Open Chronicles The Eye of Naspar

[Iren Brightmane]

Iren didn't show his appreciation for Nicomo's rhyming except for his foot gently tapping to the rhythm. It was best not to annoy the Bloodletter too much. The poor fellow already had gone through so much and something told Iren that there was much more to come.

"Steady, Nico." He murmured finely as he swirled the bloody ruby cup in his hand. "We have a long road ahead of us and our dear Bloodletter needs his strength for something other than carrying you on his back."

He was about to finally take a sip from the blood-infused wine when the lights went out.

The room was bathed in darkness and soon the sounds of combat began to ring from wall to wall. Followed by cries of pain, blood being spilled under the cloak of black. Except Iren could follow it all. Every blood splatter, every heartbeat. He saw the heat of bodies cooling down as they died and their warm lifeblood seeped out on the cobbled floor.

"Yes you may. Please make them understand that interrupting my meal is ill-advised." As Nicomo got to work Iren stood up himself and immediately had to tilt his head a fraction to dodge an errant fist almost being planted in his face.

Nails, sharp as daggers, ran through soft flesh and the hot blood splashed all around.

It tasted perfectly.

Now he craved more.

 

[Koltun]

As the onslaught inside the bar unfolded, those that would, in time, manage to escape outside would be greeted by an even more distressing sight.

Thundering past the main gate of the caravanserai, a colossus astride a great rhinoceros barged into the oasis. Four others accompanied him, these ones mounted on black camels of Tell Arran, and all sporting the signature armour of the blight-orc Legions of Molthal.

The riders ground their pace to a halt, before dismounting just outside of the inn. As they did so, the difference in stature soon became apparent, with the rhinoceros rider towering over his companions, as well as everyone else that seemed to pour into the courtyard. He removed his helmet, his bright orange hair glistening in the Kaliti Sun, while his features revealed a look or perceptible annoyance.

Unlike all of these idiots that seemed content to languish in a forsaken tavern in the middle of nowhere, his presence here was no mere coincidence, nor twist of fate.

Unbothered by the very obvious commotion unfolding within, Koltun looked around, sweeping the square with his golden gaze. He conjured a small flame, and uttered an incantation; a prayer, as it looked like. A white aura enveloped the flame, and suddenly the blaze changed its tones. The reds, oranges and yellows were soon interspersed with greens, blues and purples, all of which seemed to glimmer in-and-out of sight in a gradient pattern, as the fire flickered and fluttered on his hand.

He projected the fire ball against the main door of the tavern, causing a loud explosion to blow the entrance open.

- "We are looking for the wise man Gibbard." - He said, his deep voice thundering even over all the commotion inside the tavern. - "Hand him over." - ​

 

[Roul]

All-consuming darkness writhed into the room as a serpent into the mouse’s den. Blinded, Roul fumbled with his blade, drawing it in the otherworldly pitch-black. All around him he heard the rasp of blades and the clatter of chairs and tables kicked away. Deprived of sight, he could only rely on his smell and hearing. Fortunately, his curse did come with certain benefits. His ears picked up on the rush of steps, the swish of a blade through the air. He swung his own wildly in a warding strike and was rewarded with the ring of steel upon steel. There should have been sparks. There should have been anything. Instead he only felt the jolt run up his arm and a muttered curse from his obscured opponent.

Rafael’s words at least carried through the darkness and Roul nodded, realized it wouldn’t be seen, and shouted.

“Go!”

Gritting his teeth, he swung his blade through the inky nothing again, trying to make their attackers keep their distance.

From the middle of the room he heard that dwarf say, “Galen, ya idjit, we cannae see either.”

“Untrue. I can see perfectly,” replied the boy. Roul didn’t need to see his face to hear the smirk on his lips.

“My blade needs no eyes,” said the voice of the elf.

“Oh fook this then,” grumbled the dwarf, and with a roar and a squeal of wooden legs dragging on the ground, Roul heard something very heavy move right before an entire table slammed into him and sent him into the floor.

* * *

Wreathed in the shadowy spell which only his eyes could pierce, Galen watched the Cortosi mercenary stumble for the door, trying to drag the scholar in tow. Galen had met Gibbard on more than one occasion. Not that the man would remember. Galen had been unremarkable then, a below average student.

Annoyed at their escape attempt, Galen waved a hand in a dismissive reaction. Tendrils of lightning cascaded outward, crackling through the air before striking Gibbard in the back. Not enough to kill, just enough to send every nerve in his body misfiring. The scholar collapsed to the floor, convulsing. Another handwave and the shadows coalesced near the Cortosi mercenary into the shape of a massive spider, which then became true and real - as real as those which dwelt within the Spine. It chittered and lunged, fangs stabbing. A simple conjuration of shadows, but one Telemachus described as akin to the gracefulness of a clopping Centaur. In other words, not very.

Only Telemachus had ever taken an interest in his abilities, despite the derision and sneers that came with such an interest. Of course, the Sidereal elf had abandoned him shortly after saving his life from that bird-dragon thing. After that a series of misadventures: signing his life away to the Thronebreaker Free Company to pay the moneylenders for his tuition at Elbion, the horrors of the Siege of Coraliv, and countless other misfortunes since under the service of their newest patron.

Worst among them Drakormir.

Galen felt a brush of a great and powerful presence against his mind and shuddered. He looked up from his grimoire and saw the face of another Sidereal elf, unfamiliar to him. He felt the old anger at Telemachus boil up. Why did they have to make this so complicated? All they wanted to split the reward. This could have been easy. Simple.

But here they were.

A fireball blew the tavern door in and set one of the Thronebreakers aflame. The man stumbled around screaming, swatting at his flames in the darkness, as a mighty voice bellowed about bringing out the scholar Gibbard.

Galen clucked his tongue. Popular man this Gibbard. He glanced down at the grimoire he clutched and flicked a page, finding the spell he needed. He repeated the words in his head, then began to draw on the power of the Dragonfather’s soul shard entombed within the grimoire.

 

[Keres]

Keres' dark eyes flicked from face to face as the boys postured and threatened, a quiet huff tumbling from her lips. Her gaze snagged on the unusual looking book that the rather confident young man had in his possession, and her slender brows furrowed.

"Roul.." she quietly cautioned her companion. But it was too late for that, and they were plunged into absolute darkness.

"Ah, fuck." she said into the void, the moment of confused silence that followed short lived as the room fell into utter chaos. She felt Raf move beside her, heard his command and assume he had meant her, but the sounds that echoed around her told her to remain in her corner. She could hear the sounds of blades being drawn and clashing together, slicing wildly through the air and people grunting and screaming in pain as they hit flesh. Tables and chairs screeched and shattered, tankards smashed and voices rose. Wandering into that mess was a far easier way for her to get herself killed, and so she remained still, and listened.

Soon, bodies hit the floor. Thud, thud, thud. Though she couldn't see, she could feel the life spill out of them, felt the rage and fear and smelled the blood.

Men.

It was most definitely time to leave. With a steadying breath, Keres focused her mind, and with a swift motion, she drew a small blade from its sheath, allowing the cool metal to bite into her palm. A thin line of crimson welled up, and she dipped a finger into the little pool, using her blood to draw intricate symbols onto the surface of the table, her movements fluid and deliberate. As she muttered the ancient words of the dead, the air around her crackled with energy, charged with the dark magic she wielded.

With a final whispered command, Keres' bloody palm rose slowly toward the ceiling, and in an instant the bodies of the fallen began to stir, their limbs twitching with newfound animation. Rising from the ground, they moved toward her, their lifeless forms unfazed by mortal injuries.

"Over here." she said calmly, and reached into the darkness until she felt hands gently grip her wrists. She wasn't sure how many - three, four perhaps, but a protective barrier of undead formed around her and the dog at her skirts, guiding them to the doorway.

She was certain the bodies were maimed further, her face spattered with blood as she passed through the carnage, but she remained unharmed by the time she and her entourage had made it to the doorway and she shoved her way outside and only just out of the path of the fireball hurtling straight at her. Others were not so lucky.

Fire danced in her wide eyes from where she hit the ground, watching as flame caught hold of two of the undead that had been protecting her, igniting them as they continued to stumble around aimlessly. Her gaze shifted between the cindering doorway, and the enormous man atop his.. was that a fucking rhino?

Pulling herself to her feet, she whispered more words of the dead, imbuing them with a newfound sense of purpose and rage. With a silent command, Keres directed the undead towards the towering figure astride the rhinoceros, urging them to attack with all the fury of the grave. The bodies, now animated by her will, lurched forward with unnatural speed, their movements disjointed as they closed in on their target.

 

[Rafael]

Great, more chaos.

More reason to get out.

This little tavern in the middle of nowhere had apparently become the meeting spot for everyone and anyone who was searching for the exact same thing they were. Convenient, really, because it allowed him to memorize every face that should be systematically avoided.

With their employer in one hand, and his Rapier in the other, Rafael darted directly towards the door. The man with the money offering only a half-hearted objection pertaining to his own bravery as the two of them booked it. Only for their progress to be suddenly stopped as the scholar cracked down to the floor. Every muscle in his body seizing as the sorcerer threw magic at his back.

The weight of Gibbard, funnily enough, was what drew Raf down just enough to dodge the giant shadow spiders leg as it swiped where his head had been just a moment ago. "Oh what in the fuck!"

Rafael complained to no one in particular, shifting and dropping Gibbard to the floor before rolling forward.

His blade quickly flickering at the creature's leg and slicing through it.

"TULIO!" He shouted to the hound, noting that Keres' had decided not to take advantage of the hounds guidance, but instead end the situation in her own way.

He'd have to remember not to get on her bad side.

The dog came bounding through the room of chaos almost instantly. Darting underneath tables and away from anyone who might impede his progress as his master daringly fought a giant calamitous spider. His rapier biting into shadowy flesh as he rolled and darted about the creature. Keeping it's focus entirely upon him and away from their missions bank.

 

[Autolycus]

The young woman agreed with him. Yes, it was often that the women of any traveling group were the sole representatives of reason and caution.​

​

The idiot, Gibbard, said something which attracted undue attention. They were accosted by a dull-looking sorcerer and his own idiot troupe, demanding to be led to the Eye. These people looked promising enough and Autolycus would have done so, but then the oaf gave the wrong answer. The lights went out and so began a brutal fight.​

​

Autolycus was gone very quickly from his seat. Vanished, like a very wise and scrupulous ghost.​

​

Eventually someone blew open the tavern door with a fireball, igniting one of the brawling mercenaries. The illumination was sufficient to reveal that Autolycus had now relocated himself behind the bar, unscathed but clearly in a sour mood. He stood there like a bored man in a queue, patiently waiting for this all to subside. Undead had joined the fray and were now mobbing someone outside. A spider of shadows was hounding the cortosi and the dog.​

​

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. If all of these people died here, who would be left to kill the manticores for him?​

 

[Nicomo]

Nicomo couldn't see a thing. He thinks he feels somebody over his shoulder and draws and swings his broken blade in a single motion, cleaving nothing but empty air. He holds the stance for a second, then blindly swings again to his right. He belches.​

​

"Fighting in the dark sure is hard!" Nicomo's slurred exclamation booms over the violent clamor.​

​

He groans and slaps his empty hand on his forehead. How foolish! He completely forgot to ask Iren who he should be killing. Now, Nicomo didn't give a damn about who or what he cut down, as long as they were worthy of his talent for butchering. Not a single damn. But if he witlessly kills everyone, well, that would make Iren upset. Iren still needed to find Nashar's eyeball, and it seems the people here knew Nashar. He would hate to upset a friend.​

​

He drunkenly stumbles in the dark with a loose grip on his sword. He bumps into a fleshy, unmovable boulder, and he instinctively swings the blade, but it slips out of his grasp and flies across the inn.​

​

"Good grief!" The weight of his swing carries Nicomo and he bumps into a lanky fellow.​

​

"Well-" he burps, "well met, friend! Do you know Nashar?"​

​

He throws a sharp hook at the man's jaw.​

 

[Iskra]

Was there truly no where left in Arethil where one could get a drink without interruption? She had been half paying attention, but knew that the sudden blanket of darkness and commotion stemmed from inquiries on the Eye of Naspar. Iskra held no interest in it, but sittong in the dark and having someond bump into her where her drink fell from her hands, unable to pass her lips...

The mage had had enough of this foolery.

Iskra stood, grabbing the clothing of the next being to push against her in the confusion and sending them to tumble in the dark. Several other bodies tripped and fell, and the mage gathered magic, enough to create a glow to light the surroundings. Some blinked, finding the sudden source of light too bright despite it's dimmed output. "Some of us would like to enjoy a drink. If you wish to have your pissing contest, go piss outside."

Of course, the entrance was a smouldering remain, and whatever waited outside for those that should leave, she did not care for. All she needed was a moment to reflect on her short return to the Empire before leaving for many months on end.

At this moment, she did not care for some Eye. Iskra's magic moved, taking on the form of shadowed silhouettes clinging to the shades found in corners. She was channeling, constantly in reach of wielding should anyone think wrongly and disturb her peace. Perhaps she did hope some idiot tested her, just so she could exercise her mastery to put them down.

Iskra was ready to leave, but the woman from Annuakat was adamant that she not be the one made to depart.

 

[Mukbar]

"Ow beansh!"
The short figure who only wanted to be left alone and have a little break from the relentless heat outside found a lot had happened in the blink of an eye.
While others stood he ducked and crawled along the floor of the dar room to seclusion. Everyone was noisy but he just had to avoid their vibrations and he would be well on his way.
Or so he thought. A clamor of dead things marched on him, dead feet kicked and shoved him forward until he was out the door and they finally spilled out over him.
Dead things all about and the harsh light above.
And Raiders, cavalry looking for trouble. In the midst of the dead was a woman, cursing and rising the dead things got up with her.
Mukbar scrambled under the porch hopefully unnoticed and unheeded.

 

[Iren Brightmane]

This was starting to be rather messy.

Not in a way that Iren approved of either. He appreciated controlled messiness. The sweet taste of blood splattering across a wall, talons deeply embedded into someone's throat, the usual business. But this rollcall roulette where more and more people were piling into the scene? It was overstimulating him frankly because with bloody teeth he was seeing more and more blood heat up in the darkness.

It made him hungry and tempted.

Two adjectives you didn't want associated with a vampire with the element of surprise.

He was about to pounce on someone unassuming elf behind the bar. When lo, light appeared in the room and banished the dark. He immediately straightened himself out and used a tissue to clean the corner of his mouth.

Instead Iren stepped up against the bar, next to Autolycus like they were old mates, and moved to pour himself another drink. The tavernkeeper had fled in the chaos and there was currently a stand-off happening with orcs outside... people fleeing... a powerful mage (the one who caused the sudden lightshow and cut his feast short) playing around with eldritch magic.

"You know, I feel like while they sort out this entire mess, we could probably walk out the back?" Casually asked to the elf that he had been contemplating eating just a moment ago.

"Nicomo, Sharv, you two alive? We should probably leave the kind people here to their... party."

It probably wouldn't be so easy, of course. It never was.

 

[Koltun]

It was but a moment.

He drew the Fyrestone, his colossal warhammer. Its head erupted in flames at his touch. The blaze - in turn - then took on the rainbow hues, just as his fireball from earlier had. With the first of the undead closing in, he maneuvered it against the zombies.

With a long sweep of his large weapon, he managed to catch two of the hostiles heading his way. The head of the warhammer made full contact with the first, the holy fire it was enchanted with causing a small explosion that sundered the body, and sent the corpse's body parts flying in opposite directions. The second, also caught shortly after in the blunt weapon's attack, was then sent flying over the walls of the caravanserai, the only traces left of its existence being the brains and blood smeared over the warhammer.

Of course that those two were not the only ones that had been sent against him, and alas, though powerful, his weapon, and fighting style, were also rather slow, which meant that - after the second zombie had been, quite literally, sent flying from the battlefield - Koltun found himself rather open for an attack.

A third undead tackled him, sinking a small dagger into him, which he attempted to stop with his forearm. The blade tore through his skin, leaving a big gap of scarlet red oozing against the sunlight. This one Koltun stopped himself, grappling the zombie, and bashing in its head with bare hands. He then wielded the Fyrestone about once more, blowing up yet another of Keres' thralls. The orcs accompanying him dispatched the last one.

For a moment, he stood still. His gaze caught up in the sight of his own blood. His hovered his hand over the wound, drawing a regular flame out of his palm. He cauterized his wound, though those watching would notice how the flames did not seem to harm his unbroken ashen skin, that had not been torn by the blade.

He turned to the tavern then. An incredibly perceptible look of annoyance on his face.

What had these miscreants expected? Attacking a Prince of Molthal this way?

- "Form up!" - He bellowed, in the coarse tongue of Molthal. His blight-orc companions closed ranks, marching forth in front of him, their weapons raised against the people coming out of the inn, though the somewhat comical difference in stature and demeanour between himself and the orcs, made the latter look more like annoyances one would have to get past in order to reach the big prize.

The orcs started walking forward, engaging some of the people that attempted to flee, or to face them. Koltun waved his arm, drawing a semi circle in the air. All around them, a ring of fire drew itself on the sandy floor, separating the entrance to the inn from the rest of the courtyard. A mutter passed his lips yet again, and a white aura enveloped the fire, makings its blaze take on its multi-coloured pallet once more.

Opposite the half-giant, a man tried to escape the fiery prison... only to explode into smithereens as he tried to cross the flames, fully exposing the explosive nature of the fire.

Those trying to flee this way would find themselves trapped between a flaming death... and the Molthal host before their eyes.

His bodyguards advancing, and his weapon at-the-ready, Koltun charged forward, making for the necromancer woman that had had the nerve to try to attack him.​

 

[Roul]

Grunting, Roul heaved against the table pinning him to the floor and scrambled backward in the darkness. A dull light throbbed nearby as someone tried to illuminate the room despite the magical darkness cast by the mage Galen. Amidst the clamor of voices and the sounds of struggle, he could hear the crackle of flames and the near and heavy breathing of a dwarf stomping toward him.

Roul got to his feet, which was when the darkness suddenly vanished all at once, leaving everyone in the room staring at each other stupidly, with wide, owlish eyes.

The elf lay sprawled on the floor, rapier still clutched in one hand. Over him stood a wild-eyed madman, the same one Roul remembered from outside the tavern.

The Cortosi's gaze immediately went to Galen, where he saw the mage standing with a smirk, his spellbook open. He had one hand wrapped around the back of Gibbard's collar, the other holding his book. He opened his mouth and said some words in an ancient tongue. Suddenly, the forms of Cathair, the Ox, Gibbard, Galen, and three more figures within the room began to warp as though a desert mirage, then they abruptly turned into mist and vanished.

Roul gaped, then grit his teeth.

Fucking mages.

They'd taken Gibbard. But how?

Roul, having briefly studied at Elbion, knew a spell or two himself. He seized a pitcher of beer, dumped it in a nearby bowl, and waved two fingers over it in a scrying spell. Reflected in the surface of the liquid, he saw Galen and his party, Gibbard thrown over the shoulder of a suit of animated armor, hurrying from a room. But the surroundings did not look familiar. Roul's brows knit together and he cursed. Some transplanar spell. He could only guess at what realm they walked through now, probably that of the Fae. But to do so was incredibly dangerous. Only someone foolish woud attempt it.

Or someone highly skilled...

Looking around the room at the chaos still engulfing it, he let out a low growl. The desire to rip out throats almost overwhelming him, but he settled it and with another minor spell he doused the fire over the doorframe with a spray of ice from his palm.

"ENOUGH!" He roared in a voice well used to being heard over the cacophony of war, such that even the crazed half-giant outside would hear, "The mage has our scholar. They are headed toward the Eye. Kill each other here and let them have the Eye, or mount up and follow me. I've a spell that can track them."

With that he began storming toward the exit, pausing only to look over Keres and ensure she was not injured. If she was, he'd have to kill another half-giant. It had been a while since his last. This one looked to be a descendant of a fire giant. Long way from home, him.

One hand gripping a sword, the other he placed behind Keres' back, he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"To the horses," he rasped, "If they fight, run and do not look back. I will handle them."

Helping to quell tensions, perhaps, were the two dozen Abtati who Roul had ridden in with that had now gathered outside the tavern. Many had bows already knocked and spears out, but they watched impassively, perhaps trying to decide if they should kill them all to simply have some peace and quiet at their waystation.

Roul looked around for their guide, Almahdi, to see if he could intervene with the elves, then remembered he'd been one of the first to die inside. Best they all be on their way.

He stormed past the half-giant's rhino and hulking orcs, his eyes meeting the giant's smoldering stare without swerving, then they reached the horses and Roul began to mount up.

 

[Autolycus]

Autolycus now had ample time to observe the fighting prowess of those within the bar brawl and was decidedly not impressed. None of these people could kill a manticore, much less three. If they all died here it would be no great loss to anyone. Except, perhaps, their friends and families. But if they could see what passed for 'fighting' among their departed, perhaps they wouldn't feel so bad.​

​

A pale white-haired thing with that reeked of blood impurities appeared next to him. Autolycus knew immediately this aberration should not be trifled with, but its nonchalance was matched. "Perhaps. But it will end soon, and I'm still thirsty."​

 

[Keres]

Mistake. Big mistake. Huge.

The girl's dark eyes widened as she watched the giant strike down her meagre little army and called his own upon the tavern.

"More fire too.. Lovely." she chirped, though there was no sign of amusement in her expression as he was apparently headed straight for her. Perhaps an apology might suffice..

"Sorry?.." It was worth a shot..

She had been about to call for Roul when he appeared by her side, ushering her along, and so she followed close beside him since he apparently had a way through the lines of blight orcs and flames to get back to the horses.

"Stating the obvious, but I might have pissed him off a bit."

 

[Mukbar]

Mukbar laid low, unnaturally so under the walkway of the bar and while the others were puffing up their chests outside the short and dirty creature in the shape of a man slid along the ground unseen and unheeded to emerge at the rear of the now dismounted rhino cavalry.
Opportunity was the guiding light of any thief and such a group were bound to have a few coins they wouldn't miss.
His small, slick hand reached into the saddle bag of the most rear of rhino's and picked out a piece of something. It was a canteen so he squirreled it into his sack, then he went in again and lifted a small coin purse, then a wad of wrapped jerky and a seashell necklace and then a wet stone.
The rhino's, though poor of sight are acute of hearing a smell but the others were being loud and Mukbar smelled like dirt, not people.

Satisfied he was about to slink back into the ground when he saw something shiny... a sword handle, a really nice one. It gave him pause... he could get it... he really could but he'd have to go now.

Mukbar's eyes flickered among the others on the opposite end of the rhino herd.

Had anyone noticed him?

Koltun
Keres
Roul
Autolycus
Iren Brightmane

 

[Iskra]

"The mage has our scholar. They are headed toward the Eye. Kill each other here and let them have the Eye, or mount up and follow me. I've a spell that can track them."

Interest struck her, but she did not turn her head to see who had voiced those words aloud. The shadows provided a near constant stream of listening ears, whispering to the woman who stared at the spilled drink before her, wasted during the darkness. Well, that was certainly the way to start her journey out of the Empire, a positive note as the mage exhaled heavily and turned to leave the bar.

She did not mean to slip out several paces from the one shepherding his crew, but her eyes squinted in the sun, dark brows furrowing at the scene before her.

I need to pick better places to drink, she thought to herself, looking to see where that merchant and his wagon were after she had paid for him to take her to the nearest portal stone. A curse left her lips when she did not spy him. An actual curse would prove better results, but Iskra needed to begin her journey first. She was the kind to keep goodbyes short, and always eager to leave this place when she could.

 

[Koltun]

As Mukbar rummaged through the oasis, he would suddenly feel a strong pull at the back of his neck. Should he look up, the elemental would see one of Koltun's orcs standing over him. Having approached unnoticed in the middle of all the confusion, the blight orc now held a blade to his neck.

Likewise, as Iskra's eyes got used to the brightness of the sunlight that scoured the grounds of the caravanserai, she would find a couple more of Koltun's bodyguards barring her escape, the two guards having just finished dispatching a few hostile drunkards that had attempted to flee the confusion.

All three of the orcs would then seek to drag the two to their master.

As for the last of the Molthal orcs, he stood by his Prince.

As Roul and Keres made for the horses, they would find the exit route from the stables blocked, as Koltun launched one of his multi-coloured fireballs at the arch above the building's only other exit, collapsing the stone so as to impede the riders' escape. If the two of them wanted to flee, they'd now need to get past the sanguine half-giant, as well as his rhinoceros, and the utter chaos that unfolded outside the tavern.
​

"If they fight, run and do not look back. I will handle them."​

- "Will you now, little man?" - He rasped at Roul in the common tongue, his Molthal accent making the words sound even more menacing, somehow. He tightened his grip around the hilt of his colossal warhammer, the blaze that burst out of the head of the weapon seemingly spiking, at its master's command.

- "Good that you can track them, because you will lead us there." -

At that moment, the three other orcs walked into the stables. They shepherded a handful of captives that were then forced to their knees by Koltun's side. The half-giant dispensed but a look at them.

- "Tie them to the camels." - He ordered one of the orcs. - "They'll fetch a fine price in Maraan." -

He then turned back to Roul and Keres.

- "Your woman comes with us." - He motioned the orc by his side forward. The blight orc carried with him a set of handcuffs, one of those rare types that supressed magic. - "You can have her back when I have the eye." -

The half-giant then took a step towards the pair.

- "Unless you want to spend your time trying to best me instead." - He shook his head. He'd fought fiercer beasts than this dwarf. They both knew what the outcome of a fight would be.

- "So, imp, what will it be?" - ​

 

[Roul]

Roul bared his teeth in a snarl, "I won't -" he nodded with his head toward the two dozen annoyed looking desert elves, their spears out, others with bows drawn.

"They will."

He pulled the reins of his horse and pushed Keres toward it.

Jaw tensing, Roul let out a snort of frustration and rage at how dire their situation had become. Just a short stop at a waystation. Just a moment of peace. Too much to ask for, for a cursed man like him.

"Follow us, or we'll all die here, half-man."

A pounding rushed in Roul's heart as he glanced from the shackles clutched in an orc's hands and then up to the half-giant. Roul knew the touch of iron around the wrists. So did Keres. He'd die before he let them take her.

 

[Koltun]

Another head shake. Another snap of his fingers.

A ring of fire encircled the elves, soon dyeing itself in the rainbow pallet of Koltun's holy fire.

- "You die here, then." - Koltun's orc took another step forward, the cuffs dangling on his hands. At the last second though, he shifted his pace away from Keres, and towards Roul.

- "Don't play with me, little man." - His muscles tensed, his weapon at-the-ready. - "You're both coming with us. Lead me to the eye, and you can leave unscathed when I have it." -

Well, either that or they'd all end up in the Maraan slave market. Whichever offered the best return then.​

 

[Mukbar]

"Aw beansh!"
Mukbar cursed himself for getting greedy again.
It was not the first time his eyes were bigger than his pockets.
"Hey, we don't need the knife here. I wash jusht picking up your trash. I was gonna give it back, honesht!"
As his captor began to urge him forward Mukbar passed the ornate sword and saw a chance, so he grabbed it.
His body was mud after all and as such anyone holding him with only one hand simply did not have much chance to stay holding on once Mukbar began resisting and resist he did, sliding right down to the ground and darting between the much bigger man's legs.
The knife had cut him but mud did not bleed.
When the blighted orc rounded on him to size him again he was met with a *splat* of mud as it struck his face and blinded him.
Mukbar was no warrior and certainly no marksman but even he could scarce miss at this close distance.
His chance was upon him so he took the ornate sword and held it high in the air bringing it down...

...to strike the rump of the nearest camel as hard as he could. With their warriors distracted the beast moved, hurt but unharmed by the smack of steal.
"MUSSHH!"
Mukbar struck another and another as he made his way back away from the bar and the gathering outside it.
camel's began to move. Plodding along back out towards the other end of town.

His work done Mukbar fled across the street confident that between whatever captives the raiders had and their fleeing mounts that he was too small a fish to chase.

 

[Roul]

“Fine,” he bit out, “but you put them on me.”

The orc holding the cuffs looked at Keres.

“Not her,” Roul snarled, the promise of violence dripping like blood from every syllable. “Me.”

Roul sheathed his weapon. The orc snicked the cuffs around his wrists. They closed with a cold finality.

“Satisfied?” He raised his bound hands.