Quest Loot Runners 2: Grangomelle's Dark-er Place

[Eryn Pere]

Eryn could only watch as Willis fought those monsters. She really hadn't seen anything like those tentacled freaks, but at this point she wasn't in shock or in awe... What she experienced seemed to drain her of her wonder at the monsters and supernatural things of the world.
She felt extremely sorry for herself... her scrape with death making her realize how useless she was. She couldn't swing a sword, draw a bow, stab with a dagger, punch with her fists... Anything... In this world what use is it to be able to clean a table, prepare food, or bed a man if you can't stand and fight alongside that man... To be cherished, protected, kept safe... She felt like a little princess, and now she could see how pathetic a life that is.

But she couldn't see what she could do to change her lot in life... Only good for serving drinks and whoring herself out for coin... Sure, she swore off the whoring to be with Willis... But even him, she could imagine him only seeing her as a good woman to warm his bed... What could she do to change? to show everyone... To show Willis that she is his equal...

She thought all of this with a straight face. Willis had the upper hand over the beasts, but there was another threat coming... Would just the two of them be able to withstand something worse than these monsters?
She clenched and grabbed two fistfuls of her skirt. Pathetic.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

EAST​

Mischa opened her eyes again. And her whole body gave a start.

The light in the armory had grown dimmer, the meager scraps of it having shifting again. An intense soreness and dull aching throughout her body. But with considerable effort she managed to move her head. Leveled it to look straight ahead. Slow, calm breathing now. She tried to stand. A snap of pain and a buckling of her legs, both trembling and giving out the moment she moved weight onto them.

She felt it in the pit of her stomach. A tiny, gnawing hunger. She hadn't felt hungry in a couple days. The onset of starvation. But now it was as if her stomach was making a final, desperate plea.

Mischa looked to her right. To the dead Shriekers. She groaned in disgust. But she had no choice. After the fight club in Elbion, she had a difficult time finding more menial work. When the Great Holy One sent her the vision, she'd barely enough city-dweller coin to purchase a meal for that day. And so she had set out with no supplies whatsoever, like a shaman on a spiritual journey. Here she would have to eat if she was to make it to the end.

She could not stand, no. But she could crawl. Not on her hand and knees, even that she could not bear, but doggedly dragging herself across the length of the armory floor toward the dead creatures. A process slow. Painstaking.

Reaching one of the corpses she saw her severed right arm on the floor then. The jagged bones sticking out from the lower vambrace. The plate armor was still intact, having protected most of her arm. Was it even possible for a healer to help her? She did not know. Surely it would take powerful magic to mend such a grievous injury. What if it was already too late? Still, she would take her arm with her. She would have to try.

Mischa hoisted her body up and halfway onto the corpse of one of the partially burned Shriekers. The smell unpleasant. She pinched her nose and sunk her teeth into the raw, dead flesh of the creature's leg.

She swallowed. A coughing. A heaving of her shoulders. Her body perched between violent rejection of the meat and reluctant acceptance. But she did not vomit. This thing was not like the plump, delicious fish of the Drawa River. But it would have to do. A small fortune, that she knew not to eat too much too quickly.

And there she lay in the dark armory.

Taking small bites.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

EAST​

"Your tusks are fully grown," Father said.

Mischa reached up. Touched her small tusks with no lack of uncertainty. "But..." A quiet, disappointed gasp. "Are they?"

"Such is the word of the shamans." Father glanced toward the setting sun. The vast grasslands around the camp of Dm'rohk tribe. "And you have lived for sixteen summers, Mischa. They will not grow much more."

A pause.

And he put a large hand on her tiny shoulder. "The time has come."

Umrogks. Ritual combats with her fellow tribesorcs. Mischa looked up to her father. Said, "I know."

His gaze still out to the reddening sky. And at last he said, "I wish only what is best for you, Mischa."

A breath. Taken deeply. Resolute, she said, "I will not hide from this. I will participate. It is tradition, father."

A long silence.

And Father said, "I know."

And they watched together as the red drained from the sky and the night and the stars came.

* * * * *​

Mischa opened her eyes yet again.

She pushed herself off of the corpse of the Shrieker. Sat up straight. Glanced around the silent armory. The waters of the ocean still held at bay by unseen magic. The Lightbringer on the floor. She clenched her teeth and tried to stand and with some effort she found her feet and walked carefully over to the sword and picked it up and again the presence of the Great Holy One she felt in the back of her mind. Watching.

Now what? She still needed to go east, but...how could she even make it through the water? Whether she chose the crack in the wall and ceiling she had come into the armory through or if she decided to go through the armory door itself, both paths seemed uncertain. There was no telling the length she would have to swim before the next pocket of air. If there even was another pocket of air.

But she could not stay. She had to go east. To find what was behind the fire, as the vision instructed.

She thought. Eyes drifting down to her plate armor. It had saved her during the Shrieker attack, yes, but it had also almost killed her as she swam to get to the armory. To her dismay, she knew that she would have discard her armor; the weight was too punishing in the water.

If the creatures came again in overwhelming force, then she would have to die well. A death far more befitting an orc than drowning. Yes, removing her armor was the best option.

So Mischa set down the Lightbringer on the floor again and went about painstaking removing each piece of her armor with one hand. Perhaps it would be lost here, if she had no way to retrieve it. The remnants of Marcie left abandoned in another Sunken Tomb.

Off with the pauldron of her right shoulder. The upper vambrace. The cuirass and plackart. The cuisses and greaves and sabatons. Her left arm remained armored, pauldron and upper and lower vambrace and gauntlet all. There was nothing she could do about it. Just that armor and her arming doublet and pants and leather shoes. Even her shield would have to be left behind.

Mischa bent down and picked up the Lightbringer with her only hand and looked to the armory doorway. The wall of water through it and the obscure darkness beyond.

She took a step toward it.

And something came through. A Shrieker. The creature scrambling fast. Running in fear.

A weapon burst out from the wall of water and hit the creature's head and slammed it against the nearby wall. Its skull vanished in a sudden spray of gore, its body tumbling to the ground.

The wielder of the weapon stepped out from the water and into the armory. A massive orc. Holding the mace in both hands. Wearing only boots, pants, and chestwraps. Fresh scratches and gashes and scars on his body. No hair on his head nor his face. Piercing green eyes.

The orc looked right at her. A visage of rage and hatred.

"Mischa Ven'rohk. Daughter of Vengtokh Ven'rohk."

And the head of the mace in the orc's hands exploded into searing flames.

 

[Smiling One]

Willis thought about using one of his homemade magical grenades on the Krakal. They had skin as thick as armor making it difficult to penetrate. Besides Eryn was here watching the battle from behind as Willis dodged a tentacle attack he sighed. As soon as they left Little Portshaw, Willis told himself that he was going teach Eryn how to defend herself. The young woman was traumatized and defenseless and the young man can't be there for her all the time no matter much he wanted it.

"If anything," Willis said doing a vertical cut on one of the Krakal's tentacles causing it to scream and fall on to the floor writhing in pain. "Eryn can feel more confident. She always wanted to help me be with me when I travel."

More than anything, Willis wanted Eryn Pere to feel safe and it would make more sense if she was armed and ready to fight if necessary. "Hopefully not as a Monster Slayer," he thought. "That's a job that only crazy people take."

The other Krakal roared but Willis decapitated him, his bladed cutting through the gap of the monster's armored skin. Eryn will likely chalk it up to skill, but in Willis' case it was luck a desperate swing from a desperate man. "You gotta be insanely crazy and insanely lucky to be a Monster Hunter," Willis thought bitterly as he waited for the last Krakal to get up.

 

[Faelyn Daestra]

PIT

Water squelched in her boots as Faelyn ran after the rest of the group towards the pit. She cried out in surprised as some kind of tentacle reached out from beyond the walls of the water's edge towards her, blocking her way. She grabbed one of her daggers from her belt and slashed wildly as the tentacle's suckers latched onto her arm. The tentacle lurched and drew away so quickly Faelyn was pulled from her feet - with a grunt she managed to grab onto a stalagmite with her legs, catching the pillar of mineral deposits with the back of one knee, then pulling with all her core strength she wrapped the other leg around the same pillar. She hacked at the tentacle until blue blood sprayed all around her, and the creature was weakened enough that she could yank back her arm - one of the suckers still attached to her leather bracer. She could hear splashing further down the tunnel - sounded like she wasn't the only one caught off-guard by creatures reaching through the water and into the tunnel.

Without the force of the tentacle keeping her upright, her upper body fell, spine slamming against the stalagmite she had to used to keep herself from being dragged into the water. She winced as she slid down the pillar until the crown of her head hit the wet ground below. She sighed, upside-down, spinning her arms above her head to chuck the dagger a foot from her so she had enough room to maneuver; planting her palms on the ground, she unhooked her legs from around the pillar and flipped them over her head. Pushing herself to her feet, she grabbed her dagger, wiped as much blue blood off the blade as she could, and sheathed it

She rounded the corner just in time to see Alani Delkera pull herself from the water and Quoril face some kind of green-finned creature. Skittering to a stop she grabbed a throwing knife from her belt and, without thinking, threw it at the head of the amphibian. The dagger found it's mark - sinking deeply between the two eyes of the sea monster with a sickening squelching sound.

Faelyn was immediately annoyed with herself - helping her opponents? That's not how the game is played, she admonished herself. But then, she still didn't know where her partner was. Had she simply imagined it? She honestly wasn't sure now.

The fishy creature wasn't the only one of it's kind - even as the one with the dagger in it's face crumpled to the ground, she could see two more emerge from the shadows.

"Get up!" she shouted at Quoril as she drew two more throwing knives from her dripping belt.

Well, partner or no, there was no going back now.

 

[Alani Delkera]

As Alani finished tying off her bandage a new woman came onto the scene, killing the creature that was attacking Qouril with a deft throw of a dagger. Alani didn't have much time to react to this as two more fish people climbed into the corridor, a high pitched clicking sound rumbling in their throat. Alani didn't quite understand what it meant but she knew it was a basic form of communication, most likely to alert others of their kind to the presence of danger or food.

If she was right about this assumption she had an idea that just might work. Using her spear as a walking stick to help her stand. She stood forward, limping and doing her best to ignore the pain. She began mimicking the sound they were making, high pitched yet deep in her throat, though she was a bit louder than them. They faltered caught off guard for a moment and she locked eyes with them baring her teeth and showing her sharp tusks trying to look as big and threatening as possible. They stated at each other for a moment, Alani maintaining eye contact, not even blinking. Then the two of them made a different clicking sound before turning and diving back into the water.

They were alone in the corridor again. Alani sighed with relief and turned back to Quoril and the new lady. Seeing the confusion on their faces she chuckled "Not exactly sure what that was but I either told them I like the taste of fish or that I have back up on the way. Either way, we probably shouldn't stick around." She explained.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

EAST​

The whole armory lit by the flaming mace. Awash in the ominous orange glow. The massive orc staring through the fire of the weapon down at her.

Mischa stared back. She held her ground and her sword but still her heart trembled with fear from the sheer size of him. But she dared not show it, even as it churned beneath her hardened exterior. For this was it. What she sought. This foe of enormous size. Kin only in that he, too, was an orc.

And he took a step toward her. Said, in Orcish, "You don't remember me."

Mischa said nothing. Only shifted her stance some. Kept her sword up in a guard position.

Another step toward her. "No. You don't. And why would you. You were always kept in the back, far from battle. Because your father knew, didn't he? He knew what would happen if you met battle with a true orc. And you are not a true orc."

"I am," Mischa said. "I. Am. An orc."

A turning of his head. "Soft words. From a soft wretch."

The Lightbringer had no charge left. But she could use a small portion of her life force. Rest again, perhaps, after. And so she clamped the Lightbringer to her chest with her right arm and extended her left and from her palm a sudden and short-lived geyser of Holy Fire. The Fire washing over the massive orc.

And when the Holy Fire faded, he still stood. Unfazed. Unharmed. The Holy Fire dissipating, having done nothing. Shock and surprise overcoming Mischa's face.

The orc held the flaming mace with one hand and waved a finger at her with the other. Said, "The Great Holy One will not save you. For the Great Holy One is in communion with me too."

Mischa took up her sword again. Her breathing unsteady. Stance trembling. "I will kill you."

"No. You won't." Another step forward. And Mischa took a step back. The orc said, "I was there. At the fight club in Elbion. I wanted to make my presence known then. But you...you were beaten. By that puny dwarf. Your weakness disgusted me, and so I left. And here. Here in these ruins. Part of the wizard Grangomelle's game. I knew where the Great Holy One was directing you, for It directed me too. I waited. I waited at the altar of the flaming mace and you never showed. So it fell to me to find you. And here I find you, half-dead and missing an arm. A sorry sight."

"Who are you?" Mischa said. Taking another step back.

"I am Gharn. The sole survivor of the Blood Moon tribe. I am he who your father spared. He who was denied a warrior's death. Denied the honor of dying alongside my fellow tribesorcs in glorious battle. Denied, because of the malice of your father. He has cursed me with life after all those I loved dearly have died."

Another step.

"But I will not be denied."

Gharn stalked toward Mischa with frightening speed for his size, the flames of the mace shifting as he moved. Mischa gripped the Lightbringer again and yelled and swung. Gharn struck the sword with the mace, swinging with such fury that her sword was knocked clean from her grip. Sparks and embers burst from the impact, scattering about the armory. Some landing on Mischa's clothes. A panicky struggle to pat them out with one hand.

The Lightbringer hit the floor in two separate pieces, the blade broken and warped.

Gharn held the mace in one hand and delivered a vicious punch into Mischa's stomach, her feet lifted clear off the ground by the force of it and all the air in her body stolen by that single strike. He reached up and grabbed her face, his hand nearly wrapping all the way round her head, and shoved her back into the armory wall. Brilliant white flooding her vision as her back and her skull hit the stone. She collapsed face first to the floor. Spasms of the body her only movement.

Gharn crouched down and took hold of her left arm and rolled her over onto her back. He moved around. Straddled her such that he could look down at her and she up at him. His weight near unbearable. Gharn set down the mace and the fire went out as he let go of it and then he drew the knife that was on his belt.

"It is disappointing," he said, "that you are what you are, Mischa. Perhaps my hope was misplaced. Or perhaps the Great Holy One needs far more time with you. Enough to mold you into a worthy opponent. You are but a twig. And I am a tree. One is crushed underfoot, one is not."

Gharn brought the knife to Mischa's neck.

"I fear nothing," she said. Trembling.

Gharn grabbed a fistful of her hair. Forced her head to move such that her neck would be the most arched and most exposed.

"I could take your head now," he said. "Cut it clean from your body. Carry it across the world and throw it down at your father's feet. This I could do."

The blade. Sinking into her skin. Her blood on the steel. Running down and dripping to the floor. Slowly he dragged the knife across the width of her neck. The pain stinging harsh and burning hot. Mischa's mouth wide open in a silent scream. Eyes clenched shut.

And when the gash across her neck was finished, Gharn sheathed the bloody knife. Said, "It is not deep enough to bleed you out. Let that wound become a scar. Feel it, when it does. Know that it is inevitable. Our meeting again."

Gharn moved his face close to hers. Waited for her to open her eyes and look at him. And he said, "I will crush not merely Vengtokh's body. I will crush his spirit. I will wait for you to gain acceptance back into the Dm'rohk tribe. I will wait for your father's pride to swell. And then I will come. Then I will challenge and defeat his beloved daughter, having only just gained the strength she so sought and returned home, in battle right before his eyes. Then...I will take your head. Then...I will throw it down at your father's feet. And THEN...I will have my warrior's death. Whether Vengtokh joins me. Or not."

 

[Eryn Pere]

Eryn looked up as Willis was about to kill the last monster. But she was looking past them to the path ahead... These creatures were running from something... What could it be?

She moved forward a bit trying to see past the struggle of monster vs hunter. There was movement in the dark distance to be sure... but was it large? or simply the movement of many creatures? Her eyes normally could see much farther than the average human, but this darkness wasn't normal... And if something was there, would she actually be able to warn Willis? she hadn't spoken a word in so long...

She stared, trying to make out what it was, but also staying out of the way of the struggle nearby.

 

[Smiling One]

Willis rushed in and kicked the squid monster in the head as hard as he can. Normally Krakals have hard heads but the young man managed to hit it in the fleshy part. From the corner of his eye, Willis saw Eryn looking at something. What was it? Willis took a brief look at the darkness but saw nothing. "Maybe Eyrn is just worried at the path ahead." he thought.

The monster slowly got up and roared again. Willis held his Cutlass out and slashed it across the throat. The beast wobbled a bit but other wise remained standing. "Damn!" Willis was about to make a move but the beast whacked him on the chest with its tentacles sending him flying back and landing hard on the ground.

"Ah shit," painfully getting up Willis got back on his feet as the Krakal roared at him. Frowning, Willis charged at the beast ducking its attack and slicing the back of its knee. The creature roared and was all of a sudden knelt down its breath haggard now.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

EAST​

The long quiet. Gharn staring down at Mischa. Mischa glaring up at him, defiant through her fear, nostrils flaring with each breath. The slow oozing of blood from the cut across her neck.

"But I was brought here for a reason," Gharn said. "Not just to tell you your fate."

He reached over and grabbed the mace and stood up and towered over her. A monolith of an orc. At last he turned his gaze from her and stepped away.

And he said as he walked, "You are cursed in many ways, Mischa. Born into a circumstance unenviable. Seeking that which is unobtainable for you."

Mischa coughed. Groaned. Said, "You lie."

Gharn laughed. Turned to look back at her. "No, Mischa. I am an orc. I respect the spoken word. Can you say the same?"

Vel Anir. Lying to Isaac. Elbion. The poisonous regret she harbored in not lying to the dwarf in her vision.

Gharn smirked. Turned back around and gazed down at the Lightbringer. The blade broken in two. He kicked away the piece with the point of the sword, leaving only the piece with the hilt before him.

"Even if you were to shed your mortality," Gharn said, planting his feet firmly and gripping the mace with both hands, "and wander Arethil for all time, that which you seek you would never find. Because you, I, all of us...we have only what we were born into. All of us are lacking. In one way, or another."

The mace burst into flame once more. That fierce glow painting the whole of the armory an oppressive orange. Mischa's body spasmed. She could only turn her head, her eyes, just so. Blood dribbling from her neck.

Gharn stared down at the broken Lightbringer. "You, Mischa, and I. We do have something in common."

He raised up the flaming mace.

"We sought help to remedy this lack."

Gharn swung the mace down and struck the hilt of the Lightbringer and there an explosion and a shower of sparks and embers and vicious was the light of it all. He lifted the flaming mace back up and overhead and swung it down hard again and again an explosion of fire and a rain of sparks. And Gharn lifted the mace up for a third time and with a fierce cry and swung it down. An explosion of fire. A spray of sparks. And pieces of the hilt breaking and shattering and scattering across the room.

Gharn dropped the mace in his hands and the flame went out.

A faint light. White and yellow. Emanating from the broken hilt of the Lightbringer.

Gharn crouched down and plucked something up and out of the sword's hilt. The white and yellow light shifting with the small thing pinched between his thumb and index finger. And Gharn stood and walked back over to Mischa and straddled her at the waist once more, his enormous weight settling down on her frail body.

Mischa flicked her eyes to the thing in Gharn's hand. "What is that?"

Gharn didn't answer. He reached down with his other hand and took a fistful of her arming doublet and began to tear it from her body. She squirmed. A meager resistance as her doublet was ripped and torn apart and tossed from her body piece by piece. Only the left sleeve remained, beneath the armor of her left arm. She tried to cover herself with it, her left arm. But Gharn took hold and forced her arm away from her chest and pinned it to the floor with ease.

Exposed now. Her body bare from the waist up.

"Yes," Gharn said.

"What is that??" Mischa shouted.

The thing in Gharn's hand moved.

"We sought help."

"No. Stop. Stop!"

Writhed.

"And It found us."

"No! Wait! Don't!"

Gharn placed the thing down on Mischa's bare chest and it stirred and seven long and thin legs sprouted from its leech-like form and it crawled around on Mischa's body as if in search until it at last it stopped in the center of her chest. The thing pressed itself to her skin, the legs retracting back into the body. Teeth. She could feel them. Hundreds of tiny teeth chewing into her flesh. Chewing into the muscle beneath. Into the bone of her ribcage. Her meek struggling and shouting and screaming for nothing as Gharn held her in place on the floor.

The thing, having chewed its way through in full, squirmed into the open cavity it had made.

And curled around her beating heart.

 

[Quoril]

The creature stood over Quoril, its spear raised above its head ready to strike. Suddenly he heard a soft whistling sound followed by a squelch. The fishman stood there for a brief moment before keeling over to the side in a heap.

“Get up!” the elf heard a female voice call to him. Tilting his head back, Quoril saw an elf with green skin, light hair, and golden eyes. “Thanks for the save!” Quoril called back as he rolled over onto all fours and stood up.

Two more fishmen rose out of the water making high pitched clicking sounds. Supported by her spear, Alani made her way in front of Quoril and the other elf. She began making the same clicking sounds as the creatures. After a moment, they dove back into the water. "Not exactly sure what that was but I either told them I like the taste of fish or that I have back up on the way. Either way, we probably shouldn't stick around." his partner said with a chuckle.

Alani was right. They had to get moving before more monsters showed up. “Here. Drink this.” Quoril removed a vial of silvery liquid from a belt loop and tossing it over to her. Pulling the compass out of the pouch, Quoril lit another flame. “This way!” he said to Alani. As he started walking he remembered the strange elf who had helped him. He would feel bad if they just left her there.

Turning to face the elf, Quoril took a minute to think about whether inviting her along was worth the risk. “You’re welcome to come along with us if you’d like.” he called to her before he turned around and continued walking. Quoril hoped Alani wouldn’t mind having her tag along.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

EAST​

The white and yellow light faded once the thing had wrapped itself about her heart. Slowly she became aware of the presence of the Great Holy One, there in the back of her mind.

A confluence of powerful emotions bleeding together under her skin. Fright and horror. Shock and disgust. Shame and sorrow. Mischa stared up at the broken ceiling of the armory. Body trembling. Vision blurring.

The last thing she saw. Gharn. Standing over her. His words distant. "You will have what you wish for."

And she lost her grasp on the world.

* * * * *​

A sudden breath.

The dark around her. The ceiling of the armory. Gharn gone.

It couldn't be real, what happened, it couldn't. Yet Mischa sat up enough to look down and there it was. The hole in her chest, her heart beating within the open wound, the leech-like creature curled about it still. The wound had not healed, yet it also did not bleed.

Her hand hovering over the wound. But fear took her and she dared not touch it. Averting her eyes, she sat up fully with great care. Took a long while to steady her breathing. To let the panic and the shock disperse.

Mischa thought of the Drawa River. Of the vast expanses of the Blightlands and the comforting canopy of the Ixchel Wilds and the eastern foothills of The Spine. That open world. All of it home, there with her people, her family, her father. Home.

The place she wanted to be.

She pushed herself up and onto her two feet and looked around herself and scrounged for the largest piece of her torn doublet she could salvage. A piece from the back, big enough to cover her breasts and the wound between them. She draped it down over her shoulder and held it in place with her chin for the time being.

The severed half of her right arm on the floor. She scooped it up and pinned it between her side and the other half of her right arm.

Her armor she would have to leave, all the pieces of it she could take off at least. Marcie, laid to rest.

Mischa hobbled to the crack in the wall and ceiling she had tumbled out of earlier.

Unarmed. Unarmored. The wound on her neck and the hole in her chest. Her severed arm. Malnourished and exhausted. She did not know where to go to get help, but she knew that it was time to leave this place.

Slowly, carefully, she began to climb toward the water.

 

[Mischa Ven'rohk]

PRISON​

Mischa emerged from the wall of water in the eastward corridor. She doubled over, gasping for air, holding the scrap of torn doublet over her chest and still pinning her severed arm to her side. Her tired legs buckled and she fell to one knee, staying there to catch her breath.

A surreal feeling. Emerging from the water and coming back to this place in so different a state. Her very being changed.

She stood up. Cleared her throat. Steeled her gaze. And walked forward.

She would ignore all of them. The mages and the wizard, other adventurers coming back to the stone to leave. She would not answer any of their questions about her ravaged condition nor even so much as look at them. No, she couldn't let any of them see or know about the wound in her chest. The thing curled around her heart.

No.

There were many things that she did not know or she did not understand. But she knew that she could not let anyone see it. This feeling akin to an echo in the cave, reverberating in her mind, just beneath the surface.

And Mischa kept her eyes forward and then locked onto the portal stone as she walked back from the eastward corridor and into the prison proper. All else in the world meant nothing right now. The second portal stone key she withdraw from the pocket of her arming pants and used it.

Back to the portal stone west of Elbion.

And away from here.

 

[Alani Delkera]

PIT

Alani caught the vile and uncorked it downing the contents in one go. After a moment she felt a tingling in her leg and she was able to put her weight on it again. She didn't bother checking the wound, it still ached slightly but the sharp pain was gone. She removed the tourniquet. Quoril was a good alchemist and the potion should have stopped the bleeding. Though she still expected she would be left with a scar once it healed completely.

When Qouril invited the elf the join them Alani frowned. They didn't know her, she was one of the adventurers. Alani trusted Qouril even though he was an adventurer. He was in it out of curiosity, not greed. But this lady. They didn't know her at all, if she had come here to claim the item she doubted the elf would just let them have it.

Alani looed the elf lady dead in the eyes "Qouril said you can come, so you can come. But understand this, if you come with us you may survive this pit but you will be leaving empty-handed. I don't want to have to fight an ally, but I will. If you truly want this item I would advise you go your own way," Alani said before moving past her to walk beside Qouril.

 

[Faelyn Daestra]

PIT

Faelyn nodded at Quoril when he thanked her. She was about to hurtle another throwing knife at the frog-fish-humanoid creatures when Alani Delkera began making weird sounds. Faelyn stared at the blond woman, dumbfounded, wondering where she'd learned a trick like that. But it was about to get better - her eyes lit up in surprise as Alani drank her vial and her wounds began to heal. Faelyn felt mischief dancing in her eyes - now that was something she'd like to get her hands on.

She was already planning on following the two, having taken several steps forward, when Quoril turned and invited her along. She gave a small, flamboyant bow at the offer.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she purred to the towering elf with a wink before he turned away. She was about to follow after him when Alani stepped in front of her. Green eyebrows furrowed at the slightly shorter female. She stoically listened to what the woman had to say, her right thumb unconsciously rubbing the hilt of her throwing knife. Faelyn sized the shorter woman up, noting Alani's grey-ish complexion and sharp incisors. Faelyn rolled her golden eyes as Alani turned away and moved on.

"You're loads of fun at parties, aren't you?" Faelyn muttered under her breath, sheathing her knives back in her belt. She caught up to walk a few feet walked behind the two partners.

"It's not like I can just leave, now can I?" Faelyn retorted a spitefully, still a little burned that her partner hadn't shown. She eyed the robes of the tall elf. All might not be lost - especially if he carried more of those fantastic vials. They could fetch a pretty penny on the black market - or she could keep them in case of...emergencies. One never knew when one might need to heal a broken bone or two.

"...Or can I?" she wondered, looking around the tunnel. She shrugged, raising her arms up and holding the back of her head with her hands.

"So, what may I call you?" Faelyn asked, casually glancing around the tunnel, eyeing the water in case more tentacles showed up - she needn't have worried however, as once they rounded another turn the ground began to shake violently.