Fable - Ask Unclogging Arteries

[Sol'aufain]

The point of Fain’s blade burst through the back of his enemy. The dwarf wheezed and sagged, Fain pulled his rapier free, the sound of trickling blood could just be made out behind him as he lunged at the next foe. The sound of fighting reverberated off the walls, clashes of metal, groans of pain, cries of victory. A song to hold dear, an art to maintain. A respite from the ignominy of being assigned to a scouting party being sent to secure the route from Zar'Ahal to Maekerrith.

The Matron of House Ulthrel, his mother, had seen fit to relinquish him and him alone to the new queen. The betrayal had blindsided Fain. He’d clawed his way up the hierarchy of his own house finally becoming The Weaponmaster, and now…. Now, he was a grunt in The Queen’s Scouts. Fain’s jaw was clenched tight, the fighting was over as quickly as it had started, and his crimson eyes burned while the air around him was ice cold.

Fain looked down on the battle from his perch. He took in the full breath of the skirmish from an elevated vantage point which let him read the notes of this interlude as simply as if it were on a sheet. A frown settled across his lips as he picked up on something he’d missed in the heat of battle. He slipped from the stone outcropping, a shadow in the dark, and landed next to one of the dead dwarves. He sniffed the air…then promptly returned to the group. His hands moved quickly and concisely.

<<This wasn’t a normal scout party, these dwarves were sent here. Eyes up, there is magic near.>>

 

[Nimruil]

Magic suffused the stale, bloodridden air.

Different magic to what was taught in Zar'ahal, to be certain. The deep dwarves favoured a particularly blunt and ruthless approach to their arcana. Much like a hammer, their evocations went for direct and efficient strikes; with just enough subtlety to confuse before the blow.

In this case, the confusion lay in their deaths. But their deaths didn't end the danger.

It started it.

One dwarf exploded in a fiery combustion ball, taking two drow scouts with him, incinerating into screaming silhouettes. Stone loosed and tumbled from the walls at the shockwave, as if the cavern itself cried in pain. More bodies convulsed, about to follow a similar path.

A robed shadow unlatched from the darkness. A swift gesture, and a green wisp flew past Sol'aufain, eating into the neck of the body near him; devouring the rune tattooed there with jaws of hissing acid. The convulsions stopped before that one could explode, and two more orbs flew out, seeking other bodies, working to defuse these flesh-bombs before they could claim the whole cadre.

"Inscriptions in their necks. We must cut them out, before they bring down the cavern upon us."

Nimruil didn't bother communicating with hand gestures. Perhaps it was arrogance, the mannerisms of a mostly city-bound drow; or perhaps it was efficiency, letting go of stealth before speed of communication.

Sol'aufain

 

[Sol'aufain]

The explosions came fast. The cacophony wrought was expounded by the shockwaves rebounding off the stone walls. It was shameful… but it was effective. One of the party was swept up in a blast. Fain didn’t wait to see where the body landed or what was left of it. His rapier was in his hand and the temperature around his free hand plummeted, the air crystallizing around his fist as he prepared for the attack that was surely to come.

Suddenly, a figure in the dark stepped forth, seemingly materializing before his eyes and unleashed an attack. Fain’s head instinctively shifted away from the trajectory of the caustic globule. It shot past and landed with a wet smack across the throat of a dwarf five paces behind.

The mysterious interloper was none other than the Sun Spider, Nimruil. Sol’aufain Ulthrel didn’t need this brothel loving wisp of a Drow’s help… but that didn’t stop him from slitting dead throats as he moved. A handful of intense minutes later and the stone around them had once again fallen silent…

Fain’s hands moved and the other two remaining scouts found their way to his side. He stood before Nimruil, his expression as menacing as the stone around them, “Your assistance is appreciated, but unwarranted, the situation was under control.”

Did this worm think he could show up right at the end of the route and take Fain’s glory? Did he really believe that the War— former Warmaster of House Ulthrel was so inept that he couldn’t complete a simple scouting mission? Fain’s hands were balled into fists, his stance was rigid and his eyes glared into Nimruil’s. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

Spoiler: Music

The moss-green orbs floated up above in unison, before slowly drifting to the Sun Spider's side. There they orbited his ash-haired head, like three planetary spheres; vigilant and wholly arcane. Their triad of lights threw his face into shifting shades of green and dark, flickering across stone-grey skin and cold eyes.

Nimruil folded his arms, sizing up the erstwhile warmaster Sol'aufain, once of House Ulthrel. Aggression billowed off of him like invisible fire -- a dangerous weapon put to a task below its station. This the archmage knew well.

For it was a situation that he shared.

"Was it, now?" Pale-red eyes drifted to the charred remains of the two, dead cadre scouts; one blackened arms curled up in a final spasm of agony. A click of his tongue escaped him; like a master come home to find a terrible mess. Anticipating Sol'aufain's follow-up question, Nimruil raised a placating hand. "House Suulet'jabar sends me and my own to bolster your forces, sut'rinos ((commander)) Sol'aufain."

At this, two apprentices staggered up behind their master, understandably nervous before the commander's barely checked wrath.

Sol'aufain

 

[Sol'aufain]

Fain’s eyes radiated contempt as the mage clucked his tongue. If this had happened weeks ago the back of Fain’s hand would have introduced itself to the side of Nimruil’s face at the first cluck, but standing here now, the world was different. He wasn’t a Warmaster. He was a Scout Commander.

Before he said anything else, The Sun Spider’s magiclings appeared. Fain’s eyes fell upon them, their weakness was disgusting.

His eyes flicked back to Nimruil, “I shall send my regards to your sister when we return, then," even speaking, Fain was quiet. His words were the crunch of gravel underfoot. His hands gave orders even as he turned from The Sun Spider.

The other two scouts shot off ahead. They were hunting whoever was transporting these damn exploding dwarves. Both scouts had a fey fire spell scroll ready to burn. The multicolored light would be easy to spot down here. He had no doubt everything in the Underrealm was aware of their presence, and that was good. He’d be sure to make an example of anything that tried to stop him from completing his mission.

Nimruil

 

[Nimruil]

At this, Nimruil couldn't help but curl a small, sardonic smile. His sister could be rather picky with her consorts, but once she found one pleasing to her whims, she usually didn't hesitate to sink her claws into them. It was entirely possible Sol'aufain might already have caught- or would catch her eye in the future.

As they progressed in the dark tunnels, Nimruil's orbs sunk back below his robe; dissipating into the golden links of his spine. He crept along, attempting to match the skilled scouts in their stealth. His hands deigned to speak in signals, usually reserved for invocations rather than the silent speech of cadres. His gestures were overly studious and sharp, lacking the fluidity of daily use, but intelligible enough.

<<I never knew that Matron Beksesha would pounce on-->> Nimruil's mouth twisted, correcting the gesture. <<--track your affairs. A high honour.>>

Sol'aufain