Completed Greenwrath

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies gently nudged Garuban's arm aside, mentally commanding her werelight to lift higher that she might better examine the bump on the man's head. It was about the size of her fist, most of it disappearing under his black hair, but what she could see of the injury was a painful shade of red and would probably darken to uglier colors in a few hours. Still, he didn't vocalize too loudly when she poked at it, and by the light in his eyes he appeared to have escaped a concussion, so-

"It doesn't look serious. Just a bruise." Lechies collected her staff from the floor and stood up from her crouch. "But if you feel dizzy, or your vision starts to blur, let me know. I have a bottle of phoenix spit in my pack."

Vasha grinned at his brother. "The whiny bastard'll be fine. Me and him have had worse from barfights."

"Don't think most people get into fisticuffs with a tree, though." Garuban squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the pain with a rough shake of his head. He too, stood, and Vasha handed him his bow back. "I didn't see it coming; blasted wind was in my eyes."

"Just be glad you're still dry," Vasha replied. "We have our lady wizard to thank for that."

Lechies had been on her way home from business in Fal'Addas when she learned of certain troubles plaguing the small settlement of Tathholm. And what unusual troubles they were. Stories told of the forest itself gone oddly aggressive -- vines coiling tight around unsuspecting travelers, attempting to strangle them or yank them down steep slopes; the very trees swaying and dancing as their branches flailed, pummeling passers-by with force enough to break bone. It was not an enemy their militia could challenge. Tathholm's local mage traced an unusual surge of magic power to some elven ruins nearby, and went to investigate.

Four days later, the mage remained gone, so Tathholm declared her another casualty and sent out a general call for aid.

The day had already looked heavy and gray when Lechies set out from the village with two of their best hunters to guard her. Sensing rain, she cast a simple charm to make their persons and belongings waterproof -- a precaution that Vasha and Garuban most appreciated when the sky finally opened up. The rain quickly grew into a worthy winter storm, icy and fierce. Though no water was able to touch them, Lechies could do nothing for the biting cold or the howling gales.

They'd hurried for the ruins as fast as they could. In their rush, a stray branch came alive and walloped Garuban on the head. Lechies erected an arcane shield in haste when the trees around them became similarly agitated, and Vasha peeled his brother out of the mud, half-carrying him the rest of the way. It was an immense relief for them all when the ruins finally emerged from the trees.

Outside, the wind and rain continued to rage, pounding against the walls like some celestial drummer. Water ran in dozens of tiny streams from cracks in the stone, collecting in shallow pools. Spots of green were visible all around them, moss and vines that had pushed through weak spots in the structure, but though Lechies eyed them warily, the plants remained inert. For now.

There was no telling when nature's wrath might catch up.

Lechies turned, aiming the werelight down the hallway, eyes narrowed. Magic indeed pulsed from a source deep within, presumably whatever it was that had driven the forest into this state.

"Let's go. Our target shouldn't be far, but remain cautious."

"Yes, be cautious, Garuban."

Garuban snorted, rolling his eyes at Vasha. The two Tathholm hunters joined Lechies as she ventured forth, Garuban guarding their rear with bow in hand while Vasha stayed in front of her, longsword ready to lash out at the first twitch of vegetation.

 

[Zakarias]

Bells rang, tink tank, amid the pouring rain. And in the frigid grey of a winter storm came to the town of Tathholm a man in a mask, dressed in a motley of gold and garish red. His jester's mask crowned by a pair of great big horns.

"Tall as a tree you are," said an old man who looked up with small black eyes beneath a pair of storm grey brows.

Zakarias eyes smiled bright behind his mask., and he looked down on the man "Why, I shall take that as a compliment," he said, and bowed dramatically to the old geezer, one hand to his chest, fingers splayed out, while the other rose up high behind him as he bent at the waist.

The old man laughed some, his dark eyes a twinkle beneath his wild brows. "Oh, come now, no need for such flair,"

"Oh~" Zakarias rose up, and towered before the small and bent elder, his bells tinkled softly as he settled his posture. "But of course there is my fine fellow," his head turned to show the smiling half of his mask, and his red horns flopped with the motion. The bells jingled bright. "Your village has sent for aid," his head turned quickly to the right. He bent low, ever so, for his audience of one to better see the frown upon his mask. A long finger traced an invisible tear down from the corner of his silver eye. "A lost mage, and a wicked wood, come to life" his voice lilted from a sweet sadness to a hot and wicked pleasure. He laughed a little in his throat and swelled back up to his full height. "But not to worry, no, not at all, for I, Zakarias, have come to see you through this plight," he mocked the sound of trumpets, and played one that didn't exist.

The old man nodded and laughed and clapped. Stupid.

The towering jester bowed once more, twice, three times. "Thank you, thank you. Yes, all will be over soon." Next he rose, he took a long step around the old man and appeared behind him. His long gloved fingers curled about the old man's shoulders, and he leaned in, loomed over him close to his ear. Like a cat might a mouse they had trapped between their claws. "Now tell me, kind sir," his finger traced a seal into the man's roughspun clothes. "is there else I should know before I venture off to face these wild woods?"

"Oh, um, hmm" he cleared his throat and his eyes darted left to right, but no matter where he looked, he could not see the man in red "There- there was a new mage who had come into town, come answering the call, took our two finest hunters up the woods and too the ruins, not but earlier today, they left in a hurry, y-you may be able to catch up to them yet."

"Ah..." Zakarias exhaled, slow as he squeezed the old man's bones and popped away. "My thanks!" he said as he waved a hand behind him, and skipped off toward the woods.

The old man stood there a while. Knees a tremble.
----
At the mouth of the temple he stood, fingers busy as they tuned his lyre. His eyes, so full of Fae blood, took a moment to adjust to the shadowy cavern that yawned so dark and trecherous before him.

"Yes, I feel it," he said, voice a tremble with glee. "The lines of ley which surge through this place, so old and ancient." He laughed, softly and gladly to himself, and brushed his fingers across his strings, gentle at first. Then a thrash that came with a crash of thunder! "Come, old home." he stepped forward, and his fingers plucked at the strings in steady, somber melody. "Come, my fallen kin," deeper into the dark he went, as the winds buffeted the walls, sure and true, the tempo which he kept. "Give your gifts to me," his bells rang, tink and tank and chime, with each long step down that shadowy path, and his tune played on, and bounced along the walls.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Their party did not have to walk for long before natural light again seeped from around a corner. As Lechies dismissed her werelight, she found that the corridor opened out into a vast courtyard. It must have been beautiful once, but the topiaries were long overgrown into shapeless masses and the mosiacs beneath their feet were colorless and cracked through with weeds. A statue had once stood in the courtyard's center, raised on a high platform, but all she could see now was its plinth, a pair of bare feet, and about three inches of stone robe.

Lechies crossed the ground, her boots and trousers still rejecting the mud, and climbed the platform steps. Vasha remained at the bottom, glaring suspiciously through the rain at the ivy that crept down the walls, while Garuban remained under the roof, peering back down the hallway they'd come through.

When Lechies reached the top of the platform, she could see writing carved into the broken statue's base, and moved closer for a look. The etchings were not in a script she recognized, though she supposed it must be one of the ancient elven languages.

She caressed the old stone. Despite the missing mage, despite Tathholm's continued plight -- standing here in this place, Lechies could not help the wave of profound awe and introspection that swept over her. This place had surely been erected to honor someone of great importance, perhaps a deity, or a war hero, or a beloved cultural figure. But after the passing of eons, almost no trace of them remained. Time had claimed their memory, as time would and must eventually do to all of Creation.

'No fate can be stalled forever...'

As Lechies pulled back from her musings, Garuban's voice floated up from the edge of the courtyard.

"Hey, is that music?"

Vasha cupped his ear and leaned forward like an old man. He shook his head. "Can't hear anything except the storm."

"Come stand where I am and listen."

Vasha began to lope back across the wet stone. Lechies started to follow as well, curious what Garuban had heard, but -- magic power blossomed suddenly from deep within the ground, its energies rippling outward, growing as rings from a pebble dropped into a still pond. Danger sounded in her mind, and as Lechies called out to the two hunters below, the ground physically began to tremble as well.

"Something's coming!"

There came the squelch of wet earth as bony hands and arms burst into view around the platform, hauling the bodies of some dozen skeletal warriors up and out of the mud. Curiously, they appeared to be clad in cuirasses and helmets wrought from tree roots, and spots of bright color were visible where flowers twisted between their bones or sprouted from eye sockets. The weapons in their hands were badly rusted but looked no less capable of their original purpose.

Lechies raised her staff, golden glyphs flaring from her position at the top of the stairs. An arcane missile shot from her outstretched hand. It collided with the frontmost skeleton like a fist, slamming it into its fellow behind and sending both tumbling back down the steps. But more were coming, and from the ominous rattling noise behind her, Lechies assumed that another force was climbing the rear stairs, as well.

"Hold on, wizard!"

Vasha lunged at the nearest skeleton. A mighty swing of his sword knocked it back, but another was quick to step into its place, and Vasha hopped sideways to dodge the chop of its ancient axe.

Garuban loosed arrow after arrow, but found them largely ineffective; the projectiles either sank into the tree root armor or chipped bone without actually stopping the undead warriors. He cursed and tossed his bow aside, instead unsheathing a long knife from his waist.

"Gods be good, I think I preferred the trees," he mumbled as he went to join his brother.

 

[Zakarias]

Bright with sorrow, his song went on, up and down and all around the walls, the tunnels and the halls as the winds howled and the rain poured. His feet tapped, soft against the floor with each cautious step forward, further into that most hollowed ground. Stray glyphs and seals, motifs along the walls, told of tales long lost with those people whose ends had come too soon.

A magick. Forbidden and wild. A weapon to wield against, yes. Against them. Those who knew no end. Whose greed was ever lasting. A thing that went beyond their graves. For such short lives left them ever so wanting. Ever so hungry and ready to defile all and more in pursuit of just that. More.

Still, strum his song, Zakarias did. Gentle and sweet, as all the world around him seemed to weep and stir. Mournful. Wrathful. That swell of magick. The vein of Ley. It coursed ahead of him, and he smiled, eyes wide with glee. He danced along, faster than before, his tune quick and mad and playful as the day's light, grey and blue as it was beneath the clouds of storm, poured in a room ahead. What was there was a sight to see.

A horde of undead, twisted with vines and roots and flowers, held fast against a band of intruders. And from the shadows, Zakarias watched with silver eyes, his fingers still busy with their work of melody. A mage cast out golden missiles, smashed a valiant defender, and the other two, well, they did little more than stay alive.

Zakarias smiled, wider still, as his song still strummed out from his bowed instrument. Chords stretched and strained and bent as he made them wyrd with magick. His tune, old and ancient, like tendrils they went out and into the ears of all who could hear as flesh clashed with bone and branch and vine. No, he would not twist their eyes' sight just yet, he would not have them go deaf or loose sensation of their legs. Just a growl here, a stomp of feet there, just enough to misdirect. Enough to cause mistakes.

Behind him came the sounds of more leal souls, who tore away at dirt and crawled out of the earth, weapons in hand.

"Come now," he whispered low, "you would dare interrupt my song?" The skeleton warriors groaned, magick eyes glowing in the dim tunnel. "Very well," Zakarias said, gleeful, and let his Lyre on the ground as the mob of skeletons stumbled toward him. In a quick flourish he drew his sword and dagger, and set in his relaxed stance, long point out to ward them off.

The shamblemen advanced, slow and clumsy. Zakarias stepped back and away from them with ease, out into the light of the courtyard as one swung a great axe down with much weight, and with a precise strike, driven in with all the force his large frame could muster, Zakarias thrust his sword through the bone of the undead warrior's wrist. Its bone cracked and chipped, but did not give.

A gust of wind surged up, and Zakarias cut upward, sliced the skeleton's wrist clean off as another swung at him with a rusted hammer. A blur of red and gold spun away from the attack, and the jester's bells rung bright as he settled back in his stance.

He was caught between the horde that marched up to the platform, and the four that had come just for him. He smiled wide behind his mask. "A little help, if you could!" he called out loudly. He pounced forward at the skeleton with the great axe, a twift of glittering steel saw its head lopped off, right beneath its helm.

The re-animated bones fell apart, and the old rusted axe clattered to the floor. He took a long step toward it, sheathed his dual blades at his hip and in that same motion kicked up the heavy axe with a deft foot so that he could snatch it up. He laughed loudly, pleased with himself, dodged another skeleton's attack, and split its head in two with an overhead chop. Poof. Its bones lost their life again.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

From her vantage point on the platform, Lechies was hurriedly wracking her brains for a strategy against this sudden assault when a streak of bright red suddenly darted out from the corridor and into the rain. Lechies blinked, confused -- the figure was dressed in the loud manner of a court jester, blades of mismatched lengths flashing in their grip, the smooth visage of a pale mask discernible in between the beats of violence. They fought with a dancer's grace, every bit using their long limbs to their advantage, and as the wind gave another shriek, sending a bony hand flying, Lechies was made aware of the unmistakable hum of magic from their location.

A fighter, and a mage. A stranger. But they were a stranger whom the skeletons disliked, so Lechies tentatively marked them down as an ally for now.

"A little help, if you could!"

The voice that called from behind the mask was a man's. Lechies thought his request a little unnecessary; he appeared to be handling his opponents rather well.

Regardless, her expression was tight with concentration as she threw out her hand. This time there were no glyphs. The pelting raindrops swirled at her shoulder, gathering with incredible speed into the shape of a log, before a sound like a chiming bell rang out, and it froze into a thick, jagged lance. This Lechies hurtled down the steps with a powerful heaving motion, eyes locked on the skeleton warrior about to make the final climb. The projectile slammed into it more like a battering ram than a lance, scattering root and bone over the stairs, before continuing onward to the jester's position. It crashed between the other two advancing for him. Its landing erupted outward in a flowery cluster of ice, snapping through armor and ribcage of one skeleton, and snaring the other by its arm and leg within a cold prison.

Her way to the stranger now clear, and mindful of the rear force now coming from the other side of the statue, Lechies vaulted down the stairs two at a time, her earlier charm all that prevented her from slipping and cracking her head against the stone. She came level with the stranger -- but paused only long enough to send him a nod of gratitude -- before rushing onward to the edge of the courtyard.

There, the two Tathholm hunters were struggling. Vasha had made a grave miscalculation at some point; blood oozed from a large gash in his arm as he leaned against the wall, panting for breath. Garuban did his best to defend his brother, but his knife's reach was shorter than any of the weapons carried by the undead soldiers, and Lechies misliked the way he clearly favored his right foot over the left.

As Lechies sprinted over the mud, the light that spilled from the tip of her staff now burned a silver color. Glyphs shimmered into view above Vasha and Garuban's heads. The hunters' skin began to turn gray, stiffening to the hardness of rock. She hoped the Stoneskin spell would defend them long enough for her and the stranger to rescue them.

 

[Zakarias]

Water hissed and popped and crackled as magick willed it to freeze, and Zakarias watched, eyes wide with interest, as the mage hurled the projectile forward. How delightfully it had smashed through one of the re-animated bone guardians, and how splendidly did it splash against the ground and shatter one of his assailants. The other skeleton, trapped as it was, came to a quick end as Zakarias lopped its head clean off with a wide swing of the rusted battle-axe.

His eyes met with the mage's, only just before she hurried off to aid the other two. And for a moment, too long for times of such urgency, Zakarias just watched. Her staff burned a bright silver, and her magick manifest about the other two, useless lot. Their skin turned hard as rock, and when they failed to block ancient swords and axes, the armor of stone deflected what it could.

A laugh, soft behind his mask as he stood there, for that pause, unnatural. She had talent, this mage. A breadth of spells, and a fine sense of control. Even amidst all of the fear and chaos that swirled about times like these. So sharp, she seemed, he doubted his song had reached her. And to this, his eyes narrowed and glint, malice there in their burning silver. Why was that? He could not help but wonder.

But, for now, the show carried on. Breath left his lungs, and he drove magick down into his legs. He burst forward, long bounding strides aided by the wind which swelled behind him, and he crashed into the bunch of skeletons at the flank with all the force of a tempest. The rusted war-axe arced wild as a whirlwind. One warrior, two, three felled with savage blows. The axe head broke, and Zakarias laughed as he bounced back and away from the last two, his bells a-jingle. Again he drew his sword and dagger, and stood in his tall and pointed stance.

From behind, he could hear the groans of the last group forming up behind them. He turned to face them. A glint of steel, the twang of a bowstring. An arrow streaked toward them, and Zakarias stepped aside to let it clatter uselessly against the stone floor. "They have an archer," he said, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. One of the skeletons was larger than the rest, well armored, with a shield and sword fit for a hero. "And a champion!" Zakarias said, too giddy.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Even with the Stoneskin to protect them, the heavy crunch of the skeletons' weapons landing against the two hunters' bodies had Lechies wincing on their behalf. She raced towards them, praying she wouldn't be too late. Her hand and her staff both buzzed and glowed with preparation.

A louder hum echoed from behind, that of powerful magick being brought to heel. Lechies paused and glanced back, eyes wide as the red stranger soared and then crashed into the skeleton pack like a lightning bolt thrown down by the storm itself. He made quick work of three, and the remaining two undead shuffled about face with menacing groans, recognizing him as the greater threat.

Finally allowed some breathing room, Garuban took this opportunity to abandon his knife, and instead snatched up one of the defeated skeleton's warhammers, the previous owner's fleshless hand still wrapped around the handle. He lunged for his foes' turned backs with a furious shout. One swing took a skull right off its neck; a second swing crushed a pelvis into pieces, and the skeleton folded in two.

Garuban took a knee, starting to clutch at his left ankle -- but Vasha grabbed him with his good arm and yanked his brother behind one of the courtyard's supporting pillars. An arrow splashed off the mosaic where Garuban had been standing.

Lechies, having finally reached the others, also took cover behind a nearby pillar. She wondered at the stranger's light-hearted tone -- he almost sounded entertained by the battle.

She wondered a number of things about their disputable ally, really.

"We'll see about that," she replied, and her brow pinched, a magic sigil shining brilliantly in her palm.

When the next arrow flew and missed them, Lechies leaned away from the pillar and flung her hand out. A golden rope shot across the distance to the platform, forking in midair as it snaked over the stairs. One end caught the undead archer's wrist; the other looped around the shield-bearing champion's foot. Lechies made a fist, fingers closing around the arcane rope, and pulled.

The archer lurched forward and went tumbling down the stairs, losing bow and bone along the way. The champion, however, didn't budge, only raised its vine-strewn face and bellowed a challenge into the rain.

Then it yanked its foot back, the golden rope going even more taut, and this time Lechies was the one who toppled. Her shoulder knocked painfully against the pillar, spinning her partly around as she fell. Impact against the tiles knocked the breath out of her, and the rope disintegrated, golden motes floating away in the wind.

The champion began its descent, flanked on either side by the last two skeletal warriors.

 

[Zakarias]

Zakarias tutted his tongue and leaned toward the downed mage. His sword hand at his hip, the blade's gleaming point up and away from any threat. He wagged his dueling dagger at her with disappointment as he shook his head. His bells jingled softly with each change in direction.

When he spoke, his voice was like that of a tutor, unimpressed by their student. "Much too soon, my dear, much too rash," his eyes narrowed gleefully from behind his mask, and their silver burned bright in that most intimate dark. "But up, on your feet now," he invited her to stand, flicking his dagger upward. "I will draw their attention, and you..." he laughed, hot and low in his throat. "You bring that pain you pulled from the rain, not but a few heart beats ago."

The Skeletons shambled onward, as quick as their muscle-less legs could take them. Which wasn't very quick at all. They groaned out loud in the rain, as if they had been insulted by the lack of attention.

"Yes yes," Zakarias answered, hot with annoyance. "I know you are there, don't you worry." He raised his sword up, cut the air, once, twice, and set into his stance against them. "You, hunters," he called back, an the word dripped with mock and venom. "Fire a shot or two at the smaller ones, would you?" and with that, the red jester sprang forward, wind swept behind him to boost his agility.

The champion, still with some of its past instinct left in its bones, braced behind its shield, and held back as his peons shambled forward. One raised an axe and chopped straight down at the big red target, but struck nothing but air. The other turned with him, sword thrust out again and again as the masked man dipped and parried and turned the blows.

Bowstring twanged and an arrow cracked through the axe-warrior's head. "Yes!" Garuban exclaimed.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies turned over on the ground, groaning, thankfully still dry. Whoever had invented that waterproof charm truly deserved all the praise in the world.

Her shoulder pulsed with pain where it had met the pillar, but the greater injury was the stranger's delight at witnessing her mistake. Lechies kept a retort shut behind tightly pressed lips, rubbing her shoulder as she worked herself back to her feet.

'Pain pulled from the rain?' Ah.

"Will do." She nodded. "You be careful as well."

Instructions were thrown to Vasha and Garuban, and then the stranger pounced forth, a bold splash of red against the stone and mud. Lechies took a moment to admire his grace, darting like a fish between reeds, before she turned her eyes onto the hulking shield-bearer.

Lechies raised her arm, palm facing forward. The rain pouring off the eaves now flowed in front of her, swirling into a lance, freezing instantly with another ringing chime like crystal. She paused, waiting for an opening -- there! -- then heaved the projectile forward.

Sensing her attack, the champion hunched low, ducking behind its shield, and a terrific crunch echoed as the mass of jagged ice smashed into its defense. The great skeleton stumbled back but remained upright, chips of ice scattering at its feet. The shield dropped from its hold, along with half its arm, leaving the space past its left elbow empty. The undead still had its sword though, an elegantly curved thing despite its age and rust, and with this weapon clutched in its right hand, the champion moved for the stranger.

Vasha couldn't pull back a bowstring, not with his wounded arm, but he offered encouragement to his brother as Garuban shot off arrows as swiftly as he could. He'd yet to pick off their final adversary, but his eyes were bright with determination, fueled by his earlier success. The remaining skeleton looked something like a pincushion with arrows caught in its joints and ribcage.

 

[Zakarias]

Splish splash went the red horned jester, giddy as he tip toed and sprung in the muck and the rain. The object of the undead's ire, their blades and bulwarks pointed at him. But their bones were too clumsy, too slow to catch him, and he showed them his pledge as he thrust and thwacked and chipped away at them with small and ordinary attacks.

From behind he could feel the sweet swell of magick as it stirred, no, sucked, no... swirled about from whence he'd come. His eyes squinted with amusement. That's right, he thought, all too pleased to give them the turn as he skirt around the smaller warrior. The wind whipped around him. He thrust toward the champion turtled behind his moss-speckled shield. But it was little more than a feint. Misdirection. And the prestige would soon arrive.

Ice cracked and popped and rang out with the sound of the pouring rain. It struck forward, that great frigid spear, launched by the mage's magick. The champion turned to catch it against his shield and had its arm encased in ice and broken away.

"Yes! That's it!" Zakarias exclaimed with electric delight, his sword couched quickly beneath his off arm as he clapped at the meaty part of his dagger hand. A quick and manic round of applause. "Bravo, my dear, bravo!"

But the greater undead was in no mood for such frivolity. Its bones animated with a quickness not there before, an arm and shield lighter as it advanced toward the jester. Its eyeless sockets glowed an angry red.

Zakarais' eyes squeezed narrow, "Yes, right this way, cousin," he growled beneath his breath. "Let me end your deathless vigil."

The curved elven sword sliced through the rain in a shimmer of gold, and fat droplets splashed against its metal with a hiss. Zakarias stepped back, turned the sword away, bounced a half step further still, and cut at the arm, stabbed at the joints. But the shell of armor was too thick, too sturdy still, even when unearthed from the grave.

One last step back saw the red jester up against a wall, but there was no tension in his frame, no fear in the silver of his eyes. The greater undead groaned as it took a cutting step forward, wide and across. Wind surged, and a gust carried Zakarias around and away with a twirl.

The undead champion had its back turned to the mage.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Why on earth was he clapping?

Lechies didn't think she'd ever known someone to find so much joy in facing down a life-or-death situation. After almost a decade of navigating the myriad dangers that might fall into an adventurer's path, gaining that which was arguably the most valuable of worldly experience, Lechies no longer shied away from the prospect of violence, but nor did she purposely seek it out. And she certainly didn't find mortal peril fun. It was true enough that throughout her travels, she had met with a number of warriors who relished battle, but theirs was a sort of grim appreciation, finding satisfaction in honing their skills and glory in defeating a worthy opponent.

The stranger's glee at their unpleasant task of destroying these already-dead soldiers, these guardians of ancient ruins, just didn't sit right with Lechies. She strongly suspected he might be one of those mages, who in advancing their mastery of the arcane had unfortunately sacrificed a part of their sanity in the process.

Either way, it was without an ounce of fear or panic that he continued his deadly dance, luring the now one-armed skeleton up against the platform wall. And because he was not concerned, Lechies didn't worry for him. Despite the heavy blow she'd struck the undead, it had turned its back to her -- blind to whatever she threw at it next.

Her arm remained aloft, fingers stiff with power as she again called on the rain to obey. Droplets came together in a whirling mass, flattening and hardening into a more elegant shape this time -- not unlike the rusted steel which her target carried, a curved blade akin to a scimitar or a scythe. Lechies threw her hand down, and the frozen blade spun across the gap, rain spraying wildly off its surface.

It sliced through the root armor like sun-warm butter. The hellish light in the skeleton's eyes winked out, body folding backwards, spine destroyed, chunks of vertebrae clattering away.

Some feet behind Lechies, Garuban finally dealt his own enemy a killing blow. His final arrow smashed into an eye socket, the lesser skeleton hissing out a faint groan as it collapsed, a pile of harmless bones. Vasha clapped him on the back, letting out a relieved breath as he held his blood-soaked arm awkwardly against his side.

"There we go, brother! A fine shot, a fine shot." He hobbled out into the rain and hailed the stranger with his good arm. "You alright there, friend? Didn't get hurt?"

Lechies finally lowered her hand and leaned on her staff, gladly letting the tension fade from her frame now that the danger had passed. "He handled himself very well," she said. Which was true, no matter how much his strange antics troubled her. "Thank you for stepping in. I daresay we would not have fared half as well without your assistance. By what are you called?"

 

[Zakarias]

A Slice of ice and the break of bone crashed in the low roar of the rain. Root and ageless calcium come undone with one wild sling of spell, and the red Jester cackled as he hopped and flipped, hand over foot and foot over hand. out of the cruel crescent's path. Bells jingled and chimed quick and wild as he sprung up with a push and a twist of his hips and landed on his feet, straight as a post, sword and dagger in hand.

Behind his pale visage, painted and still, his lips spread wider still and his teeth bared sharp in the dark. "May you find rest, my kin" he said in a voice that rumbled low in his throat. Hot with hate not for those long dead. "Know that I will carry on your quest," he assured, softly and quietly as the world wept around him. He placed a hand, still holding his sword, against his chest in salute, the stinger blade up and away from him as he bent low and bowed in respect for those who had finally found rest. His red crown drooped, heavy with rain, and his bells tinkled bright.

The humans, in their harsh and ugly tones, called out to him, he assumed, though there were no friends to be found there in that temple ground. No, not for them. Still, he rose up and smiled sweet behind his facade. "Yes, quite alright, brave fellows, without plight and no need for flight" he intoned as he whirled his blades and sheathed them with a flourish and a click. "Ah, you ask my name, but do not give yours," he tutted his tongue and wagged a long finger at them in disapproval. "That is not very fair, now is it?" his voice seethed with playful malice. "But!" he exclaimed, high and proud as he thrust his finger up in the air. "I shall oblige thee, if only to set an example, and hope that we learn," and with a roll of the wrist he gave a slight bow, exaggerated by all the long bits of fabric that curled and furled and flopped upon his motley. His bells chimed. "You may call me Zakarias, no more no less," he rose, tall and loomed in the rain. "If you will excuse me," he said and walked over to the entrance from whence he had come. Found his lyre and picked it up.

"I heard news of your quest, adventurers'," he said as he closed his eyes and struck a chord across his instrument. Sweet in its melancholy sorrow. "Come to tame the wilds of the woods, that sprung to life," he said, and his laugh lurked beneath each breath His fingers plucked across the strings, steady as they worked a tune that turned warm with a fragile confidence. "And I, brave souls, have come to see your quest through," he played, and the rain continued to pour upon them.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies frowned at his wagging finger, unhappy with the barb that came with his name. But Vasha just laughed, clearly delighted by the man(?)'s theatrics.

"Well met, Zakarias! I'm Vasha. That there's my brother, Garuban." He tilted his head in Lechies's direction. "And last but not least, Lady Lechies."

Garuban began to limp his way over as well, plucking arrows from the bodies of their fallen foes where they could still be salvaged. "Aye, well met. Yours was the tune I heard, then." He smiled at the lyre in Zakarias's hands. "You're some kind of bard, I take it?"

"And a skilled mage, too," Lechies said. Her brief look of consternation had faded into one of quiet admiration for Zakarias's performance during their battle. To him, she added, "We've yet to determine the cause of Tathholm's recent troubles, but the anomaly is surely magical in nature. I, for one, would welcome another mage's help." She smiled, a peace offering.

With the danger momentarily passed, Lechies finally relinquished the Stoneskin charm, the hunters' skin returning to their natural tan hues. She beckoned them over so she could see to their hurts. Not for the first time, Lechies regretted her lack of talent for healing magicks, but was glad she'd had the foresight to restock her supply of phoenix spit before leaving Fal'Addas. She applied a splash of the golden, smoky-smelling concoction onto bandages for Vasha's torn arm, and instructed Garuban to rub a palmful into his sprained ankle.

Vasha thanked her with a grateful nod, giving his arm a test stretch. "Still don't think I can draw my bow, but I should be able to hold a sword, at least."

Garuban danced from one foot to the other, pleased to find no more pain. He shoved his retrieved arrows back into the quiver at his hip. "Leave the long range to me then, brother."

"Just be careful, please," Lechies said, amused. "I worry about the state of your missing mage; let's make sure there's still medicine for her, should she require it."

"Aye, lady wizard. Here, I'll take point." Vasha tapped his longsword against his shoulder. "Where to now?"

Lechies paused a moment to consider the flow of foreign magic around them. It swirled through the ancient passageways like tributaries feeding into a stream, and one in particular tugged at her senses, the largest of them, its entrance directly opposite where they had come into the courtyard. She pointed into the depths of that passage, recalling her werelight, and the two hunters fell into formation at their group's front and back.

Ivy crept through the stone here, too, and the stale air of the ruins crackled with expectant energy. Lechies eyed the ivy warily, wondering when the forest would next exercise its wrath against them, but for now the threads of green remained inert and harmless. Beneath the ivy, the walls were carved with depictions of animals and flora, their details still intricate and beautiful, though time had stolen any color from their surfaces.

As they continued onward into the shadows, Lechies ran a thoughtful hand over the carvings. Magic tingled at her fingers even through the leather of her ward-woven gloves.

"I wonder who built this place. There was script by the broken statue back there that appeared to be elven..." She cast Zakarias a sidelong glance, her eyes lit with genuine curiosity. "Know you any tales or history, Mister Bard?"

 

[Zakarias]

On he played as they gave their names. One by one, they let him know those tones of tongue that did bind them. "Vasha," he nodded, his lyre chord strong, "Garuban," the lyre chord swift, "and Lady Lechies," the lyre chord curled, sweet and electric with the charge of something more. No magick, no, not of the mortal kind. But fae in its trickery. On his diddy went, a pattern that did repeat. He nodded to them, and his eyes showed his pleasure through dark slits. "Well met," he returned, and they would feel the spring of energy course through them.

New life, green and strong, to do away with the tired and aches.

He let his strings rise and run with the wind's howl. "A performer, to be sure," he let on to the curious brother, "A stringer of songs, and a mummer of farce," he bobbed his head left then right, and his bells jingled and rang. "It was indeed my song you heard, as it is my song you hear," his strings came soft, gentle , as the winds died down and the rains went on weeping.

Lady Lechies gave him a smile, and to this he smiled back, his eyes narrowed happy as a cat come to see a bauble in light. "You praise me, how kind, how thoughtful, yes, my wits, my knowledge, and all my gifts shall set to see this anomaly conclude,"

Come the interlude, come the healing and the bandaging, Zakaraius played on his spring song, played on his gift to those who would venture further into this place, so long dead and forgotten. And as the brothers, sprained and battered were tended to, the Jester in Red walked and bounced and spun about the courtyard, his song ever present as he looked at glyphs and carvings, and old and ancient works of art and script upon the walls.

Come the question, he gave his lyre a flourish, a string of notes that played on intrigue and mystery. And in those eyes of silver, so gleeful and mad, there was a hint of sobreity. "History?" he repeated, and his song mimicked the rain. "Not often do I hear such questions asked," and his voice was full, and deep, and sincere. No high strung lilt of the entertainer, but honest in its pain filled tenderness. "There is history, yes, of this place and more, if you would care to hear," calmly, he strode to the statue, and sat at its feet, and his playing stopped, his fingers twist the knobs of his instrument, and without its sound he shared as he tuned,

There in the woods, ancient and old, there was the keep of Karikold,
Where prince Thurin and Murin did vie
For sweet lady Marowin's eye.

Flowers and trees, these things she loved most,
Life green and rampant, she always kept close
Wild her heart, and wilder her host

For Marowin lay with the wolves of Adilae
At the edge of the woods
where timeless met fire
and bark broke to steel.

Hark sweet Marowin, said Thurin
Give me your heart and I shall make for you
a jewel, so pure and true
all manner of tree, shrub, and tangle
will run wild in view

Marowin smiled, and put her hand to Thurin's fair cheek
Sweet Thurin, younger of two,
No stone can bring such a dream through,
this world is harsh and cruel,
and you so sweet,

Zakarias strummed his lyre, across the full width, high to low, he plucked at the strings again, and they rang brighter still. He laughed, bitterly. "The story is long," he stood and looked down at the band of mortals, his silver eyes wild again. "Should we not get going? Who knows what has happened to that mage still lost."

 

[Lechies Delrio]

The music stopped, and in its absence the air seemed suddenly heavy in her lungs. The constant playfulness faded too from his voice. Lechies went still, as did the two Tathholme hunters, all eyes settling onto Zakarias with respectful attention as he wove his story.

A tale of love, a common enough theme, though Lechies couldn't say she'd heard many tales where the rooting intimate relationship was between woman and wolf. She wondered what would be the ultimate outcome of such a scenario. The beasts put to jealous blade, perhaps, or the princes devoured, their hearts forever unrequited.

Whatever the ending, she would not hear it today. The music returned, Zakarias laughed, and the ringing of that melodious sound had Lechies stir, sluggish, as if finally rising after having sat in one place for too long.

She smiled. "Of course. Perhaps we can have the pleasure of hearing the rest after we've finished here."

"Aye, a long story's best told around a roaring fire, with a bowlful of hot stew." Garuban looked wistful at the thought. He looked around for his brother, and found Vasha standing at the bend of the corridor, leaned slightly forward. "What is it, brother?"

"Running water. I can hear it," Vasha replied. He waved the group over with the hand that wasn't holding his longsword. "And a slight draft. I think there might be an opening up ahead."

The party continued onward, and found his guess to be true when the corridor spat them out into a wide room. A gaping hole in the ceiling allowed the storm to fall down into an equally sizable hole in the room's floor. Moss and grass and vines flowed outward from the two mirrored wounds, nature eager to reclaim that which men had abandoned and forgotten.

Lechies shuffled to the hole's edge, aiming the werelight into its depths. She couldn't make out the bottom; her light bounced off a layer of water, its surface set to dancing by the rain. But there were vines descending into the pit, convenient for their hands and feet. Garuban declared them sturdy enough and climbed down for a test, where he found that the water was only about ankle deep.

"It's safe," he called up. "And there's another hallway over here. Should we take a look?"

Lechies queried her senses. The foreign magic she had been following was stronger than ever, closer than ever, and it coursed downward as surely as the water poured from the sky into this pit. Whatever they were looking for, it waited below.

"Yes, let's."

 

[Zakarias]

Eyes of silver narrowed, dagger thin with amusement. With pleasure. They had listened to his tale. Told him their name. And though one among them was a learned mage, always a danger those pesky wizards and mages, she seemed charmed enough. Lechies, Vasha, and Garuban. The jester thought as he watched them mill about and prattle on about where to go.

The sound of water, the promise to move, while they filed down the way, he plucked his strings, sweet and light, and let them feel the ease that came with such music. A bit of magic charm to taste, to sample, as the ley magick surged beneath them. Would she notice? Would she mention? He watched her, careful and curious as a low-down cat who stood upon their perch, passive as they surveyed. Waited. For any cause to pounce and spring. For any opportunity to creep closer.

Through the hole they went, magic cast orange glow and golden light down across the dark, and Zakarais' eyes could see further still than what the light did show. Not that he would let them know. On they walked, and deeper down they would go, while vine and root grew thicker still and magic swelled stronger still.

When they arrived at the chasm, Zakarais smiled wide behind his mask, and a laugh, low and hot, bubbled up from his throat, like the first rolls of water as it simmered. "My, what deep dark secrets there in lie," he slung his lyre over his shoulder, and looked at the vines that did creep down along the walls of that ancient place.

One brother, then the other, then the little lady mage. Zakarias grinned wide from the shadows of his mask, his eyes, however, could not hide how pleased he was. "After you," he invited with a flourish of the wrist, and he bent at the waist and motioned down at the vines.

As all the rain fell and all the water trickled and poured down the walls, the thunder was distant now, though the storm's howl still sounded with rogue gusts of wind. "Careful," he called down, too happy, too bright. "It is easy to slip," and with that he leapt off the ledge, with a laugh, tumbling and twirling through the air like an acrobat. And before disaster struck, he swept his arms down like great wings, a gust lifted him up and he landed, gentle as a leaf on the wind.

Garuban stared wide eyed, and Vasha smiled, even clapped some. "That was some landing!" he said, bright eyed behind the light of the were-light.

Zakarias bowed, once, twice, and straightened up tall. "Thank you," he said, purring pleased. "But it looks as if we might have a guest," he bowed his head toward the dark mouth of the tunnel they stood before.

They could not see it, not with their human eyes, but his eyes of fae and elf cut through the shadow and did see a construct. All tangle and root and vine, larger than the warriors they faced before by much, and with a head that was fungal and wide brimmed.

As it grew closer, the ground did shake with each of its steps. It was bipedal, and in a shape vaguely human. It produced a sound, a low rumble and groan, like trees bending in the wind, but it did not move to attack, or posture to threat. eyeless, it stood before them, painted by the were-light, and a feint green glow thrumming beneath its spore-cap head.

Vasha gave a shout and drew his sword, and Garuban fumbled for his bow, knocking a shaky arrow.

Zakarias stood tall and laughed a little behind his mask. "You don't see that every day,"

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Lechies was slowest in her descent, wary of losing her grip on the rain-slick vines, her staff cradled awkwardly in the crook of her elbow. There came a call of "Careful" from above; she glanced up and received an eyeful of stinging rain for her trouble. Lechies blinked furiously as Zakarias flew past with his usual tinkling, bell-like laugh.

She couldn't be angry, though. The man's mastery of wind magicks was impressive, and his antics clearly delighted the two hunters. After all their village had suffered these past few days, it was good to see genuine smiles on their faces.

A noisy splash announced her arrival, Lechies once again glad for her waterproofing charm. Though the water lapped at her ankles, her socks remained warm and dry inside her boots, and the wetness found no purchase on the hem of her cloak. Still, she was careful not to slip as she turned left and right, taking stock of their new surroundings by the dim glow of her werelight. The shadows stretched long, for what little light the storm allowed them had difficulty reaching this far down.

Her werelight found the mouth of a hallway just as Zakarias mentioned, with foreboding timing, a guest. Lechies could not tell from his tone what kind of danger they were in.

Whatever it was, she did not recognize its kind. It appeared to be a large... mushroom, perhaps a golem tasked with defending these ruins from trespassers as the skeletons had, or maybe the latest manifestation of the same greenwrath that had inspired the forest itself to attack people. Though, she didn't sense malice in its footfalls, and there was an almost rhythmic pulse to the green glow against its face.

The two hunters prepared to fight, Zakarias laughed, and Lechies wondered.

"Wait," she said, catching Garuban's arm as he tried to draw his bow.

There was the briefest flicker of offense on the hunter's face beneath his fear. "'Wait'? We'll have a helluva time scrambling back to the upper floor if that thing attacks! We have to make our stand here!"

But Lechies shook her head. "But it hasn't attacked. Don't you find that strange? There's something different about this being... We may be able to speak with it. Stay your weapons for the moment, and let me try."

Garuban hesitated, then lowered his bow. Vasha looked equally unhappy, the sword in his grip trembling with tension, but allowed Lechies to walk ahead of him just the same. As she passed Zakarias, she shot the bard a quick glance, lips pressed tightly together as if to say "wish me luck".

And then she was before the mushroom-like being. So great was its height that she had to crane her neck to see its face -- or what little face there was to see. No eyes, only creases and ridges along the fungus flesh that suggested a nose or mouth. She quickly, mentally measured the distance between them, decided it was enough that she could escape if it suddenly lunged.

She straightened her spine then. Staff held upright, her other hand loose and harmless at her side.

"Are you a guardian of this place? Please forgive us our trespass, and forgive us for fighting through these halls; we only acted in self-defense. As for why we've come: some foul magick has turned the forest hostile against its inhabitants, and its source was traced here. We mean to seal it, or destroy it, or whatever we must to stop it, and return peace to these lands."

Lechies gestured at the darkness of the hallway behind the mushroom creature. Her eyes stayed locked on that featureless face, all her apprehension hidden behind a polite mask of neutrality. "May we pass?"

 

[Zakarias]

Tall loomed the mushroom giant as it stood before the party, its eyeless face stared down at them as it swayed beneath its own weight, and its spore cap pulsed brightly as the little particles of green dust went on, dissipating through the air of that deep dark place.

"Foul magick," it did not say, but the words vibrated through the air, the cloud of glowing particles that drifted and swirled seemed to shake with the creature's voice. "Yes," it agreed, the word long and powerful as the roots of trees and the tendrils of plants. "A magick most old, most decayed," The mushroom sentient turned toward the dark passage. "There was another who came," he went on, the light about his spore cap aglow with each strange intonation of his speech. "Who sought to quell Thurin's green wrath," It raised a long finger and pointed it at the dark. "Through the tunnel, and past the great door which seals the sacred chamber,"

Zakarias clicked his teeth. "And you just let them by?" his voice came hot, bubbling with a bitter doubt.

Slow and lumbering, the mushroom giant turned back toward the party, and it settled with the last boom of its trunkish feet. "Yes," they said simply. "I can take you there, as I had the other."

A laugh sparked out from Zakarias' mouth, like embers that leapt from a flame. "Why? Did you not hear? or destroy it," he huffed. "We are to believe you will just allow this to happen?"

There was a long pregnant pause between them, and the glowing spores continued to faintly pulse in the air. "Believe or not, it matters little to me." The mushroom sentient turned and lumbered on toward the dark.

Zakarias glared at its lumbering shape, and without a word, he followed after it.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

The creature's response came not from a mouth or throat, but seemingly from every corner of the dark, damp room, to settle inside their very minds. Vasha and Garuban made noises of discomfort from behind Lechies, but by their lack of movement she assumed they were still heeding her request to stay their weapons.

'Thurin.' The name rang with the irritating echo of something vaguely familiar. Hadn't Zakarias mentioned-

The masked bard's voice slid past her, sharp as steel and bitter as oversteeped tea. Lechies could not help shooting him a quick sideways glance. This was the first time she'd heard him take such a tone; even when they had faced the undead sentinels above, he'd acted as if the fight for their lives was no more than a theater play, an occasion to frolic and joke. What was the reason for his -- almost displeasure now?

What concern was his if this mushroom being graciously allowed their party to resolve the greenwrath as they saw fit?

"'Another'," parroted Garuban, his voice weak with terror and wonder. "Somebody else came by? Do you think it was Cadence?"

"Only one way to find out," Vasha replied. He had the look of a man who'd rather not be following a fungal giant into the dark, but accepted that he had no say in the matter. "Stay alert, Lady Lechies."

"Always." She smiled. "Thank you for trusting me."

The tunnel was not very long. Soon, another glow emerged from the shadows, this one a brilliant blue light, forming a sheet of scales from ceiling to flooded floor, as if a layer of armor over the ornate set of stone double doors behind it. The group slowed as they approached, and the mushroom lifted its great head to regard the barrier.

"Set by the one who came before," he said. "It seems they believed further protection was needed."

Garuban prodded at its surface with the tip of an arrow and found it as unyielding as the rock all around them. "So, what now? How do we get through?"

Lechies stepped forth and lifted her hand. A purple rune glowed at the tip of her gloved finger. "We knock."

She tapped the barrier once, twice, thrice, each touch leaving a rune in its place. The air hummed with magic. The scales flickered, straining to hold onto their form even as their lines began to break apart -- and then, with a soft sound like chiming glass, the ward and its blue light melted away.

Lechies nodded at the two hunters. Vasha put his shoulder to one door, Garuban the other. As one, they pushed.

Despite the opulence of the doors, the chamber beyond was somewhat smaller than Lechies had expected, and on the narrow side, suggesting to her that it served more as a vault than a ritual chamber. In the room's center sat a stone plinth about chest-high, and on top of it lay a staff wrought from what looked like a tree root. Cradled in the staff's head was a large gem, perfectly round, and green as any forest. Around the plinth glowed a ring of golden runes, crackling with energy.

The foreign magic Lechies had sensed. It was here, coming from that jewel.

Before she could get any closer, a figure rushed forth from the other end of the room. It was a young woman slightly taller than Lechies, dressed in the loose garb of a mage, brown hair pulled back in a messy bun. A threatening blue light flared from the tip of the wooden wand in her fist.

"Who broke my ward?! What do you want-" Her startled, angry look faded as she caught sight of Vasha and Garuban leaning on the doors. "Wait. You're from the village?"

Vasha beamed. "Cadence! Thank the gods you're alive! When you didn't come back, we thought you got done in by the trees. Good thing Jacobus called for help."

He gestured at Lechies and Zakarias, grinning proudly, but Cadence's brow remained pinched. "Are you... a rescue party? Because I don't need one. What I need," she pointed her wand sharply at the plinth with the staff and runes, "is a way to seal the magick leaking from this elven artifact. You think trees attacking people now is bad? If this keeps on, soon the trees will be pulling themselves out of the earth and chasing us down like prey." Her wand lashed back towards them, agitated, dark circles under Cadence's eyes, the woman swaying with exhaustion. "But so far, all I've been able to do is slow down its influence, and I don't know how much longer even that will last."

"Well, as fellow mages, we might be able to help with that." Lechies looked to Zakarias, trying to glean his thoughts behind that mask. "Zakarias, you know something about this artifact of Thurin, yes? Have you any insight?"

 

[Zakarias]

Zakarias' eyes took on a dangerous gleam. The silver of knife points drawn at midnight. "Insight," he parroted, amused by the word. "Yes, plenty and more," the words came from his mouth like grease-heavy smoke that fell from tallow and wick that did burn away in some dark corner. "This is an elven place," he strode, and his horns did bounce and his bells did jingle with each step. "A temple, hallowed ground bound to the lines of ley that connect all the world," he stepped toward Cadence with a calm stride.

Tink, Tank, Ting.

The mage stiffened her grip around her wand, its point reflexsively aimed at the red Jester as he did approach.

Tink, Tank, Ting.

Her eyes flicked to Garuban and Vasha in turn, then they fell upon Lechies. They had all arrived here together. She looked last upon the mushroom giant, who had so willingly guided her here. Her shoulders settled some as she took in a deep breath. "Yes, I am aware...Zakarias," she let out. "Can you help?"

The masked jester stopped before the mage who stood so postured before the gleaming green jewel that pulsed ever so and gleamed with raw magic that seemed to pour from it in his fae eyes.

Cadence growled and stepped back with a jab of her wand. "Well?!" She demanded.

"I can help," he said, warm as winds before a storm. "If you let me, Cadence," the utterence of name came with the spark of no mortal magic, but of charm most fae.

Tired and weary as she was, Cadence hardly noticed the pink feeling that swelled inside her. She grumbled, and let Zakarias pass.

Tink, Tank, Ting.

"Sacrifice, my dear companions," he said as he approached the staff. His right hand pulled his dagger from its sheath, spun it in his palm as he brought it up and placed the blade atop the open palm of his left. "Blood and sacrifice is all that can quell Thurin's Green Wrath, for such was the price paid by his love, Marrowin, and his brother, Murin," he pressed the blade against his gloved palm, the leather popped and so too did his skin as he ran its edge across his flesh. Ichor, brighter, redder, like roses in bloom and scarlets petals welled out from the fresh wound and his eyes were wide with excitement. It ran down his wrist, dripped to the floor and seamed to sizzle, seamed to spark and smoke. He reached out and grabbed the staff and the green jewel glowed bright. Burned a blinding white that filled the room.

A moment, then the light was gone. Zakarias stood at the plinth, staff in one hand, dagger in the other. The gem shimmered, verdant and full of life. The mushroom giant collapsed. The jester turned toward the party, eyes narrowed and pleased. "You see?" he said, so simply.

Zakarias laughed, loud and with glee. And he went on laughing. Mad as his blood trickled down the twist and tangle of the root staff. His whole frame arched back and his arms trembled as the sound of him, like a great gale through the trees, filled that narrow chamber.

The mushroom giant rose again, and its feint green glow burned an electric blue. The same electric blue that now burned bright upon the jewel of Zakarias crown.

Without warning, the giant struck out at the nearest member of the party.

"You see?!" Zakraias called out once more. "Blood and sacrifice!"

 

[Lechies Delrio]

As heavy and stifling was the magic that poured from Thurin's staff, Lechies did not notice anything strange pass between Zakarias and Cadence.

But when he put his dagger to his palm...

Blood magic. Always potent, spells from that school. They had to be, fueled by the vigorous liquid that ran hot through living beings, brimming with the essence of life itself. Lechies had never dabbled in such magicks, fearing side effects from the unique properties of her own blood, but she knew spells powered by blood were never called upon lightly.

Flesh split, and crimson welled.

A frantic kind of anxiety speared down her spine, heart pounding with the force of army drums. Primitive instinct pushed electricity through all her limbs. urging her to act, now, stop him, stop him before he took the staff--

The light made her flinch, and banished the urgency from her body, leaving cold dread in its place.

For a moment, the only sound to break the chamber's stunned silence was Zakarias's laughter.

Then the fungal giant moved, and Garuban dropped, his bulk hitting the water with a loud splash. Vasha barely had time to scream out his concern before the mushroom lunged again. Its massive fist crashed not against the hunter's skull, though, but against a luminescent shield of blue scale --an arcane ward erected in haste. Cadence's face was stiff with the strain of such expeditious spellwork, wand arm aloft and trembling.

Lechies's reaction was not quite so swift, still recovering from the shock of Zakarias's betrayal, but as the glass-chime note of Cadence's defense echoed through the room, she spun on Zakarias and flung out her staff in his direction. Golden light erupted from its tip, a length of shining rope seeking to snare Thurin's artifact and wrest it from the mad bard's grip.

 

[Zakarias]

Wide were his eyes, and bright did they burn, silver as distant stars as they watched Garuban smack against the water. He laughed and he clapped and he watched as the giant mushroom swung for the next one. A flash of blue, a ripple of magic. Zakarias frowned depply behind his mask, and his eyes narrowed thin as cat claws.

"No," he said flatly. "No, no, that won't do," he flicked his dagger-point at the mage, Cadence, and then with an elegant whirl of the wrist, like some cook whisking egg whites to make a confection, he scrambled her senses.

Come the golden chord, whip quick, it wrapped itself about the length of the magical staff and tried to pull it away. Zakarias grinned, wide and with bared teeth, and he flexed his strength against the pull until the ethereal chord was dissipated.

Cadence, whose eyes glowed pink and bright, now stood against Lechies, her sharp wand pointed at her fellow mage.

Zakarias bounced and laughed and flung his dagger at Lechies. For good measure of course, and drew his rapier in a smooth motion. "Oh, dear Lechies," he called out, and poured some of his magic into his voice, with the hopes of charming her as well. "I appreciate your curiosity, trust that I do!"

The fungal giant took a lurching step back, seemed to measure the distance between itself and the two humans it fought. It was almost as if it stopped to think.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

When her rope snaked around her target, Lechies dared to hope that she might end this fight swiftly, before anyone else was hurt. But scarcely had she tried for one good tug before outside influence knifed into her spell, breaking it apart from the weakest points in its weave, much like she had done to the first barrier outside the chamber.

Lechies swallowed down her shock and looked past Zakarias, finding Cadence with a strange pink light within her eyes.

Her stomach dropped; she had a fair idea what it was -- a charm. But when? She hadn't even noticed-

She did notice the violent motion of Zakarias's arm, though, and just barely flung herself out of the dagger's path. The blade impacted off the stone behind her, and as Lechies scrambled to a stop, something fluttered through the air, briefly turning her vision pale and washed out, like trying to see the outdoors through a clouded window. She faltered; she had the impression of a large hand trying to close its fist shut around her mind.

Lechies ducked her head with gritted teeth. Again her heart pounded, the tips of her fingers tingling with urgency. She shook her head sharply; batted away that mental hand with her own, and the presence lifted.

Cadence, still caught in Zakarias's spell, drew her arm back, lips parted, preparing to do worse than dispel Lechies' rope. Lechies was faster this time, and threw out her hand, calling upon the water flooding the chamber to heed her orders. A spear of water shot out of the floor, freezing in mid-flight as it splashed against Cadence's front. Her arm was locked in place by a heavy cluster of ice, wand angled too awkwardly to aim.

As Cadence's shield went down, her focus broken, Vasha took advantage of the fungal giant's seeming distraction to launch a vengeful counterattack. The longsword sliced upward, seeking to separate the fist that had downed his brother from the rest of the creature.

 

[Zakarias]

Pleased by the performance, Zakarias slowly stepped toward the fray, his bells jingled and jangled with each long stride. He raised his rapier up and pointed its point at the mage. A thrust, a second, a third, each shot jets of magicked wind toward the defiant Lechies.

How quick, she was. How clever. But the biggest how that occupied the jester's mind was the how she had resisted his pull. A mere mortal she was. From what he could tell. Human as far as his fae blooded eyes could see.

Ice snapped and froze and crackled around Cadence, still holding her in a bind as she struggled to pull herself free. "Hmph," Zakarias sounded, unimpressed by the wand wielder's dance. He raised his rapier blade up, and cut the air with a silver twift, diagonal did the narrow blade blur and a sharp gale of wind lashed out and shattered the ice binding.

Cadence, flexed her hand, and looked back at Zakarias, saw Lechies there before her. "Thank you," she said in her own voice with a firm nod. And Zakarias nodded in return.

"We can't let them have it," Zakarias said, dire and determined in Cadence's ear, where she did hear the voice of Lechies, and where her eyes did see the copper haired mage too.

Cadence nodded, reminded of the stakes, and set her eyes on the true Lechies, who she saw as the red Jester. Both Villagers were dead in her eyes, and a dread skeleton fought back against the mushroom giant. She cut with her wand, as a magic spell fired from her lips, a runic seal glowed hot white beneath Lechies, and only seemed to grow brighter and hotter.

Vasha's savage upswing cut deep into the fungus' arm, nearly cleaved it clean off, but its limb was stout, and the material it was made from was wood like and tough enough to have the sword get stuck in the mushroom flesh. When it pulled its arm up, Vasha tried to fight to pull his sword out, but felt its strength pull him up.

The glow about the mushroom cap flickered. Blue to green, back to blue.

 

[Lechies Delrio]

Another burst of motion came from Zakarias's position. Lechies's attention snapped back to the red bard, legs pumping to push her clear of his attack. But wind was harder to see than the dagger, harder to map their trajectory and avoid.

The first she cleared just barely, a ball of air tunneling past her close enough to ruffle the edge of her cloak. The second struck her in the shoulder, spinning her partly around with a gasp. Her momentum lost, the final gust impacted Lechies square in the stomach, throwing her off her feet. She landed noisily in the water.

Her spine ached. Her stomach ached more. Lechies coughed badly, careful not to get the freezing floodwater in her mouth as she rolled onto her hands and knees. Somewhere behind her, Vasha shouted, and his voice was full of fear for himself and his brother. It seemed he fared no better against his own opponent.

Ahead, ice crunched and shattered. Lechies lifted her head to the troubling sight of Cadence freed from her frozen bindings. Despair rose in her throat. One ally turned coat, another under his magicked thrall, the third knocked unconscious--what was she to do against such odds? She, who was no warrior in the first place, who could not strike a lethal blow but could only, merely, keep their foes contained?

As her mind worked to find a solution, the waters beneath her glowed white, their previous cold sting suddenly alarmingly warm. Lechies jerked to her feet, doing her best to ignore her body's protests, and dodged sideways as Cadence's magick activated with a roar. A pillar of fire shot towards the ceiling, steam clouds rolling outward. Lechies stumbled away, tears in her eyes, her hand red and blistered past a singed sleeve.

She could not keep this up. But what choice did she have but to try?

As she steadied her stance, Lechies swung her other, uninjured arm towards Zakarias and Cadence, the tip of her staff lighting golden once more. Two arcane missiles forked from her position, orbs of concussive force flying for the pair of mages.

Meanwhile, Vasha marked his sword a lost cause, and let go of it lest the mushroom giant pull him up, too. The hunter backed away, his final weapon the hunting dagger he yanked from his belt, for all the good four inches of ordinary steel might do. He threw pleading looks in Cadence's direction.

"Cadence! Snap out of it! It's us!"