated meat behind it, but it simply made the flesh golem look up at the human and take a step forward.
Aethiri blinked, surprised that she was given time to recover. Pain shot through her body when she moved, but she moved anyways, letting out a whimper as broken bone plates fell off her body.

She looked up to see the monster approaching her rescuer, she agonizingly stood up and bared her claws as she made to stop it.
But before she could limp after the golem a man that was behind the golem came up behind her and touched her shoulder.
There must have been magic involved, because that mere touch delivered an incredible amount of force on her injured shoulder and she cried out as she was thrown to the wall again, she bared her fangs but her body was in too much pain to move more than that.

More Gargoyles were advancing on Majister, but the sword creature was skittering away, past the golem to attach itself to Aethiri's arm. The bladed tail whipped out, slashing the air and keeping the magic user at bey.
 
Not quite the square punch to the jaw precipitating the knockout he'd hoped for, now was it. The Ram's Head Dart seemed to cause a great deal more trouble than produce any progress in solving this particular, fleshy problem. Why, now the big bulbous laggard had turned its attention to him. This, and all the while mind you, more of those masked men coming up from behind, so his ears picking up the telltale pitter patter of their footfalls did tell him.

That snake-creature wiggled its way over to Aethiri--who was having quite the "oh dear" moment herself, seeing that the golem's girth had hidden a cheeky mage all this while.

Majister, caught between the rock of the advancing golem and the hard place of the advancing Gargoyles, did the best he could. Turned his back to the golem and took swipes with his rapier at the Gargoyles to fend them off, then turning back around to face the golem and thinking of ways to possibly evade--

He had but a second for his eyes to widen in trepidation as one of the golem's meaty hands slammed with a surprising quickness and ferocity into his right arm--his sword arm--and breaking both the humerus bone of his bicep and popping the arm loose from the socket of his shoulder. The force of the blow rammed him into the wall of the corridor and knocked all the air from his lungs and caused a brilliant and vicious display of white crackling stars to appear before his eyes.

Dazed to the point of not even realizing the pain he was in yet, Majister simply slid down to a sitting slump there on the floor. Two of the latest Gargoyles took to restraining him, while the rest followed after the golem to bear down on Aethiri.

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