Hallows Eve The Veil Falls

For the Halloween event 2020

Lazule

The First Slayer
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No sight. Sound. Smell. Touch. Or taste.

Lazule had been disconnected from control of the Unknown Warrior's body. He was not precisely sure how it had occurred. The last few bits of sensory information he remembered was the slam against the wall, seeing the brightness of his Lance increasing, the sound of the large-nose monsters assaulting his armor.

Lazule surmised what happened. If he lost control then that meant the chamber had shattered, and that he had slipped from the cradle of the heart. If the chamber was shattered, then there would be significant difficulty in being able to stay securely within the cradle of the heart and regaining control of the body. Lazule, as a Life Fire, had no limbs to grasp with or ability to float or fly or even move at all. He was completely helpless, entombed inside of a body he no longer had the capacity to do anything with. A body that would appear dead to outside observers.

Was Farzad a pyromancer? He had some control over fire, Lazule had seen. But if Lazule's presence inside the body of the Unknown Warrior was not detected, then Farzad or anyone with command of fire magic would not be able to assist.

There was nothing he could do.

Save think in the insensate darkness that was pure consciousness and nothing more.

* * * * *​

The Sneezies on Lazule's side of Kiros's barrier continued pounding against his armor as he sat slumped against the wall.

The Lance of Light flashed and sparked. The deaths of a few Sneezies would help to reduce the overloading magic that had been gathered into it, but the Lance was still overall on course to catastrophically unravel its arcane energy.

There were still too many Sneezies alive, their presence enabling the runaway escalation of the magic weapon in Lazule's hand.

Kiros Rahnel Thorne
 

Zier Xya Zythos

Let's Be Honest, My Title Is Dumbass.
Elbion College
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This is precisely why you don't approach strange, knife wielding kids in an abandoned house. He rarely likes kids. Too many of them scream too much, steal or hide things and their hands are always fucking sticky for no reason. Speaking of sticky... where did that toffee apple come from?

The dumbass duo seems to have gotten themselves into a sticky situation as they were hurled into a room. The tiny flame he held grew to around the size of a basketball in preparation to throw it at the door to break them out.

It was then when his own magic turned against him. A horde of he doesn't know what the fuck emerged from the door and swarmed Lazule. In that moment, Zier felt.. a spark? He perceived something that felt as if a campfire ignited. Something released, but he never got the chance to see what.

"ASTR-!" His curse to a god went uncompleted as the Sneezies odd abilities precipitated the flame to turn blue/purple, erupting in a swirling torrent that was the size of his upper torso. This level of pyromancy is something he can hardly achieve, therefore his inexperience caused the flames to lash across the right side of his face, and severely burn his right hand.

As if this wasn't enough, the veil of light that was conjured, combined with the already immensely bright flame he grasped, fulminated around the house and blinded him at the same time. At that moment, the flame dispersed and the stairs sent him and the rest to plummet.

He had fallen from... quite a few heights in his life. He had developed a reflex to literally turn on the jets and release flames from his palms to slow his descent. That reflex kicked in from his left hand, but the other was in agony. An uncontrolled jet spewed from one palm, but it just caused.. well he discovered the magnus effect and hit the ground with a loud thud.

He didn't Avariels question. He couldn't. The right side of his face and hand are covered in second degree burns. He opened his eyes, but all he could see was yellow/white floaters across them no matter how many times he blinked. As he rolled onto his side, the excruciating pain set it as he stifled a scream.
 

Kiros Rahnel

Outcast Priest
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With his quarterstaff held in one hand, his other reached down to brace himself for the landing. The wooden weapon clattered against the floor with Kiros landing atop it. The mob of sneezies continued their assault, with one managing to deliver a kick to his head before he pushed his staff out from beneath him and rolled over onto his back. A deft backhand would knock one of the sneezies away as the others continued their assault with kicks and ramming headbutts. Kiros punched and threw them off, only for them to bounce back towards them.

The unnaturally high honk caught his attention next, soon to be followed by the whirling dervish of chain and sneezie that Thorne spun towards him in rescue. Kiros delivered a kick to one with his free leg to knock it towards it's spinning, impaled brethren. The resulting impact bounced it off the wall and sent the critter clear to the curtained end of the hallway with a pained squeal escaping it. The chained sneezie that had become unwilling weapon soon slammed into the remaining swarm around Kiros, knocking them one by one clear down the hallway after the first.

The creatures began to pile up in the far narrow corner formed by the hallway and the diagonal curtain of light dividing it. Repeated attempts to return to their assault were thwarted by further sneezies launched towards them in a violent tumble.

"On your feet! NOW!" He shouted at Kiros, whipping the weight end of his chain in a slightly different angle to stop one of the larger sneezies from approaching. "That lance looks like its about to blow. If we don't want to go up with it, I'm going to have to be able to reach it."

Thorne spoke with purpose, conveying his possession of not just a plan, but a solution to the other dire problem that beset them. Kiros wasted no time attaching himself to a good plan in times of desperation.

"That spell won't hold long!" He shouted back as he tumbled to his feet. It was both warning and reply. The curtain never did; regardless of the unknown chaotic effects the sneezies wrought against his magic. Often an inconvenience, this situation made it benefit.

Thorne needed room to work whatever solution he held with him. He had done a fine job in clearing it, but the gathered pile of sneezies in the corner would take it again soon. Their lives now depended on Kiros returning the life-saving favour Thorne had just given him.

With staff held firmly in a spear-like grip, Kiros took off towards the corner at full speed, eyes squinting to fight off the painful brightness emanating off the curtain. While still at a run, a deft thrust slammed the forward end of the staff into the sneezie farthest from the pileup; returning it there with another squeal of pain. The rest looked back in shock as Kiros charged them and several made futile attempts to hop away, despite any room to do so.

In final approach, Kiros made a running jump with his legs brought in front. Both of his feet slammed into the cornered pile with as much force as he could deliver; his full weight behind it. The result was a chaotic chorus of high pitched honks from the ones crushed underfoot, with frantic snorts from the others.

As if in response, the curtain vanished at the moment of impact with a brilliant flash; all sneezies that had been caught between it and Kiros scattered widthwise along the hall. The other sneezies that were assailing Lazule turned immediately towards the commotion; deeming the far more active Kiros to be a better target. Barely able to scramble to his feet, he was soon knocked back into the corner and subjected to the same assault formerly delivered to their fallen armoured companion; now left alone beside his brightly shining lance.

Beneath it all, Kiros flailed and scrambled as continued kicks from the mob drew blood and broke ribs. The sneezies were relentless, and their numbers overwhelming. Still, Kiros was determined to hold on. Withstanding their assault, he hoped for the quick execution of what plans Thorne spoke of.
 
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Colette

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It was as a blur. One second there was a knife-wielding girl and the next she was gone. Colette found herself pulled into nothingness, blackness, emptiness. She rose to her feet, steadying herself with a free hand as the oddly dressed man was chucked with her. Still clinging to his candied apple.

Colette lazily nodded at him as her thoughts swam in fear. "Just Colette is fine Mr. Furquad, what happ-," before she could finish a wave of pink splashed between them.

Tiny chunks of wood spiraled everywhere as it lifted Farzad into the air and then smacked him back down. His body ragdolled as Colette looked on in abject horror. He pinned the muscular tongue of this beast down, for now, with his staff and body weight. How long could that hold though?

The young guardswoman wanted to have a panic attack. Sweat was pooling near her brow. Not again, she thought briefly as the situation became more and more clear. She was trapped in some strange place with foul beasts and this time without the aid of her trusted friend Donric.

But there was no time for despair here. Not in this grim blackness, not with this creature flailing it's tongue wildly in an attempt to kill or devour them. She reached for her bow and... and...

Nothing.

Her hand grasp at air as she realized that her bow wasn't affixed to her back when she dove down the well for that boy. That was her lifeline, her skill in the guard had come down to it. The only reason she had been stationed on the frontier was her superior skills as an archer. She let out an exasperated croon as the nightmare seemed to be getting worse.

"No," she said softly to herself. "No time to panic."

This was a much different enemy than the ones Talus had taught her how to fight but the principles should still remain the same. Right? She firmly grasped the hilt of her sword and drew the expertly crafted Anirian blade. Her eyes narrowed, her heart fluttered, and then she charged. She charged straight towards Farzad and buried the pointy-end as far as she could into the epigone's tongue.

The creature howled and moved about. She wasn't sure how much longer Farzad would be able to keep it pinned down at this rate.

Farzad Oldsummer
 

Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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Well. This is going well.

You unmitigated asshole.
What?

The shape was a twisting and contorting figure. As Farzad's weight laid down inch by inch so too did the form, loosening and twisting against the floorboards, flattening out with perilous motions as Collette pressed blade deep into the thing's tongue. Splinters fractured off, dancing in the cold wet air as they landed on the tongue, shifting between figure and shape. It was odd. The place was dry before. In fact the room seemed to be dry before. Something was off. Farzad wasn't too...

He felt it, a slick tendril of goop fell from the roof, sticky and smelling of rotting carcass with fresh pieces still rolling inside. Farzad narrowed his eyes as he looked around. Wasn't the room made of wood? Long crooked beams? Wasn't... was there always a gust of air seeming to be pulled in. The dots slowly connected but Farzad knew it was a little too late. He pulled his staff up just as the tongue flicked, he lost control of his body but managed a single motion, he turned his quarterstaff sidewards. He swing with as much force as he could muster at Collette. He didn't know what it would do. If they wouldn't move. If they were a bulwark. It was all he could manage as the tongue gripped his body, himself caught like a fly in a single web. His breath was caught in horrid stench as he screamed his last words, before that all encompassing jaw settled down on it's quarry.


"Sil"
 

Caliane Ruinë

Angel Nuke
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The Epigone's tongue slowly curled about the motionless form of the wizard and drew it into its mouth. It made great, wet, smacking noises with its oversized lips as it slurped the corpse down its gullet and retracted its tongue fully into its wide mouth. The stench from its maw was overpowering inside the room with no obvious doors nor windows through which to escape apart from the one that had just been slammed shut and locked behind them. It was dark yet oddly humid in the room and in the shadows other figures moved. There was a snuffling and a great groaning of floorboards as they began to search out the other source of food they knew was somewhere in this room...



Eren'thiel Xyrdithas opened the door at the most unfortunate of moments. He might have caught a glimpse of that same room the others had entered into; the desk sitting in the corner, the dying embers in the hearth and the rows upon rows of hourglasses stretching into the foggy distances.

Or he might have been too preoccupied with the fact there was no floor to greet his foot as he stepped inside.

Down he would find himself falling into the basement with the others.
 

Colette

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The epigone’s tongue contracted so quickly that Colette nearly lost her grip on her blade. She hung on but lost her footing and fell to her knees with the sword clashing in the splintered wood floor. Her head moved up just in time to observe the horror through her deep blue eyes.

Her companion was eaten as a final yelp escaped his lips.

A horrid stench overwhelmed her. She gagged and pulled one arm up towards her chest. Lungs rasped in air in rapid staccatos as panic and despair began to take her. The thick humid air clung to her throat, the odor permeated her clothes, and tears welled up in the whites of her eyes.

Surely there was hope just beyond the door. That kind elf woman with the white hair would burst through any moment to save her. Retired Lieutenant Mercer seemed like an honorable soldier who would never leave a member of the guard behind. The armored golem would be able to tell this tongued beast easily.

More thick, wet, air filled her lungs as the tears trailed down her cheeks. Ears perked up as shuffling could be heard in the distance. Other beasts must’ve been moving closer, seeking prey. The dimness of the room made it hard to tell.

Hope faded. She rose to her feet as her sword shook violently in her hands. Reality was setting in, no one was coming to help. If she were to live she’d have to fight these things herself. But her wobbling knees and upset stomach weren’t doing her odds any favors. The “flight” instinct was very much winning against the “fight” one.

That wasn’t an option. There was no where to run. It was kill or be killed.
 

Thorne

Dread Hunter
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Through their combined efforts, Kiros and Thorne had managed to effectively incapacitate their half of the sneezies rampaging through the room. The priest's flying dive-kick seemed to have done in a large number of them, and not a moment sooner as the curtain of light came down unceremoniously. There wasn't much time to react to what happened next.

With the remaining nose-goblins focusing their assault on Kiros, Thorne had a few seconds to get to the lance and stop it from detonating. He seized the moment, letting his deadly windmill come to a halt and the chains drag across the floor behind him as he dashed to the overcharging weapon. As he came to grip the lance and charge the runes branded into his forearms, he felt something...off, however. An unusual electricity in the air, as though static was dancing across his entire body. He shook the feeling and braced himself as he began to force negative-magic into the spear.

Thorne regretted the decision immediately. Blood red energy emanated from his wrists as the armor and bandages he used to cover the runes on his hands and forearms disintegrated. The negative-magic arced over his entire body like crimson lightning, and suddenly the ex-soldier found himself in the most agonizing pain he'd ever experienced, far worse than the usual symptoms of his cursed brands. He was pouring far more of his antimagic venom from his body than he'd ever done before, so much so that the lance made a fizzling "pop" sound and the negative energy began to arc randomly off his chain, still clutched in one hand.

Several of the arcs began to hit random things in the room, walls, ceilings, and most of all, sneezies. Each one struck let out an otherworldly shriek as Thorne's pain was shared with it, and each creature was simultaneously cut off from its magic. It was almost a boon that Kiros had been trapped beneath their onslaught; the sneezies made for a convenient meat shield from Thorne's storm of suffering.

When each remaining sneezy had at last been struck by a bolt of Thorne's negative-magic, the storm immediately ceased. The soldier and creatures had cancelled each other out. With a wheezing gasp, Thorne's eyes rolled back into his head and, releasing Lazule's lance, he crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.
 

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

The Broken Sword
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Like the others, stepping in through the veil took Erën to a strange and macabre place - twisted and gnarled, and... different. He could sense it, almost feel it on his skin. This was not a place for the likes of him or anyone else. He should not have come here. But, having done so he felt he had little choice but to see through whatever it was he had embarked on.

Down the peculiar path...

...up to the looming door.

And he opened it, stepping in and - !?

He'd managed a glance at the enormity of the odd room within, but was given little time to make note of anything significant. Whether it was a failure on his part or some trick of the structure itself he was unsure, but his feet fell out under him all the same, and down he fell. Shock was immediate, but quelled beneath the deeply ingrained instincts forged within him over centuries. He oriented himself as well as he could, and descended into the dark.

Basement


He came down with a quiet sound, dropping to one knee from the momentum. His instincts fired again, and as he quickly rose to his feet his hands grasped his swords and free they came.

He could sense that there were others present, but his telepathy seemed dampened here and he could discern very little. Even his eyes that should have been unhindered by the dark failed him and showed him nothing.

The sword in his right hand began to glow, and a dim illumination of pale blue light began to grow.
 

Lazule

The First Slayer
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The magic of the Lance, losing the capacity to self-sustain granted by the volatile power of the Sneezies' Irreality, flickered and dissipated.

The Sneezies battering the armor of Lazule's body had all been struck by the wild arcs of Thorne's power.

Yet Lazule's body stayed slumped against the wall. Arms limp, head bowed. Almost like a man who had decided to a nap against a tree in the afternoon of a summer day.

* * * * *​

Internally, the Life Fire of Lazule stopped swelling and stopped heating up. The ball of Fire rested atop the shrunken liver of the body amidst the shards of glass, just below the cradle of the heart.

And he repeated Mantras that Father had taught him in his mind. Mantras of perseverance. Of hope.

For that was all he had. He had no awareness of what was happening outside of his body, out in the hallway with the monsters and the people with whom he had found himself with in this strange mansion. And he could do nothing to rectify what had gone wrong.

Kiros Rahnel Thorne
 

Sylvian

Snow White
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Her pale fingers slithered across the wooden floor, and she yelped when a splinter dug into her flesh. Good, she thought. I haven’t lost my mind yet. A cold shiver ran down Sylvian’s spine and the hair on her neck stood – was she afraid? The elf had not feared anything in a long time. Instead, Sylvian Sinderion prided herself on courage and the thirst for adventure. By the standards of her people Sylvian was reckless and a fool, but unlike them she did not cower, she did not hide – and she would continue to do no such thing.

“Yes, Magus Obvious. I’m awake now.” A little spice to get herself back into her usual, unafraid headspace. She had never seen that person before, neither here or elsewhere. A stranger at this time? Anxiously, Sylvian averted her gaze and searched the areas for others. Her eyes fell on the injured Zier and with a gasp the Avariel rushed over to his side. “What–,” she said, but hesitated when she saw the magnitude of his wounds. The right side of his body, his face and his arm, were covered in severe burns and he was visibly in agony.

Sylvian gulped and carefully reached around the young elf to turn him over. “It’s okay,” she reassured him and lifted his head into her lap. “I can heal this, you’ll be as good as new in just a moment.” A trained Medic with over a hundred years of experience, the she-elf knew she could help him, but Sylvian was no miracle-maker: her work would take time, time she was afraid they didn’t have. So instead of healing him to the full extent of her abilities, she decided to get Zier back up on his feet as soon as possible, and then they could get out of this horror house.

Sylvian placed one hand around his cheek and the other one on top of his burned arm. Then, the Sorceress quietly sang her spell. A white light, ice cold and soothing, poured from her fingertips and into his skin. The healing was a slow, but steady process and bit by bit his burned flesh would be restored. In the meantime, Sylvian kept a keen eye on the other mortal (assuming that’s what he was), but he kept himself occupied by the lamps and it only confirmed what the woman had already suspected: humans were easily distracted by shiny things.

Then, another challenger approached and even though he did so quietly and with grace, Sylvian screamed when Erën entered the scene and held on tight to the still wounded Zier. Instinctively, the Avariel halted her healing and summoned a large ice spear to defend herself – and her patient – at all costs.

“Who the hell are you?!”

@: Focraig'Diin ; Zier Xya Zythos ; Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 

Kiros Rahnel

Outcast Priest
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The sudden dispersion of the curtain was a surprise. It never did last long, but by now Kiros knew the timing well and had expected it to remain another moment longer than it did. Indeed, by the time his airborne dropkick had returned him to the floor the blindingly bright wall or protection had already flashed away. The unexpected turn of events had robbed him of precious time with which he could right himself to his feet. Before he could properly prepare to fend off their attack, he found himself beset by sneezies kicking and bashing him against the hallway corner.

But he had his staff; once again lying on the ground beneath him with an end against a wall. With a good grasp on the staff and a good purchase of the end against the corner, he might be able to pry himself out from underneath the mob. Kiros used his strength and his staff to push himself out from the corner while the vicious beating continued. His desperate attempt came to a painful halt when one of the sneezies managed to dislocate his shoulder from the socket with a well placed kick.

Now that matters had turned for the worse, he held doubt in how long he could withstand the attack. Having no idea how long Thorne's plans might take, Kiros fought back as well as he could. A sneezie let out another pained scream as he drove a thumb into one of the ugly creature's large, unblinking eyes with his one good arm. While there was some satisfaction in causing the critter pain, it did nothing to alleviate his situation. Thorne's actions on the other hand did; and the loud pop from the nullified lance sparked hope from the beaten priest that he may yet see another day.

Death howls from the sneezies soon followed, robbing him of such hope. He hardly knew what to make of it. It was a boon that these beasts were struck down; but a curse that he too was occupying the same space as they. It was a tense moment as the blood-red energy arced through the room in sudden eruption, with Kiros in fear of his own possible imminent demise.

Yet the chaos came to a stop soon after it had been ignited. With the last sneezie incapacitated, and Thorne's actions at a close, the former battle-scape was now a silent hallway littered with corpses of the felled and the unconscious bodies of the two companions with him.

Kiros began to work his way out from underneath the pile with a pained breath, pushing away bodies of the unconscious monsters before reaching out with a long arm to claw and pull his way free. His left eye had been swollen shut from the assault; blood poured from his mouth and nose in a steady stream that stained his once immaculate robes and littered the floor with specks of red. He was in bad shape, but he was at least still conscious. The only one of the three that remained so.

Crawling along the floor with further pained breaths, Kiros slowly and steadily made his way towards the two. He wasted no time in checking them both over, first Lazule who seemed to show no signs of life. Thorne however did; though he could determine no obvious injuries on the man. Kiros's healing held the power to treat injury, but it could undo neither pain nor unconsciousness. Still, though his arcane options were limited, he had to do something. Without much else to attempt, he invoked his holy power and laid a blessing of health upon Thorne, still uncertain as to what effect it would have.

Turning his attention next to Lazule, Kiros hesitated. He was still convinced the man in the armour, motionless and without breath, was dead; something Kiros knew he was unable to remedy. But as with Thorne, he had little else to try. Knowing nothing of the true nature of the life fire, he would attempt aid on Lazule as well with the same blessing of health.

But it did not resolve as it did with Thorne. The man in the armour had no shins; given his pronged feet, this came as no surprise to the healer. But in the place of his heart, the most vital of organs was...nothing. Nothing! There wasn't a heart at all; it wasn't torn from his body, didn't cease beating. It didn't seem to exist, as if it had never been there nor was it even supposed to be. The blessing he bestowed did nothing to replace it, either.

"The fuck? By the gods.." he thought to himself in utter confusion. The man in the armour didn't seem to be just a man at all. Kiros had no immediate idea what to make of it, wondering as he watched on in both hope and doubt that his magic had managed to do something to help at least Thorne...

Thorne Lazule
 
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Zier Xya Zythos

Let's Be Honest, My Title Is Dumbass.
Elbion College
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This idiots managed to gather quite a few burns from candles or campfires while learning pyromancy, but this was tortuous; the fire had long extinguished but it didn't feel like it. The brief exposure to the sneezies abilities caused the flame to almost immediately mar his skin with blisters. Attempting to move his swollen arm only resulted in a deluge of searing pain.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him and lifted his head into her lap. “I can heal this, you’ll be as good as new in just a moment.”

Apart from being unable to open his right eye while his left is partially blind from the bright flash, he's conscious and he recognized the voice the Avarial from earlier. He clearly mouthed two or three elvish cusses from the pain of his face being touched.

That pain was alleviated though. It was an odd feeling-- your skin slowly repairing itself. The cold sensation reminded him of when his mother used to put ice on his hand when he burnt himself being a dumbass child. Home.. yes.. He could sleep right now. Fuck it. He'll sleep.

"FFF-" He stifled one of his favorite words as she protectively grabbed onto him. The sudden jolt agitated his wounds. He slowly turned his his head to see whoever she was talking about, seeing Eren now in the basement. The way he rose and grabbed his blades indicated that he was cautious, but more than ready to strike down a target. It was defensive. Not senseless hostility. Zier knows that caution, therefore he can assume-- maybe-- that he's only gonna attack in self defense.

Still, he could be wrong. He doesn't think he can effectively fight in this condition so hopefully Sylvian can successfully impale-la bitch.
 

Colette

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Breath in, breath out. Kill. Be killed.

It was a binary decision. She could choose to fight to the bitter end right here and now or she could decide to roll over and die. Her shoulders tensed, arms stiffened, and her blade was held outwards. One last breath, one last deep rush of oxygen to settle her nerves.

Elbows bent as her sword came near her side and feet exploded against the wooden floor. Colette screamed at the foul creature that was preoccupied by the consumption of Farzad. Screamed in a primal, visceral, manner that carried far beyond the room she was locked in. She didn't care what other beasts heard it, what other beasts were in this room, she was going to make whatever intended to kill her hurt.

Hurt as badly as she could muster.

Air rushed by her ears, fluttered her hair, and in one swift motion she thrust her sword forwards puncturing the neck of the epigone. It went in smoothly after the full weight of her arms pressed it forward, the squish of flesh and blood echoing off the walls. She pulled the blade out and plunged it into a part of its shoulder creating another gash.

"Die you bastard!"

A third hole was created in the epigone's body, this time closer to its throat. Her face was covered in the splatter of blood from the fat, putrid beast. A fourth stab, then a fifth, then a sixth. She lost count as fury and panic overtook her senses.

"Die!" she screamed again, her voice wavering as tears poured down her face.

Breath in, breath out. Kill. Be killed.
 

Focraig'Diin

Ice Mage Archivist!
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His head snapped in the direction of more newcomers to this little party. He'd be more interested in the lantern itself were it not for some... distinct features he found in this one.

'By Arethil, is there a costume party hidden in the background here? '

And while he had nothing towards elves, this one seemed a mite too tense for comfort. Those blades looked quite sharp, and if he were a betting man, enchantments would line that metal as well - he wouldn't be able to shatter them with magic as he would treat any other physical weapon. He still readied for combat nonetheless, his eyes positively gleaming in the darkness of his hood.

Whatever chill that remained in the air, it slowly drew towards the ice mage. Not so sudden as to provoke a sense of imminent attack, but it served as a warning well enough.

"I advise we all not turn on one another, whomever you are." Eyes firmly fixed on those bloody-sharp looking blades, the mage turned to fully face this elf, hands up in a placating gesture.

"We're all here for reasons unknown to us, and I for one, would much like to find out what is lurking in this shack, and why it wants us strung like puppets in a horror show."

"Unless of course, you are here on that entity's control, which is very unlikely. So what say you? Parley?"

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

The Broken Sword
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“Who the hell are you?!”

It had taken a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, but soon he was able to see well enough. Just ahead of him stood Sylvian, assuming a defensive posture in response to his sudden appearance. That was certainly an appropriate reaction, one he would not condemn her for. Near her was Zier, wounded by either the fall or something else he was unsure, but his stifled groan certainly sounded pained. Before Erën could respond with anything other than fleeting look, another draped in obscuring robes came forth.

"I advise we all not turn on one another, whomever you are...
...So what say you? Parley?"

Erën looked between the few others who had also been brought to this place, and his posture eased, "I have no desire to quarrel with any of you. Like you I have come with no knowledge of this place..." he spared a glance around, "and I am curious why it drew me to it..."

He straightened up, and gestured to Sylvian toward sheathing his swords, "what say you, shall we move forward together?"


 

Focraig'Diin

Ice Mage Archivist!
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Fantastic, so blood was not to be shed this day. The mage turned to the other elf, and the man she cradled in her lap. Aside from the severe burns lining the poor soul, the man's magic...

He was no professor of Elbion, but he was plenty sure that wasn't normal for a pyromancer. But back on the matter at hand, he observed the lantern a bit more, holding his own amulet up to the ceiling for a better understanding. Held by a length of chain, he followed the links to the presumably wooden ceiling -

"Well... I suppose that clears up one question of mine, at least."

The black links burrowed into the wood like ticks, black mandibles buried into those support beams. If his eyes were not playing tricks, there were veins lining the wood, acting as sort of... blood vessels? Channeled directly into the source of illumination before him. Focraig dared not tamper further. Perhaps any further and this would get ugly.

Instead, he would tend to the wounded pyromancer. To the she-elf's side he walked, kneeling beside the injured sections of the man. He was familiar with burn wounds, having treated a few during an occasional spat with a swordsman who also used fire, but more along the lines of heat, rather than sparks and fire. Glancing up at the elf cradling the mage, Focraig held up a pale, misting hand.

"If I may, I have some experience treating wounds of this nature. While you are clearly the more experienced healer, I would rather expedite this process and conserve both yours and mine energy."

He paused, stealing glances at the male elf. "That... and it would be unwise to stay in one place."

He took a closer look at the burns lining the hand of this mage, charred red. While suspicious that this mage would lack such control over his own element, this house was flat-out freaky. Chances were it could have destabilized whatever magic he was casting to have it backfire. A small comfort that it was very recent. He would begin partial treatment immediately.

"I advise biting onto something, fire-mage. This part tends to... sting."

And with a small, concentrated application of Alteration, and some moisture he managed to pull from the air itself, he set to cooling the appendage down, as to hopefully stop the burns before they went any deeper. The mage ran a risk of losing a casting hand, and the ice-mage would need all hands on deck to make it out of this fiasco of a house party the group found themselves in.

The limb was coated in a paper-thin layer of magic, the coolness of the moist air serving as a pseudo-cast. "I would advise you start your healing now, she-elf princess. Wouldn't want a crippled mage with us."



Sylvian
 

Sylvian

Snow White
Member
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76
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There was no small amount of uncertainty in Sylvian's sapphire eyes. Still, the snow elf recognized her own kind and when Erën lowered his weapon she did the same. Sylvian did not know much about other elves, only that they could be a threat to her people and had been in the past. His aura felt different from Zier and although the white haired Avariel could not quite place it, something about him was reminiscent of the ancient world.

That, and the way he spoke.

Sylvian gave Erën a reluctant nod and returned her attention to Zier. A thin layer of ice covered his burns, and when she removed it his injuries had lessened, but not disappeared. “I think the other ones aren’t coming,” the she-elf said with a small voice and glanced upwards. The ceiling had closed and it appeared that no one else would be falling down from it. Whatever that meant was up for interpretation, but Sylvian couldn’t shake the unwell feeling that some of the people she had met prior to ending up down here were never going to come back, at all.

Then, Focraig approached and Sylvian cautiously offered the young elf up for inspection. “Every bit of help is much appreciated,” she replied. Much to her surprise, Focraig’s magic and methods were similar to her own and she breathed a sigh of relief when Zier’s burns stopped spreading. “Thank you.” Sylvian summoned her light and poured it into the redhead’s body to begin the healing process. “Today is your lucky day,” she told him with a hint of a smile on her lips. “Not one, but two people to tend to your wounds.” Her lips pursed at the harshness of Focraig’s words, but she knew that the wizard was right.

“We have to keep moving. Can you try and stand?”

@ Focraig'Diin ; Zier Xya Zythos ; Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 

Colette

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98
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Lumbering flesh surged forward as what passed for the epigone’s paw swatted lazily at the stabbing insect of Colette. The impact knocked her backwards and the creature lurched into the darkness of the acrid room.

She had injured it but it wasn’t dead. The shadows of the room twisted once more as the guardswoman exhaled hot breaths of panic into the empty space. A mixture of tears and monster blood dripping off her cheeks.

Suddenly five figures appeared, their footsteps awkwardly creaked against the aging wood. One of them was an aristocratic looking woman, her face aglow with warmth. She tilted her head in an inhuman fashion and crooked a smile towards Colette.

Extending a delicate hand she spoke in a warm voice, “you poor thing, come with me and I’ll get you cleaned up.”

“No,” said a ruggedly dressed farmer covered in swampy grim, “come ‘ere gurl, I know the way out ‘o this house.” His gloved hand outstretched towards her.

A half-orc, adorned in chainmail, stepped forward and his face was filled with rage. “Must kill these creatures little one, come aid me!”

A sixth figure appeared from the gloom. Shuffling towards her the shape of this new arrival caused Colette’s cobalt eyes to blink rapidly. It was Farzad Oldsummer.

But how? She had seen him eaten.

Farzad stared at her, blankly at first, before he spoke. ”Hey Cole, don’t worry. Or was it Collie? Ha! Anyways, I’m fine and I know of a way out. Take my hand and we’ll be on our way lickety-split!”

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

All of these beings looked, talked, normally. But there was something unnatural about their movements. No passion behind their features, no sense of emotion. It was disturbing, unsettling.

”N-no…,” she said through trembling, terrified, lips. ”Just stay away from me please. I’ll be, I’ll be fine. Just stay back.”

Colette inched backwards, blade trained on the six encroaching humanoids with arms outstretched as they cooed and cawed at the blonde girl. Begging her to approach until… until…

Her back collided with something. A wall. There was no more room to retreat.
 

Zier Xya Zythos

Let's Be Honest, My Title Is Dumbass.
Elbion College
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132
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"I advise biting onto something, fire-mage. This part tends to... sting."
Oh- that'll be fun... He would have went for the hilt of his dagger if he didn't leave it at home. He'll just have to take this one like an orc. For a brief moment, the cooling sensation provided relief to the pain, but then it caused some of it's own. It was frigid and he felt his arm begin to turn numb. He was gonna yell something along the lines of TAKE IT OFF. I CAN'T FE- But Sylvian already covered that.

His first time around healers and he is gifted two of them by random circumstance. He wonders how the others are doing up there with those monsters... hopefully they have the same luxury of a healer with them.
“We have to keep moving. Can you try and stand?”
His injuries are nowhere near as potent as before so he's positive that he can walk, or maybe run, if needed. "I think so. Thank you both!" Careful not to agitate anything further, he stood up slowly, observing his hand. It looked more like a burn that he could acquire from boiling water or a hot pan. "Yeah, I feel better. But..." He glanced up at the opening they came up from, worried about the others they entered the house with. It appears that the basement crew is gonna get the fuck out of here soon--hopefully. Although he can't stop himself from asking "What about the others?" He may not know them, but it sounds shitty to just leave them.
 

Lazule

The First Slayer
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217
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With the blessing of health from Kiros came a result that was likely opposite to what the man was expecting. It did not heal the body within the armor. The blessing caused radiant damage to it.

Lazule's currently inhabited body--that of the Unknown Warrior--was one that endured in a state of quasi-undeath. This in contrast to his previous body, that of Lena Murtry, in which the normal facets of life were present: breathing, organ function, thirst and hunger, and so on. While in Lena's body Lazule had enjoyed the closest approximation to a human life without having been born with a human body of his own.

But the Unknown Warrior's body was different. The Warrior had died just as Lena had died, this was true, but the acolytes in Benjamin Murtry's tower had fashioned for his corpse the suit of armor that it would be entombed within. This armor purpose built to be controlled by a Life Fire, driven in the sole purpose of slaying monsters all the world over. Since Life Fires could not control constructs of metal and stone and crystal, an intermediary was required--hence the body. The body's normal functions of life were troublesome details for the operation of the suit, but it still required energy. Sustenance. Instead of food and water and air, which would all produce waste which would need accommodation, the golden crystals on the exterior of the suit absorbed the light of the sun to nourish the body and as well charge the suit itself.

Thus, the state of quasi-undeath.

And the blunted damage--blunted by the strange nature of the undeath but damage nonetheless--caused by Kiros's blessing to the body hidden beneath the armor which encased it.

* * * * *​

Lazule had no awareness of the blessing nor of its effects.

He was a little more than a consciousness in the dark, clinging to the hope that the monsters had been defeated and that someone would discern his true nature, and be able to help accordingly.

Kiros Rahnel Thorne
 

Kiros Rahnel

Outcast Priest
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In addition to the wisdom gleamed from the blessing was stark realization; whatever Lazule was made from was not living flesh at all. Rather than healing, the excess energy of his blessing had left radiant burns within the warrior wherever the spell had checked over – and not knowing where his wounds might lie, Kiros had checked everywhere. Any bruised muscle or wounds were only harmed further by the very nature of the spell, with additional surface burns of varied degrees in varied locations from the priest's hasty blessing. Upon his realization he brought the incantation to an abrupt halt; but the damage had been done.

That the man seemed technically undead raised even further questions, but these would need to be answered later - if at all.

If his blessing had aided Thorne, his unconscious body gave no sign. But at least he was alive and physically intact. Unable to help him, and bewildered by Lazule, his attention turned next to his own injuries. He braced his staff against the floor with his good arm, pulling himself to his feet,with a grimace of pain from. A shove of his shoulder against the wall popped the limb popped back into place. While it would be faster and less painful to use his powers of healing, that would also be a waste of arcane energy. And he knew not how long it might take for them to escape this cursed house.

Taking a moment to recover, Kiros was abruptly interrupted by the sound of wooden scratching in the otherwise silent hallway. Catching sight of the motion out of the corner of his eye, he withdrew a knife as he approached the creature. Another sudden stir from the waking sneezie caused him to drop down immediately, plunging the blade downward in a killing blow,despite the pain of his injuries. The monster died with a pained honk, and Kiros looked over the remaining sneezies in the room with uncertainty about which was dead, and which may be merely unconscious.

So he took the most reasonable action that came to mind, and went around to drive the knife into each fallen sneezie that littered the hallway floor. The dead made no sound, while those that still carried life had it promptly ended with further shrill honks. Only once he was sure that he and his companions remained the sole active beings in the hallway did he return to them, finally laying the blessing of health upon himself to mend his own bruises and broken bones.

He could do little else but wait for Thorne. In the time he had, he'd examine Lazule further in search of what he might do to restore him to his former condition.

* * *​

The wall behind Lazule was now marked with a series of hastily scrawled notes written in chalk. Kiros's arcane inquiry had taken a bit of time, but using his harmless incantation of insight he had managed to discover much about the motionless, heartless man contained within the metal armour. Seemingly a construction of both magic and man, his true power source was the energies within – a sort of 'inner fire' that burned with magic, yet was presently disconnected from his body. The man's internals were peppered with shards of glass too; studying the glass revealed nothing further about it. In a way it was a relief, his empty search for further answers told him the glass wasn't enchanted, nor was it ever.

There was one final oddity that he had been able to note. The air, or whatever it was beneath the armour, was notably different than the air they were breathing. While unable to discern why this would be, something this odd and deliberate could be no coincidence. It was more than likely that Lazule's continued existence depended upon this property as well.

Thus, all he truly required it would seem, was a sealed glass vessel. One that Kiros, conveniently enough, had been carrying with him. He pulled out a small empty glass bottle and set it aside. He also removed the lid, preventing the procedure from transporting the deadly Aerethil air as assumed contents. It was but one obstacle to overcome; his state of quasi-undeath would further complicate attempts at resuscitation. With limited tools to help him, the next actions required careful planning. Transplanting the bottle would be tricky but feasible. His magic did enable the transport of foreign material; usually seen in reagents such as wax and ground rust. Using the bottle as reagent might suffice, so long as the container did not break down during the procedure. It would require a little finesse, were the warrior fully alive. With no other means to connect the life fire to the body it had been severed from, the procedure – facilitated through the same blessing of health – would cause unavoidable burns. Yet there was some benefit; healing upon the living carried certain limitations as guarantee against such power ever causing harm. A promise the undead were exempt from, granting Kiros some free reign in how he might continue.

He laid the lidless bottle atop Lazule’s chest and prepared his spell with the lightest touch possible; it would still burn, albeit less haphazardly as the prior blessing had done. Invoking the spell, the transparent glass container grew opaque with luminescence, lighting up the area before vanishing in a bright flash. The vessel now laid in the empty cavity where his heart ought to be, surrounding the severed heart within him and scalding his lungs in the process. He did the same with the cork cap, placing it within the bottle using the same magic. This too caused damage, albeit less than than before with the bottle acting as shield to stunt the radiant burns.

The bottle now laid within his rib cage, and the cork within it. The next step would be the most complex; to place the life fire within the bottle. His dispel magic would be suitable, in small and careful applications it enabled him to manipulate arcane effects rather than destroying them outright. And here, Kiros exercised utmost caution, even giving his notes one final glance over before he set to work.

The spell caught hold of the life fire in secure grasp, one that required great strain and concentration to keep steady. It was a clumsy arcane tool to be wielding and hardly the intended use of the spell, but it was the best he had available and all his deity had bothered to hand him. Arcane energy was spent on one failed attempt after another, before he finally managed to get the life fire within the bottle and hold it in place.

The final step was now before him, and it would necessarily be the most reckless. With the life fire inside the bottle he would now need to seal it, but the force required to do so would release uncontrollable radiant energy. Placing the cork within the bottle allowed the glass to act as a shield, but until the moment the vessel was closed the radiance would cause further damage to Lazule's insides. Speed was now a premium over carefulness. Readying himself, Kiros laid his hands on the warrior's armour again to begin the process, using an excess of power to seal the cork into place within the neck of the bottle. The force gave Lazule a barely noticeable jolt, along with completely unnoticeable internal burns. But the action was brief enough, Kiros hoped, to prevent the damage from being outright destructive.

Only time would tell however. He had carefully worked with what knowledge he could gleam, but only the reanimation of Lazule could truly tell him whether his efforts had resulted in success or failure...

Thorne Lazule
 
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Farzad Oldsummer

Dungeon Delver D.D.
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In shadows. It was a whisper. In umbral tides, it tossed and turned by magical whims as nothing more than a goldfish in the maw of leviathans. In the darkness. It was a light of fabric and stitch. Dressed and draped in stuffed hands a single emanation of light. Scrolled on patchwork paper light illuminated from behind this vestigial Farzad. It's stitched together mouth did not move. It couldn't. Not even the mimicry of life that these creations seemed to have. Magic moved it's textile limbs as the numbers and scrawlings forgot to even the ancients of elves and man illuminated the room for a second of blinding light.

And in that moment.

Power surged.
As the figure dropped, all light ceased around it in that darkened tide. All but a whispered noise. Words formed on the tendrils of air and something new. In the span of a second as light vanished consumed and eaten away Colette became a shimmer. Collette's sword. Became hope. Power surged. Electricity danced along that blade with spectacular formation and grooves grew and gnawed the air striking at the darkness in golden radiance.

...
.....
...
"Iro Vicinio"

His words were consumed. Literally. He felt as he spoke a slab of saliva form and follow down his throat, pooling in his stomach before the thorns finally emerged. Armour. Metal. Tiny Spike's and Barb's formed along his body as the muscle pressed and folded. He could feel it going. His arm was bending by the weight. His other felt different. Bent the wrong way. He felt blood pooling. He felt saliva seeping into his wounds. That had stopped for a few moments as the grotesque pounds of flesh rolled along his body of metal, groping his form before pushing him in deeper. He noticed it. The way the carnivorous scent of death slipped away into a long tube. He was going deeper. He was going to die.

For a few seconds his cindering torchlight of incense fought back, but soon the air was going. He felt it. In his lungs. The way they contracted. The way they couldn't expand. It was heavy. But uplifting. Heh... Without a bang huh... He thought to himself. In that life. They were his last. He took in one deep breath of nothingness and let himself drift into the eternal nothingness. Eleth... You win... the thorns still holding steadfast as another wave of muscle pushed him down. His legs were broken as they got caught and crushed beneath an unstoppable weight. He couldn't scream. Corpses could do so little on dreary dark days like this. When the soul was just that little bit looser from life.

Than. For a few minutes. He felt it. In the sense he couldn't. Not anymore. The ethereal tug of death wisped and coiled around his arm, the long finger and a dark smile just above him as it pulled him up like a chain on a lift. And slowly the gears rolled, and he was going up. Up. Up... Well Eleth... I suppose you won... His first words in death. Not exactly poetic huh?


I wonder what's in st... He looked down. He really shouldn't have. The darkness wasn't darkness to the dead, it was home. Just like it was in life. But in that darkness. He didn't feel at home. Not because of the ever smiling visage of the dark gods there to claim his soul. But a form. A shape. A myriad. They'll be fine... They have a swo...

”Hey Cole, don’t worry. Or was it Collie? Ha! Anyways, I’m fine and I know of a way out. Take my hand and we’ll be on our way lickety-split!”

My... My last words huh...


Seems a fitting end. I am a joke afterall...

”Just stay away from me please. I’ll be, I’ll be fine. Just stay back.”

The chain rose him higher.

Are those fitting words for her?

You're still here?

You've got to save her.
But I'm dead.

Farzad.

Voice.

It's Hallow's Eve.

And?

The souls are restless.

...

Farzad?
I... I suppose we are.

The chain snapped.

He couldn't quite tell what it's face was like.

It wasn't happy.

His body was crushed and mangled. But there was a reason Sil Iro Vicinio was one of his favourites. His lips puckered as he regretted this immediately. But he didn't have a choice. He wasn't going to let them die. Not with a whimper. Not here. Not forgotten. He might've been ready to die. But they weren't.

His fingers curled with broken joints. He needed air to sing songs and sling spells. He didn't have it. He didn't have much choice. He felt that arcane bubble. That dark spell that he called an obscenity. He hated it. He knew this was his only way out. God did he hate magic. He let the magic pool along his body his arms and legs. And it pooled. What should have been a pond turned into a grand ocean. His skin a vessel. A container. For magic that never seemed to work out straight. He had magic. But he hated this part.


Tssst... Bsskccahhh

Phwooshhhhh
Raggghhhhhh
His magic ruptured along his skin, small explosions popping his flesh like blisters and welts. Just enough to force him free as the darkness and air swamped him. He wanted to cry. His body was a physical wreck. His body bled almost everywhere. His magic. Farzad's born innate magic. Was explosion's. But he was an obscenity. He couldn't cast it through flesh. God. He hated magic.

But it gave him those critical seconds. Through tears and pain he called out to her, "Sellia!" And that dreadful thing came. That feeling. The Spirit Doll came out from his backpack and new what to do, grabbing a tendril of paper as final memories swamped inot his mind.


Are you here to save me? Cried the innocent voice, as the visage of gold and light shimmered in the dirty tunnel path, the entrance to a laboratory made of dark shapes twisted pines and reformed limbs.

Than he snapped back to reality. He spoke out a few words. This part... This he loved. He rolled over, the guts and muscles were closing in. He had a few seconds. A few hateful seconds as Collette became his guide through murky darkness. And that colourful bastard... That dead mimicry. That was his goal. He stretched out his arm through the pain. The world was closing in. He had one damnable chance as he spoke arcane words on whispered noise.

La...

Foruane...
Dar!
And thus it ruptured. It turned the world into a vortex of lightning as it incinerated the scroll, Farzad's limb an entire serpent of volts and tendrils of gold as it shimmer feed forward and the pulsating muscle pressed outwards as Farzad was flung forward freed from his once coffin. The Ophidia was a consuming tyrant aimed at a single target. It dragged Farzad forward towards Collette as more magic flared along his body. Rune Magic. Costly magic if one wasn't smart. He paid his price. The ink and a bit of his lifeline and stamina. But it done it's job. It made living bearable as he was flung forward and next to Collette himself rolling on the ground near his saviour of lightning.

Farzad however. Wasn't so lucky.
The viper was an impact. It was a force of nature. Stone bent to it's will. Wood was turned to ash. And flesh? It fared as well as water to electricity as it's titillating jaws caught Farzad's body and consumed his upper half without pause. Without fret before vanishing, cascading into the wall behind the duo. Whatever magic the world held. Whatever power this room held. It was strong stuff. But Farzad hadn't made spells for nothing. The wall behind both him and Collette was cracked bad. Slivers of light flared fourth as he was a slumped heap of metal and thorns. But weak. It was clear, seeps of blood was forming in the cracks. And his breath. It wasn't quite right. He had a collapsed lung. But even with it he looked at the leftover creatures and the Epigone.

"Sorry... I can't do that..."

He finally replied. Slowly standing up fists raised just in front of his little Sellia.

 
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Lazule

The First Slayer
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217
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Nothing.

And then a brief flash of sensation. The sudden emergence and disappearance of all sensory perception. Someone had done something? Then, as Lazule's Life Fire became "buoyant" inside the corked glass bottle, the world came slamming back to Lazule in full. Sight assailed his eyes, hearing roared into his ears, touch delved into his skin and the armor intrinsically connected to it. Lazule shuddered as existence became more than just thoughts cast into an infinite dark.

Lazule sat up straight and snapped his helm left and right, immediately surveying the area for threats. But all of the Sneezies were dead. He looked to the only conscious man in the hallway, Kiros.

And said, "What happened? Do you know where the others have gone?"

Lazule's sensory information had gone dark the moment he was assaulted by the Sneezies after opening the door. And now it was merely him, Kiros, and Thorne. If the others had given their lives in the service of righteousness, then all was still well--they will have died a death sanctified by purpose. But he wished to know what Kiros knew all the same.

This first, before other relevant topics of conversation.

Kiros Rahnel Thorne
 

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

The Broken Sword
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433
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With a decided peace between them, Erën's swords were replaced to their sheathes and he watched for a moment and Sylvian and Focraig tended to the wounded elf. He seemed a riley sort, likely why he'd wound up in the state he was in now. He was a fortunate one, that both of these individuals with him were the healing sort. Erën had some ability in this regard, after having learned as much as he could through observing others of his kind who were trained in such ways, but it was an expensive task for one such as him, greatly draining his abilities in battle.

As they tended to Zier's injuries, Erën also chose to take a little look around with the moments given. The overhead lamp was indeed something of a mystery, and its intermittency was intriguing. And while he took in as much as he could of the dark surround, he listened to his new companions speaking to one another. They spoke of others, others who were likewise brought to this place, and seemingly now trapped. He wondered if that is why he detected familiarity here, and if perhaps some of his friends had been brought here. Given the types of people Erën associated with, it was likely that many of them too would have been drawn to the mystery of the veil.

"What about the others?"

Erën turned to face them.

"Of whom do you speak, and where might they be? Did they also fall into this darkness, or are they still above," he asked, looking up, "and if so, how do we get there?"

As he took another look around, he began to feel... uneasy, and he felt as though they were being watched.