Post by Joliette Thorne on Jun 8, 2007 4:20:28 GMT -5
Kasyr sauntered into the Hanging Corpse, looking altogether jovial, a side effect of good company and a few drinks. Thus, given he was actually attentive for once, the hybrid began to glance about the room, a special notice taken towards the one at the piano. Lofting an eyebrow with some bit of feigned perturbance, Kasyr strode rather hastily in Darian’s vicinity, gloved fingers of his left hand vanishing into his trenchcoat with naught more than a jingle and a swish, whereupon a somewhat singed and very severed hand was produced. It was, fittingly enough, a remnant of the man’s rampage the other day. "This happens to be yours Monsieur- I would have saved tu an eye for the rats, but it wasn't the heads that came after me."
Darian decrescendo'd his song, which flowed like a trickle of blood down the waxen throat of a wolf fresh come of a duel on a high, a moaning, a winsome, squally night. He stood, bare arms moving subtly with each ministration, the tavern lighting caught in his locks and throttled unto Darkness. He raised his bottle towards Kasyr and drained it like an earthquake would a shimmering pond - leaving only the dregs of murk and mire to coalesce the muds and provide hostel for the newly drying toads. He looked Kasyr in the eye and tossed him a pincer in exchange for the sere and mottled limb thus proffered to him. The hand was tossed to Steadmen. "You know where my rats feed, quick now, they're a starving lot since I stopped feeding them bits of you and they burnt up every corpse that lay in here." relinquished a scything grin, which severed Steadmen's knees to a stalk shivering lone in a field against a brazen and wolfish howling wind. "Be sure to lend a bit of whatever tact you might yet posses towards a careful eye on the rats, so as your throat might not make their next apt and bloody thrall" With this, his body swayed, dripping on the bench and the mice which scampered beneath him, fingers snagging every key as he walked from the patrons about the piano, halting to crook his chin o'er his shoulder and set a grin at Kasyr's knees. "Would you ever have seen the Underdark, Phoenix?" he chuckled "No, let me rephrase: Have you ever -not- seen in the Underdark?"
Kasyr gets a peculiar look at the particular appellation, though in general, the entirety of that statement did bring about a curious sentiment. "Phoe-?...oh, right, I guess I did sort of rise from the ashes et all. Ashes and ashes- er..that is to say, non, I never have not been there et not seen the sights there is not to see. ...Or something?" He paused, seemingly befuddled at his own particular words. "Did I get that right?"
Darian turned around the piano, briefly vanishing before coiling a finger around its lid and laying it to rest in the fashion of a bereft man his wife, smoothing the dust from the lid and staring into it for an overlong momentary span, before carrying the tonnage of his gaze towards the proxy of one Kasyr, and speaking. "It is time, then, that you should wander blind a bit with me." and he beckoned to the newly returning, slightly nipped Steadmen "Two torches. Now." This being said, he stalked in a ticking of his hips toward the hatch to the would-be cellar and crouched, drumming his fingers upon it as he iterates: "Well, man of Ash, I suggest you grab my jacket from below the piano bench and slip that pincer in its pocket before you follow me to a most amusing breed of blindness." and with this the latch was shook and raised, his form dipping into the darkness like a ladle which was not to be retrieved from a stagnant vase of water, keeping his head above its verge for a moment as if the handle had been snagged on its brim and released a final line, "Close The Door Behind You", before initiating his steely plunge from view, Steadmen warily edging towards the hole before dropping the torches after.
Kasyr does just as asked, falling into a crouch not moments after the address, if only to retrieve the coat that rested there. Hence armed, with coat and pincer, the latter was deposited within the former, and the tiefling began his rather hasty following. There was an instance however, a blink within the motions of time which resulted in a rather fixed gaze being placed within Bathelemy’s direction, a warning glare perhaps, but it too dissolved, as the guardian proceeded to dive into the depths after Darian. Such was the day's adventure
Darian stood still in the darkness, breathed it in and shifted his spine in a twitch, which crackingly resounded down the tunnel. "It has been sealed, but I should venture poorly were I any judge of a man toiling in these unfamiliar depths," here pausing to let his words fade and the bodily ministrations of the ashen Kasyr fill his ears. He waited for the bodily functions of a mortal in darkness to beset him - pulse quicken, smell of sweat on the air, jerky motions which sifted the dankness against his still and couchant form. He was still a man birthed of the Darkness, however, making it a short time before he would adapt and reinstate himself within Its pressing pall. Darian spit at his hands a few times after positing the torches in his lengthy, hollowed jacket-pocket and smeared them on the wall, walking steadily as he did so. What followed was a chemical swirl, as though some daemon was tracing his fingertips with illumining paints - the wall glowing. "The anti-coagulants of a Vampire's saliva work themselves upon the prevalent mosses of the Underdark in such a reaction that breeds an emanation from them. Close enough to the hatch, however, and you'll note that the brief stints of light have made a dead film of these mosses, as they may only be blessed with a light that they themselves create. Follow, and when we arrive at the end of the tunnel, remove whatever there should be set to unefficaciously blocking it." And he stalked easily down the path, lighting the way with his fingers as he went, so the human might see. When he arrived at the end he tapped his pick-axe easefully against a rock and began to hum in wait.
Kasyr took a few moments to recover from his rather abrupt drop, blinking unsteadily within that tenebrous and inky darkness which engulfed the pair- that is, until the particular means of illumination provided by Darian is brought about. That dull bioluminscence now providing a sanctuary from the otherwise shadowy depths, the tiefling followed. "...Et this is just the start of not seeing it seems." There was a sort of reverence in his voice, a mysticism held towards venturing somewhere not journeyed to before, that inner adventurer that craved mischief having been set loose, and once having reached the end of the passage, its almost with disappointment that the man brushes the fingers, those of his hand not clutching upon Darians jackets, against the improvised rock barrier. Extending that particular bit of clutching to the vampyr, he spoke, accent over dramatised beyond what was normally there. "Your clothes, M'sieur." Still, it would serve a purpose, for if the coat was taken as was desired, the hybrid would then simply move to free the pick axe he carried about in his pack- a momento of his days having spent ignobly mining- a pastime he rather loathed
Darian swung an arm like a bloodthirsty razor through the iridescent void and caught up his jacket, sliding it round his arms so they might slip over his form like a black waterfall in the midst of night, fingers trailing their chemical swathe along the ceilings as he did so, keeping his hips in their tocking sway as his tread moved his cowslip form down the tunnel easefully - 'til his padfalls echoed no more and the end of the tunnel was before him, and he ran his fingers o'er the cool roots of the earth about him, bio-illumining all the while before flicking his head toward the rocks loosely - "Clear us our path, your dark amusement awaits beyond," now relaxing a second time, this in wait for an opening toward the resounding depths of the world - his hum again beseechingly and vibrously coaxing the air about him, like the chant of a Necromancer as he awaits the Darkness to ope at his beckon.
Kasyr rummages through that incomprehensible mess within his pack, tankards of milk, crumbled biscuits and various other bits of debris et oddities sent askew from the depth of that which he carried upon his back, up until his fingers finally- and with much undue grief of having prodded into something that was likely once cheese but seemed to be glowing with a light of its own (blame the odd fungus from being forgotten), anyways, finally- found their way about the shaft of his pick axe. And so, prodigiously is it produced, the metal of the axe oddly, and likely disgustingly enough, glowing the same hue as the cheese that was knocked onto the ground. "..I need to empty that more often, je pense. Ah, but we have a dark amusement, yours or mine, that is the truer of questions, since tu are the guide." That uttered, Kasyr began to put forth the efforts necessary to pierce through that which bridged the semi darkness himself and Darian stood within, and the utter abyss that rested beneath those loosely packed rocks. Repeated falls of the frantic sort fell, over and over, a slight hiss of exertion escaping his lips as he worked, with some mild degree of abandon, the only bit of control used to avoid puncturing his companion of a somewhat darker nature.
Darian ,hoveled in his lackluster lean, dim echoes of his pick-fall tatter musicality yet rending in a cooling breath along the moss, causing it to course in a coaling manner that feigned heat and still only gave forth its profusion of wintry vision for the mortal aside him. When the tonal nature of each strike shifted to a more sounding note, he snaked his viperal limb out and caught the haft of the pick. "And now, we have awoken them. Be swift when you land - the fall cannot be far" and he slithered his arm through the air to grasp at the back of the ashen Kasyr's neck, where he would lurch him through the brittle bounds of the rock to break their final entry to the creviced innards of the Underdark, where he would fall slightly.
Kasyr blinks a bit at the words, having noted the resistance when he attempted to swing the pick axe, and unforunately not noticed the passage of that other warward limb- that is to say until he was well and caught and sent through what remained of the original obstruction. It was glorious, in its own regard, or perhaps just in the tieflings mind- that not so subtle cacophony of ruptured rock, debris detrimentally cascading upon the floor that the not quite as mortal as everyone who keeps assuming he is as such hybrid (Though only in the ageism sense, given he did well and give up the ghost not so long ago) flops upon, sprawled in a manner rather undignified all granted. Still, his reflexes don't fail him, in this regard, a hasty press of palms to the floor providing him both means of a rapid rising, and a retrieval of his pick axe which had clattered upon the ground just a few paces to the side. "...Sacre bleu"
Darian dropped like a corvine quill from an emaciated and muse-imbibing Poet to the floor, the mites on the feather jostling like the subtle movements of Darian’s fingers in swishing his lengthy tresses from his eyes. "This pincer," he said - lifting said object from the burrows of his lengthy jacket pocket "is a remnant of the din which spattered the Corpse in darkling spiders' blood and fragments. These spiders are too large to climb with much agility, rending it unlikely, by far, that the space through which you'd take your tumble could be so very far." He sighed, flipping insurgent locks from his gaze about the deepening depths before him "These particular arachnae being present here elucidates me to a series of facts: we are near Goblins, as the Goblin denizens of the underdark take to holing themselves against the Drow in what are feeble attempts at secret villages - to sustain themselves against their inability to traverse very far, they have taken to domesticating the smaller, more blundering, more moronic variety of spider dwelling about them. Such were the spiders to infiltrate the tavern. As well, we must Now be within their paddock, as the spiders cannot escape their clever Goblin owner's captivity - enlightening me to the fact that the hired, dwarven toilers struck a hole which opened up a shallow divot in the rock wall of the Underdark which the goblins were utilizing to enclose their food. The commotion of hammer and spike would not have gone unnoticed by the sonically sensitive specimens, long pent up and ever growing more needful of true hunting. Blood, screams, etc. then ensued, no doubt. As such, in moments, from the other side of the paddock's acreage, we will be beset with a remnant hoarde of these spiders. They have heard you, no doubt, as I expected and rather was inclined to occur." Here he paused to listen, a distant, a callow screeching, an army of fur and leg and venom and fang - a flask procured from his pocket, a ruminative swill, more speech as he capitulates. "The pincer you so faithfully placed in my pocket is The keystone in our scheme, the keystone which will keep you from being flayed alive in a rather fascinating demise, and keep me from returning with winsomely empty hands..." he chuckled. "...they do so love the bloody scent of their own dead." And when the echoing scuttles were at their nearest, when the -still- mortal Kasyr could almost fancy a shape or two on the verge of his nonextant vision, Darian lobbed the pincer in Kasyr's direction. "Pick it up. Crack it lightly. Toss it as far you as you may in the opposite direction of their approach."
Kasyr winces almost visibly, though the oddity of the effect, was that it was not due to Darian's flagrantly morbid words- nor their unfortunate implication of their likely fate. Nay, that which nearly distracted him from catching that pincer in its awkward fashion is the unfortunate side effect of his particular affinity with emotions- a source of power to be sure, when it didn't threaten to overload all his senses with feelings of rage and a wanton need for destruction, a sickening miasma of oppression and fear- mixed with a frenzied joy these sub human equivalents to a lemming seemed capable of when roused into a bloodlust. "...Merde..-er, where?" And so he shifted, almost tipping over to one side, the left, before abruptly wavering to the right- his skin growing as pale as most entities cursed (or blessed, dependably) with undeath. That endless tromping of feet, caused by some entities of 8 legs, and myriad of just two grew louder- and louder, and it was with a monumental amount of effort that the tiefling is able to will the effort to do as directed, fingers which grasped at the pincers managing to part them midway, before the abrupt pressing of tines to each other occurs- an inaudible click against that murderous din which bore down upon their position- and thus, the seemingly futile final gesture of the toss, the pincers nearly hucked in the oncoming hordes direction, before its instead cast in the fashion Darian had originally directed, that being the opposing end. This was just peachy.
Darian remained still, moveless as a waxen poinsettia on the tabletop of a wrinkled and matronly elder woman, her windows clasped against the tempest outside - not a leaf would stir, however. He swilled once more, and closed up his flask, listening to the transitory motions of the arachnid tide before them, as if a comet had gone across the Moon and turned Her tidal reign to frothing elsewhere. Flask in pocket, he spat on his hands once more, and trailed the bioluminescence of the mossy Underdark behind him as he walked. "Follow. They are blind. Make a noise, and die. We'll reach the Goblin's walls for the paddock soon, perhaps, and there you will find your promised amusement, if what I have shown thus far has proven feeble. They have a poorer grasp of memory than scent, and will soon forget us, even when they realize the paucity of their would-be treasure." Should Kasyr make a stumbling noise, or Darian unhinge his flask with too great a swagger, they would then be forced to make their way through, or around, the driving horde. Their next course of action lay thus hinged on what should be said to occur next.
Kasyr hung his head forth, and did his utmost to avoid letting out the exasperated sigh, that feeling of aggravation that wasn't exactly his, the curse of an empath when faced with this much turbulent emotion was rather vexsome to say the least. And truly, through all his steps he likely would have made it, mayhaps he still would. But betwixt the rampant promises of a death to come, and that bubbling vexation which was foreign to him in a fashion, it was just too much to actually keep from fumbling, and thus in the time spent leveling a rather heated glower at the goblins does he collide rather soundly with the wall. "Ooof!...er...they didn't hear that, oui?" Still, it was likely a good thing they were as blind as Darian said, or rather, the tiefling was hoping as such- for however talented he might imagine himself, hordes were generally problematic, and the faint crackle of energy which was emotions of every living entity within the vicinity- he was likely making as much or more presence of a shiny sort then the wall moss- for the moment anyways. "...If I get flayed et all, I am going to blame tu, you know."
Darian said to Kasyr, "Oh, I do hope a Phoenix can truly resurrect so frequent as they are said to be able. You may well need it soon. You shouldn't have uttered a word. As it is, however - if you make it to the ramparts, and all you in fact have to do to accomplish this is light a torch and plunge straight toward them, the goblin walls on our opposing side, no doubt - then we'll continue, if you're still alive”, and Darian lit a torch, tossing it at Kasyr's feet. “Again, be quick. Don't stop if you want to live.” And as he turned to make his own way to their allotted destination he gave his neck an owling swivel and grinned. “Especially quick, as no doubt this din will have alerted the goblins.” With this, he disappeared in his headlong rush toward the horde, leaving Kasyr to Death or Life as he should make it.
Kasyr let out something of a sigh now, almost of disdain as he was abandoned of all things, his most gracious host departing with naught but a quick retort and the discarding of a torch. "...Something tells me this phoenix comment is sticking, -...mmhmm." That sudden change of tone, from an almost forced exasperation to a pleased contentment, smirk of chesire-cat like proportions overtaking his expression, those pleasantly exaggerated Canine's attributed to an imps blood exposed for a moment, drawn across lips as the amount of energy that was flowing through the air was fully perceived. It was almost electric, that sensation, but it wasn't enough, not to get rid of them all, but that wouldn't be the intention. Focus, focus was needed, control to an element he had very little control over, and it was going to need to come soon with what was swiftly approaching like some blanket which sought to smother out the 'insignificance' of his life. Thus, all due haste was appropriated in the retrieval of what he now dubbed 'his' torch, feet picking up in a sudden flurry of motion as he ran headlong towards that which was intent upon maiming, shredding, gouging, tearing- and lets not forget disembowelling, eating and likely defecating upon the defiled remains- they were right spiteful little bastards after all. Really, when it was put that way, motivation was never really in short supply- quiver and die or act, indeed. Thus was it spawned, a flicker of flame from the inheritor of magicks of a wispish nature, emotions channeled into a raw elemental force, quite befitting of his new found moniker. And oh was it brilliant. A circle, a broadening point of infernal heat and light spread out from Kasyr, whom had rather fittingly shut his eyes, not exactly looking forward to blinding himself- and rather focusing on not setting himself on fire,....again. The flames roared, grew, expanded even danced about the figure of the man , the crackle drawing the attention of all those creatures, and the heat keeping them back, and then it quite abruptly ceased, save for a few bits of flames which burned idly upon the tips of the tieflings hair- seems he would have been well on his way to another incident. Well, one besides being surrounded by a bloodthirsty horde, having garnered their attention, and then simply ceased the pyrotechnical situation, that was a disaster of a whole ‘nother league. Or, would have been really, were it not for a reignition mere moments after the mass of bodies attempted to press their advantage, flames jutting forth from the circle they had sat within as though a hearth within home, swirling upwards in a blinding glow towards the ceiling, before quite simply fading, for real this time. "...Ow..." At least it wasn't his arm this time, though were any to inquire, a mildly burning foot was no picnic either. Regardless, hands dropped from before his eyes, short gasps let out as he waved the torch he carried with him in a futile manner, attempting to discern which part of the mob had thinned the most from the dissent created from said rather overtly large display of incendiary prowess- it was all looking pretty bleak. Kasyr thus chose the portion of the crowd closest to the wall he had initially come from, praying to Kanos, and any other Ascendi of a non malignant wanting to kill or use the tieflings intestines as a skipping rope (as one had threatened to do already) that the ensuing blaze, screams of the demi-human kind, and the blinding horrible light caused enough disarray that he might break through with some degree of luck, after all, mayhaps the goblins just had great night vision and would be blinded by the light- had to pray for that kind of thing sometimes. And so the heroics ensued, or something akin to heroics when in all effect you had intruded upon their home and roasted a number of the natural denizens, but anyways, ambiguous morality aside. Once his breath was caught, or rather, once he wasn't hyper ventilating as much as before, the tiefling broke forth into a swift dash, lunging directly at one of the oversized spiders within his path, only to quite rudely land upon its head, surnatural grace resulting in a rather deft landing, albeit the entities attempts to dislodge its newfound rider. Still, a mount especially of a hostile nature, was not what he was seeking, but rather a foothold, and thus did he project himself further, landing upon an unfortunate goblin which had only started to raise its arm up when it heard the oncoming rush of wind. Its squeal however, when its body cracked and squished against the ground, was a sound warning to those others of his presence. And so, Gospel, his ever beloved and yet profoundly disliked blade of a cursed nature is dislodged of its ebon sheathe, serpentile sword swiped before himself to liberate himself even if only momentarily, from the confusion of the bodies. Almost. -Chomp- "...Kanos, Damn me!..Or don't." A glower is relocated towards his leg, even during his frantic running towards the destination Darian had mentioned, a near collision with the wall a result of glaring at the goblin on his leg.
Darian decrescendo'd his song, which flowed like a trickle of blood down the waxen throat of a wolf fresh come of a duel on a high, a moaning, a winsome, squally night. He stood, bare arms moving subtly with each ministration, the tavern lighting caught in his locks and throttled unto Darkness. He raised his bottle towards Kasyr and drained it like an earthquake would a shimmering pond - leaving only the dregs of murk and mire to coalesce the muds and provide hostel for the newly drying toads. He looked Kasyr in the eye and tossed him a pincer in exchange for the sere and mottled limb thus proffered to him. The hand was tossed to Steadmen. "You know where my rats feed, quick now, they're a starving lot since I stopped feeding them bits of you and they burnt up every corpse that lay in here." relinquished a scything grin, which severed Steadmen's knees to a stalk shivering lone in a field against a brazen and wolfish howling wind. "Be sure to lend a bit of whatever tact you might yet posses towards a careful eye on the rats, so as your throat might not make their next apt and bloody thrall" With this, his body swayed, dripping on the bench and the mice which scampered beneath him, fingers snagging every key as he walked from the patrons about the piano, halting to crook his chin o'er his shoulder and set a grin at Kasyr's knees. "Would you ever have seen the Underdark, Phoenix?" he chuckled "No, let me rephrase: Have you ever -not- seen in the Underdark?"
Kasyr gets a peculiar look at the particular appellation, though in general, the entirety of that statement did bring about a curious sentiment. "Phoe-?...oh, right, I guess I did sort of rise from the ashes et all. Ashes and ashes- er..that is to say, non, I never have not been there et not seen the sights there is not to see. ...Or something?" He paused, seemingly befuddled at his own particular words. "Did I get that right?"
Darian turned around the piano, briefly vanishing before coiling a finger around its lid and laying it to rest in the fashion of a bereft man his wife, smoothing the dust from the lid and staring into it for an overlong momentary span, before carrying the tonnage of his gaze towards the proxy of one Kasyr, and speaking. "It is time, then, that you should wander blind a bit with me." and he beckoned to the newly returning, slightly nipped Steadmen "Two torches. Now." This being said, he stalked in a ticking of his hips toward the hatch to the would-be cellar and crouched, drumming his fingers upon it as he iterates: "Well, man of Ash, I suggest you grab my jacket from below the piano bench and slip that pincer in its pocket before you follow me to a most amusing breed of blindness." and with this the latch was shook and raised, his form dipping into the darkness like a ladle which was not to be retrieved from a stagnant vase of water, keeping his head above its verge for a moment as if the handle had been snagged on its brim and released a final line, "Close The Door Behind You", before initiating his steely plunge from view, Steadmen warily edging towards the hole before dropping the torches after.
Kasyr does just as asked, falling into a crouch not moments after the address, if only to retrieve the coat that rested there. Hence armed, with coat and pincer, the latter was deposited within the former, and the tiefling began his rather hasty following. There was an instance however, a blink within the motions of time which resulted in a rather fixed gaze being placed within Bathelemy’s direction, a warning glare perhaps, but it too dissolved, as the guardian proceeded to dive into the depths after Darian. Such was the day's adventure
Darian stood still in the darkness, breathed it in and shifted his spine in a twitch, which crackingly resounded down the tunnel. "It has been sealed, but I should venture poorly were I any judge of a man toiling in these unfamiliar depths," here pausing to let his words fade and the bodily ministrations of the ashen Kasyr fill his ears. He waited for the bodily functions of a mortal in darkness to beset him - pulse quicken, smell of sweat on the air, jerky motions which sifted the dankness against his still and couchant form. He was still a man birthed of the Darkness, however, making it a short time before he would adapt and reinstate himself within Its pressing pall. Darian spit at his hands a few times after positing the torches in his lengthy, hollowed jacket-pocket and smeared them on the wall, walking steadily as he did so. What followed was a chemical swirl, as though some daemon was tracing his fingertips with illumining paints - the wall glowing. "The anti-coagulants of a Vampire's saliva work themselves upon the prevalent mosses of the Underdark in such a reaction that breeds an emanation from them. Close enough to the hatch, however, and you'll note that the brief stints of light have made a dead film of these mosses, as they may only be blessed with a light that they themselves create. Follow, and when we arrive at the end of the tunnel, remove whatever there should be set to unefficaciously blocking it." And he stalked easily down the path, lighting the way with his fingers as he went, so the human might see. When he arrived at the end he tapped his pick-axe easefully against a rock and began to hum in wait.
Kasyr took a few moments to recover from his rather abrupt drop, blinking unsteadily within that tenebrous and inky darkness which engulfed the pair- that is, until the particular means of illumination provided by Darian is brought about. That dull bioluminscence now providing a sanctuary from the otherwise shadowy depths, the tiefling followed. "...Et this is just the start of not seeing it seems." There was a sort of reverence in his voice, a mysticism held towards venturing somewhere not journeyed to before, that inner adventurer that craved mischief having been set loose, and once having reached the end of the passage, its almost with disappointment that the man brushes the fingers, those of his hand not clutching upon Darians jackets, against the improvised rock barrier. Extending that particular bit of clutching to the vampyr, he spoke, accent over dramatised beyond what was normally there. "Your clothes, M'sieur." Still, it would serve a purpose, for if the coat was taken as was desired, the hybrid would then simply move to free the pick axe he carried about in his pack- a momento of his days having spent ignobly mining- a pastime he rather loathed
Darian swung an arm like a bloodthirsty razor through the iridescent void and caught up his jacket, sliding it round his arms so they might slip over his form like a black waterfall in the midst of night, fingers trailing their chemical swathe along the ceilings as he did so, keeping his hips in their tocking sway as his tread moved his cowslip form down the tunnel easefully - 'til his padfalls echoed no more and the end of the tunnel was before him, and he ran his fingers o'er the cool roots of the earth about him, bio-illumining all the while before flicking his head toward the rocks loosely - "Clear us our path, your dark amusement awaits beyond," now relaxing a second time, this in wait for an opening toward the resounding depths of the world - his hum again beseechingly and vibrously coaxing the air about him, like the chant of a Necromancer as he awaits the Darkness to ope at his beckon.
Kasyr rummages through that incomprehensible mess within his pack, tankards of milk, crumbled biscuits and various other bits of debris et oddities sent askew from the depth of that which he carried upon his back, up until his fingers finally- and with much undue grief of having prodded into something that was likely once cheese but seemed to be glowing with a light of its own (blame the odd fungus from being forgotten), anyways, finally- found their way about the shaft of his pick axe. And so, prodigiously is it produced, the metal of the axe oddly, and likely disgustingly enough, glowing the same hue as the cheese that was knocked onto the ground. "..I need to empty that more often, je pense. Ah, but we have a dark amusement, yours or mine, that is the truer of questions, since tu are the guide." That uttered, Kasyr began to put forth the efforts necessary to pierce through that which bridged the semi darkness himself and Darian stood within, and the utter abyss that rested beneath those loosely packed rocks. Repeated falls of the frantic sort fell, over and over, a slight hiss of exertion escaping his lips as he worked, with some mild degree of abandon, the only bit of control used to avoid puncturing his companion of a somewhat darker nature.
Darian ,hoveled in his lackluster lean, dim echoes of his pick-fall tatter musicality yet rending in a cooling breath along the moss, causing it to course in a coaling manner that feigned heat and still only gave forth its profusion of wintry vision for the mortal aside him. When the tonal nature of each strike shifted to a more sounding note, he snaked his viperal limb out and caught the haft of the pick. "And now, we have awoken them. Be swift when you land - the fall cannot be far" and he slithered his arm through the air to grasp at the back of the ashen Kasyr's neck, where he would lurch him through the brittle bounds of the rock to break their final entry to the creviced innards of the Underdark, where he would fall slightly.
Kasyr blinks a bit at the words, having noted the resistance when he attempted to swing the pick axe, and unforunately not noticed the passage of that other warward limb- that is to say until he was well and caught and sent through what remained of the original obstruction. It was glorious, in its own regard, or perhaps just in the tieflings mind- that not so subtle cacophony of ruptured rock, debris detrimentally cascading upon the floor that the not quite as mortal as everyone who keeps assuming he is as such hybrid (Though only in the ageism sense, given he did well and give up the ghost not so long ago) flops upon, sprawled in a manner rather undignified all granted. Still, his reflexes don't fail him, in this regard, a hasty press of palms to the floor providing him both means of a rapid rising, and a retrieval of his pick axe which had clattered upon the ground just a few paces to the side. "...Sacre bleu"
Darian dropped like a corvine quill from an emaciated and muse-imbibing Poet to the floor, the mites on the feather jostling like the subtle movements of Darian’s fingers in swishing his lengthy tresses from his eyes. "This pincer," he said - lifting said object from the burrows of his lengthy jacket pocket "is a remnant of the din which spattered the Corpse in darkling spiders' blood and fragments. These spiders are too large to climb with much agility, rending it unlikely, by far, that the space through which you'd take your tumble could be so very far." He sighed, flipping insurgent locks from his gaze about the deepening depths before him "These particular arachnae being present here elucidates me to a series of facts: we are near Goblins, as the Goblin denizens of the underdark take to holing themselves against the Drow in what are feeble attempts at secret villages - to sustain themselves against their inability to traverse very far, they have taken to domesticating the smaller, more blundering, more moronic variety of spider dwelling about them. Such were the spiders to infiltrate the tavern. As well, we must Now be within their paddock, as the spiders cannot escape their clever Goblin owner's captivity - enlightening me to the fact that the hired, dwarven toilers struck a hole which opened up a shallow divot in the rock wall of the Underdark which the goblins were utilizing to enclose their food. The commotion of hammer and spike would not have gone unnoticed by the sonically sensitive specimens, long pent up and ever growing more needful of true hunting. Blood, screams, etc. then ensued, no doubt. As such, in moments, from the other side of the paddock's acreage, we will be beset with a remnant hoarde of these spiders. They have heard you, no doubt, as I expected and rather was inclined to occur." Here he paused to listen, a distant, a callow screeching, an army of fur and leg and venom and fang - a flask procured from his pocket, a ruminative swill, more speech as he capitulates. "The pincer you so faithfully placed in my pocket is The keystone in our scheme, the keystone which will keep you from being flayed alive in a rather fascinating demise, and keep me from returning with winsomely empty hands..." he chuckled. "...they do so love the bloody scent of their own dead." And when the echoing scuttles were at their nearest, when the -still- mortal Kasyr could almost fancy a shape or two on the verge of his nonextant vision, Darian lobbed the pincer in Kasyr's direction. "Pick it up. Crack it lightly. Toss it as far you as you may in the opposite direction of their approach."
Kasyr winces almost visibly, though the oddity of the effect, was that it was not due to Darian's flagrantly morbid words- nor their unfortunate implication of their likely fate. Nay, that which nearly distracted him from catching that pincer in its awkward fashion is the unfortunate side effect of his particular affinity with emotions- a source of power to be sure, when it didn't threaten to overload all his senses with feelings of rage and a wanton need for destruction, a sickening miasma of oppression and fear- mixed with a frenzied joy these sub human equivalents to a lemming seemed capable of when roused into a bloodlust. "...Merde..-er, where?" And so he shifted, almost tipping over to one side, the left, before abruptly wavering to the right- his skin growing as pale as most entities cursed (or blessed, dependably) with undeath. That endless tromping of feet, caused by some entities of 8 legs, and myriad of just two grew louder- and louder, and it was with a monumental amount of effort that the tiefling is able to will the effort to do as directed, fingers which grasped at the pincers managing to part them midway, before the abrupt pressing of tines to each other occurs- an inaudible click against that murderous din which bore down upon their position- and thus, the seemingly futile final gesture of the toss, the pincers nearly hucked in the oncoming hordes direction, before its instead cast in the fashion Darian had originally directed, that being the opposing end. This was just peachy.
Darian remained still, moveless as a waxen poinsettia on the tabletop of a wrinkled and matronly elder woman, her windows clasped against the tempest outside - not a leaf would stir, however. He swilled once more, and closed up his flask, listening to the transitory motions of the arachnid tide before them, as if a comet had gone across the Moon and turned Her tidal reign to frothing elsewhere. Flask in pocket, he spat on his hands once more, and trailed the bioluminescence of the mossy Underdark behind him as he walked. "Follow. They are blind. Make a noise, and die. We'll reach the Goblin's walls for the paddock soon, perhaps, and there you will find your promised amusement, if what I have shown thus far has proven feeble. They have a poorer grasp of memory than scent, and will soon forget us, even when they realize the paucity of their would-be treasure." Should Kasyr make a stumbling noise, or Darian unhinge his flask with too great a swagger, they would then be forced to make their way through, or around, the driving horde. Their next course of action lay thus hinged on what should be said to occur next.
Kasyr hung his head forth, and did his utmost to avoid letting out the exasperated sigh, that feeling of aggravation that wasn't exactly his, the curse of an empath when faced with this much turbulent emotion was rather vexsome to say the least. And truly, through all his steps he likely would have made it, mayhaps he still would. But betwixt the rampant promises of a death to come, and that bubbling vexation which was foreign to him in a fashion, it was just too much to actually keep from fumbling, and thus in the time spent leveling a rather heated glower at the goblins does he collide rather soundly with the wall. "Ooof!...er...they didn't hear that, oui?" Still, it was likely a good thing they were as blind as Darian said, or rather, the tiefling was hoping as such- for however talented he might imagine himself, hordes were generally problematic, and the faint crackle of energy which was emotions of every living entity within the vicinity- he was likely making as much or more presence of a shiny sort then the wall moss- for the moment anyways. "...If I get flayed et all, I am going to blame tu, you know."
Darian said to Kasyr, "Oh, I do hope a Phoenix can truly resurrect so frequent as they are said to be able. You may well need it soon. You shouldn't have uttered a word. As it is, however - if you make it to the ramparts, and all you in fact have to do to accomplish this is light a torch and plunge straight toward them, the goblin walls on our opposing side, no doubt - then we'll continue, if you're still alive”, and Darian lit a torch, tossing it at Kasyr's feet. “Again, be quick. Don't stop if you want to live.” And as he turned to make his own way to their allotted destination he gave his neck an owling swivel and grinned. “Especially quick, as no doubt this din will have alerted the goblins.” With this, he disappeared in his headlong rush toward the horde, leaving Kasyr to Death or Life as he should make it.
Kasyr let out something of a sigh now, almost of disdain as he was abandoned of all things, his most gracious host departing with naught but a quick retort and the discarding of a torch. "...Something tells me this phoenix comment is sticking, -...mmhmm." That sudden change of tone, from an almost forced exasperation to a pleased contentment, smirk of chesire-cat like proportions overtaking his expression, those pleasantly exaggerated Canine's attributed to an imps blood exposed for a moment, drawn across lips as the amount of energy that was flowing through the air was fully perceived. It was almost electric, that sensation, but it wasn't enough, not to get rid of them all, but that wouldn't be the intention. Focus, focus was needed, control to an element he had very little control over, and it was going to need to come soon with what was swiftly approaching like some blanket which sought to smother out the 'insignificance' of his life. Thus, all due haste was appropriated in the retrieval of what he now dubbed 'his' torch, feet picking up in a sudden flurry of motion as he ran headlong towards that which was intent upon maiming, shredding, gouging, tearing- and lets not forget disembowelling, eating and likely defecating upon the defiled remains- they were right spiteful little bastards after all. Really, when it was put that way, motivation was never really in short supply- quiver and die or act, indeed. Thus was it spawned, a flicker of flame from the inheritor of magicks of a wispish nature, emotions channeled into a raw elemental force, quite befitting of his new found moniker. And oh was it brilliant. A circle, a broadening point of infernal heat and light spread out from Kasyr, whom had rather fittingly shut his eyes, not exactly looking forward to blinding himself- and rather focusing on not setting himself on fire,....again. The flames roared, grew, expanded even danced about the figure of the man , the crackle drawing the attention of all those creatures, and the heat keeping them back, and then it quite abruptly ceased, save for a few bits of flames which burned idly upon the tips of the tieflings hair- seems he would have been well on his way to another incident. Well, one besides being surrounded by a bloodthirsty horde, having garnered their attention, and then simply ceased the pyrotechnical situation, that was a disaster of a whole ‘nother league. Or, would have been really, were it not for a reignition mere moments after the mass of bodies attempted to press their advantage, flames jutting forth from the circle they had sat within as though a hearth within home, swirling upwards in a blinding glow towards the ceiling, before quite simply fading, for real this time. "...Ow..." At least it wasn't his arm this time, though were any to inquire, a mildly burning foot was no picnic either. Regardless, hands dropped from before his eyes, short gasps let out as he waved the torch he carried with him in a futile manner, attempting to discern which part of the mob had thinned the most from the dissent created from said rather overtly large display of incendiary prowess- it was all looking pretty bleak. Kasyr thus chose the portion of the crowd closest to the wall he had initially come from, praying to Kanos, and any other Ascendi of a non malignant wanting to kill or use the tieflings intestines as a skipping rope (as one had threatened to do already) that the ensuing blaze, screams of the demi-human kind, and the blinding horrible light caused enough disarray that he might break through with some degree of luck, after all, mayhaps the goblins just had great night vision and would be blinded by the light- had to pray for that kind of thing sometimes. And so the heroics ensued, or something akin to heroics when in all effect you had intruded upon their home and roasted a number of the natural denizens, but anyways, ambiguous morality aside. Once his breath was caught, or rather, once he wasn't hyper ventilating as much as before, the tiefling broke forth into a swift dash, lunging directly at one of the oversized spiders within his path, only to quite rudely land upon its head, surnatural grace resulting in a rather deft landing, albeit the entities attempts to dislodge its newfound rider. Still, a mount especially of a hostile nature, was not what he was seeking, but rather a foothold, and thus did he project himself further, landing upon an unfortunate goblin which had only started to raise its arm up when it heard the oncoming rush of wind. Its squeal however, when its body cracked and squished against the ground, was a sound warning to those others of his presence. And so, Gospel, his ever beloved and yet profoundly disliked blade of a cursed nature is dislodged of its ebon sheathe, serpentile sword swiped before himself to liberate himself even if only momentarily, from the confusion of the bodies. Almost. -Chomp- "...Kanos, Damn me!..Or don't." A glower is relocated towards his leg, even during his frantic running towards the destination Darian had mentioned, a near collision with the wall a result of glaring at the goblin on his leg.