Post by Joliette Thorne on Jun 24, 2006 8:11:01 GMT -5
Deilakrion had hid in wait, worming her way through the constricting holes made by fallen rock. She did not know where the sky predator was, nor did she care at the moment: cries of the wounded and screams of those being wounded still reaching her ears. The battle was still raging above, and though they were not about it at the moment. . .they'd be pawing through the rubble when they were done. For a moment her breath caught, heart speeding as she realized the enormity of what she was doing. She--a creature!--did not belong in the ruins of fleshy idiocy, better to have fled to the forests and waited these prey out before attempting to come back. She bit back another growl as the aching, burning fire of her injured foot insistently pulsed for attention. Jagged exhalation shuddered through her body, and she forced herself to stop moving. She was wheezing, and the myriad of scrapes and bruises across her back stung. She had done this before, she reminded herself as she curled into a miserable ball. She had escaped idiot -prey- and done it alone. But that was it, wasn't it? Her eyes squeezed shut. She had never been responsible for another being, but she was in a pack now. Her, the fiercesome loner, responsible to no fleshy. She snorted. Burying herself in the past was a fleshy thing to do, not that of a creature. The sky predator was a worthy one, and she had pledged herself to those worthy ones. . .she would find him, or he her. Somehow. All she had to do now was wait a bit before she could start looking. . . . . Deilakrion would sleep and wait until an opening presented itself for her to escape or rescue Leoxander.
As Castellian and the Lich Diiroehn led the undead horde south Tenebrae was almost returned from her detour to burn the bell-rope, to the site of the first battle. Having achieved her impulsively-conceived task, though with what success she could not be sure, she now focussed on the one she'd originally come to accomplish: seeking in the wreckage of the former battle those of the Cabal who'd still not returned, and were presumed missing in action. In almost forty-eight hours there'd been no sign of Edricyn or Creature, though Garath had returned hearty, if not so very hale. Of Leoxander’s presence at the tower she knew nothing, as yet, and his habit of making himself absent anyway gave her no cause for any real concern. Picking her way through strewn bodies and still-twitching severed limbs of the undead, the necromancer drew her shadows tightly about herself, these almost revived completely by virtue of the many dying whom she’d shriven as she passed, each leaving life with a beatific smile and cleansed soul, each feeding her darknesses in turn. By the time she’d slipped back toward the northern tower they were replete, and more than capable of shielding her from the few remaining troops left to guard the northern road. The wreckage, relatively free of bodies now employed in the second assault, was still impressive. Piles of grey stone, bloodstained in places, the flocks of corvines and other carrion-eaters picking through the few corpses too ruined to be resurrected… And here, amid the horror somewhere, she’d begin her search for the mad elf of whom she’d become inordinately fond. First, however, there were guards to be taken care of. Only a few had crept back to the site of the Lich’s summoning, the men clearly terrified and casting superstitious warding signs with every second step. Silence was imperative, the vampiress pressing her back against a segment of ruined wall, peering ‘round it to ascertain numbers and positions. And, charged with sins of threescore dying soldiers, her familiar blacknesses crept forth like an ebon mist, serpentine path taken along the ground; they would have seemed no more than flickering shadows underfoot, were any of the guard to look. At least they would seem that way, until… it was too late.
Deilakrion had been sleeping fitfully, striving to hoard her energy until she could leave to feed. Foolish as the fleshies often were, she could admit to herself in the quiet black that she needed to carry supplies. Yes, as she once had, when Black Folds--the present! She had clenched her hands hard and reluctantly relaxed them. Worming her way through the tiny spaces of the tower had revealed nothing, if not that she was grossly incapable at the moment to find the sky predator. A growl, thready and weak, trembled past her lips. So she still had gumption. Head raised, she looked about herself. The occasional hole to the wrecked landscape above lent her light, but in these tight confines she was still uneasy. Creature she might call herself, but her bloodline was still elven, and the dark emptiness was reaching deep into her mind. Hands groped along her waist for her dagger, that rust-flecked piece of metal that was given to her so long ago. . . focus! Bulbous shapes of rock and not a few stench-ridden corpses were the only things to greet her eyes as finally she focused her efforts upwards. And then the ground trembled. She froze, skin prickling and lips peeling back from teeth. That would be the deciding factor, then, for now panic edged along her nerves, singing in her ears to escape. After she reclaimed presence of mind she would lick her wounds and decide a new course of action. Her mind shut down and she picked a new direction to crawl, squeezing through tiny spaces to reach an opening large enough to climb out.
Tenebrae waited ‘til the small contingent of guards appeared to be separating – it would never do to allow them too wide a berth from each other. The darkling mist that swarmed and curled around their ankles was noticeable now, more than one swearing fealty to his gods anew, making folk-sigils with trembling fingers against evil; they assumed the sooty fog a lingering trace of the Lich’s art and, since they seemed harmless enough, soon came to disregard it and, in voices redolent with bravado, made plans to stake vigil of the fallen tower in pairs. Peridot eyes peering from the curtain of her cloak’s sanctuary, Tenebrae was not long in giving her own order. The shadows rose up, thickened into broad tendrils that snaked about the limbs of the men simultaneously, the darknesses coalescing further to forms dense enough to grasp and hold… No sign of there was the ghastly polyps that spoke of the Unmaker’s power, and for this the necromancer was grateful. No, the shadows merely twined about the hapless men like serpents, cries muffled well before the panicked soldiers could emit them. Their struggles came to naught, and soon they lay dazed, breath stolen by the suffocating coils and fear. And it was then that Tene stepped forth, hesitantly at first, and then with something of regality in her pace. Let them who still clung to consciousness watch her pass. She’d allow them to live, to whisper the tale of the witch who commanded Darkness. She would have smiled, were not her mind filled with fear of further troops and concern for Deilakrion. Her cloak billowed lightly around her, though no wind blew to cause the motion, and then seemed to drop from her shoulders, spreading sheet-like on the ground before writhing with a grotesque sort of life, the dark matter wafting toward the mass of broken stone, its command singular: to seek out the one known only as ‘Creature’ and return with news, good or ill.
Deilakrion was almost there. Sun hit her full in the face as she scrabbled past the last rock, scree showering around her as she clawed her way free. Her hands were slick with sweat and her body coated in dust and dried blood, not all of it hers. A silent snarl curled her lips as she placed weight upon her injured foot, but she paid the pain no more heed than that. From her crouch amid the rubble, her shifty eyes scanned furiously for sign of opposing forces, and she trembled in strained concentration as various noises assaulted her ears. Yet the dusty, blood soaked landscape was all that--no, there! She was taken aback, even for her, as shadows gathered and bated. Fierce hunter! A grin loosened her features as relief rose palpable, her mind clearing so fast as to make her body sway in loose-limbed exhaustion. Yet a few blinks was all it took and she was skulking for her leader, dagger pulled from its sheath in preparation. She may have failed in her quest to find the sky predator, but now questions could be given and answered, once she found her tongue again. A grunt was given in warning as she neared the other, and then she stopped in shock as she almost tripped over a crouched guard. Eyes met, adrenaline raced and hearts sped as one. Hissing out a breath, she reversed grip on her dagger, skipping back a step. Landing hard, wincing, then her empty hand shot out for his sword arm. Flesh was doubly scored, blood hit the air with tangy stench. Deilakrion touched ground with the fading body of the guard, consternation screwing her face into a rictus. She lifted her forearm to her face, licking the laceration with strangled groan. She staggered to her feet, lips pressed tightly together but for a brief spurt of words: "Leave. Now."
Tenebrae’s own weapon was drawn, steel ringing loud in the relative silence, but the elf had put paid to the remaining guard and now all she could do was sheath the heavy sword and nod. The grin of relief and greeting delayed by Deilakrion’s brief skirmish broke free now, and to say Tene was glad to see the woman alive would be the grossest understatement. A hurried assessment proved the elf free of any dire wound, though battered and no doubt victim to exposure. But any words would have to wait, the vampiress pointing toward the breach in the westerly wall that she and Castellian had spied through earlier. Finger crooked to beckon Deilakrion forward, she stepped out toward the small gap, eyes flitting nervously about. It seemed the battle to the south had drawn the bulk of the Claw’s legions that way, the few left to guard that area now struggling on the ground against the thickened pall of her shadows or, judging by the hoarse shouts and clang of metal further north, busy holding off a few stray revenant corpses. A glance back saw the woman struggling to keep up, and so she made a hasty return to curl an arm around her clansmate’s waist, heedless only this once of any discomfort such close contact might cause the elf; she’d carry her, if she had, to, kicking and screaming, but get the hells out of there they would, and alive. A likelihood less likely, now the sound of marching men from the east was discerned by keen vampiric ears… Gods, they were coming from behind, and there was a lot of them. “Creature…” Her voice was a low breath, words run together with their haste. “Wegottarun!”
To say the elf was irked would have been an understatement-- twice within the last few days, now, her skin was blemished with touch! But except for a low snarl, the woman made no complaint--yet. Rabble was gathering, having spotted the two Cabal members made vulnerable, and Deilakrion was not so thick in the head as to make escape any more difficult. Her jerky movements belied her vast discomfort with the whole situation, but she struggled onwards with naught but a grimace and a few pointed growls. A thud to the side had Deilakrion leaping sideways into Tenebrae, knocking the other woman off balance and stride. The two lost momentum, almost hitting dirt as more arrows went wild around them. Deilakrion made a short hopping movement towards the guard detail behind them, but a sharp yank from Tenebrae had her nod in reluctance. Escape first, score settling later. Stomach roiling, Deilakrion accepted Tenebrae's assistance once more as they flew for safety from which to plot their counterattack. She was confused as to who all of these fleshes were, and it showed in her frequent glances back, causing her to trip more than once. Ease of movement was greatly hampering for the normally fleet-footed woman, and the group behind them was steadily eating the distance. Soon now the choice would be lost. . .but what options were left? She wheezed breath, shooting looks rife with apology towards the shorter vampiress. "Fuh-ffff--fie. . .fight?" The word was barked more than asked.
“Run now. Fight later.” The statement would have conformed to Deilakrion’s prior thought, as Tene regained her footing and with a tightening of the no doubt loathsome grip half-dragged the wounded elf closer to the wall’s gap, unable to do more to shield them than recall the thin pall of darkness that passed for a cloak, the fabric-like substance having thickness enough at least to deflect the bulk of missiles shot their way. But without the mass of her power at her beckon, these still busy keeping the guards at abeyance, she could do little more. Beyond the wall, she knew, lay the elite guard of the Flaming Claw, set to guard the entrance, if any remained. She’d not take the chance of running into that lot. And without Castellian and the Lich, they’d not get far…Her mind raced. No use going south, the fighting was too thick. North was impossible. East was .. definitely out of the question. So forward was their only option, and that way she continued, thoughts humming, turning over possibilities… Were things not so dire, she might have slapped her forehead. “Creature… We’re going to see a big monster. Ugly…” The words came rough, ragged; her breath was burning in her chest. “But there’s no danger. At least I don’t think so. Trust me.” With that, she fell to silence again, the hole in the stone barrier reached. Most likely to Deilakrion’s great relief, Tene released her, to climb through, once the coast was discerned clear. Well, a couple of hundred men were nearby, but their attention was cast to the battle at the southern tower, and the track leading under the bridge oddly untended. The two women passed as silently as possible, descending the dirt path to the murkish streambed below.
Deilakrion half slid, half crawled down the path, eyes cast furtively about in paranoia. Never had she seen so many fleshes within such a small passage of time, and her head whirled with the sheer numbers. Yet then her attention turned towards the dank and smelly space they were descending into, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. The smell of fleshes rose thick and cloying and she skidded to a halt. Grimy enough she was, and the sodden ground she was standing on would only make matters much worse. Shadowed were the regions under the bridge, and her nose clogged with fleshy waste that she didn't notice the troll lingering cautiously beneath the deeper shadows. Tenebrae she kept attention for as the glint of water caught the majority of her attention. She padded closer, the squelch of mud beneath her feet causing a wince unrelated to the pain nagging at her mind. Closer inspection revealed the source of the smell, and she swung around to make a sulkish grimace at Tenebrae. It was then that her eyes fell upon the hulking . . . . . . .nostrils flared. Flesh. It was a flesh. Big, yes, that was what the fierce predator had likely been talking about. Yet her instincts tightened her into a defensive stance, bared dagger raised horizontal towards the ground, dim flash of metal aimed towards the skulking troll. It blinked owlishly at her, looking rather. . .offended. A long stare was exchanged, then, but then dissipated between one breath and the next. The sharp regard was broken, and both the troll and Deilakrion turned head away from the other in blatant disregard. This time she set the weight of her stare upon the vampiress, tongue working her dry lips as she once more lifted her cut forearm for a lick. Battered, slowed and hungry, the feral creature waited for her leader's direction.
Tenebrae gritted her teeth as elf and troll faced off; it was her hope that another battle wouldn’t ensue, neither of them up to it, and some ways to go yet to safety. A thought of the men crossed her mind unbidden, teeth dragging across her lower lip; but Castellian was the best of men and Diiroehn… quite something, himself. As the two calmed to mutual indifference, Tene ducked her head oddly, a throaty grumble tearing from her vocal chords not built for such guttural speech. “Eghhwull!! Meghrekh dunn?” The troll, long arms trailing beside its shaggy form, fingers lighty tracing through the muck it stood in, jerked suddenly, as though shot. “Dunn gimmgrah Meghrekh. Bagrul…?!” Piggish eyes regarded the necromancer with incredulity, though the expression may have been lost on the two women. “Akhweel dunn derrahn!” Wide feet splished and splashed through the mud, the bestial creature abruptly turning to follow the filthy stream toward the west. Tenebrae offered the thing a brief reply, “Akhwad!” She paused before following, leant close to her elven companion, her voice low, husky from the interaction. “The troll will take us to safety. I knew his parents well.” She blinked gently in the shrouded light. “Don’t ask…” With a wry half-smile, she led on.
Deilakrion sighed as with mute acceptance she trailed after the vampiress and troll, mincing through the sloppish mud. Her eyes were downcast as she watched it squish through her toes, each step lending another wince to her down-turned lips. A shake of her head dispelled the fleshy thoughts, and she instead sped her pace slightly to draw even with the vampiress. In the process she slung her dagger back into its sheath, wiping her clammy palms against her thighs as they continued onwards. Her mouth hung slightly open as she panted her fatigue, mind still racing from the day's hectic events. Her eyes burned for a moment against the troll's back, distrust and uncertainty rippling outwards, but she directed her eyes towards the river as quickly, glaring into its fetid depths. Her jaw muscles worked in anger at the fleshy signs displayed so grotesquely, much like the lewd displays of rutting fleshes in the tavern. A brief shake of her head to disrupt her scattered thoughts and her pale eyes sought out the vampiress once more in question. Her mind flitted from subject to subject as her limp gradually worsened, muck and grime taking their toll on the myriad of cuts and scrapes adorning her body.
They walked for what seemed hours, continuing for some way along the polluted stream, though the waters cleared a little before the unlikely trio reached a sheer rockface: the walls of the great canyon over which the guarded bridge above ran. To the east the ground sloped sharply away, the stream churning over rough rock as it spilled to the fathomless depths below. Meghrekh – for this was the troll’s name, though he’d almost forgotten it himself ‘til Tene had spoken it aloud -- turned to give the women a horribly snaggle-toothed grin, bits of gods-knew-what nastiness stuck in his crooked brown fangs. “Buhggruu!” With that foetid exhalation he pointed upward, to a narrow stone ledge, just above his matted, mossy-furred head. Tene turned her peridot gaze to follow the creature’s gnarled claw. “Up there? Erm.. Buhggruu?” The breath she took as she turned to face the rapidly failing Deilakrion was almost a sigh of despair, eyes pained with worry over the elf’s appalling state. And it was then she noticed the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from the woman’s side. “Oh no….” And there was only one way up to that ledge. Pale green eyes flitted to Meghrekh, and back again. Tene swallowed, reached a hand to tug at the troll’s slimy-furred back. A halting, broken stream of trollish words was exchanged, the necromancer inching back as the rough phrases gravelled her throat. And it was with a soft cry of guilt and dismay that she watched as the shaggy half-beast shot forth uncannily long and powerful forelimbs -- evolved for the purpose of snatching prey from higher places; bridges, for instance -- to grab up a very startled Deilakrion, depositing her on the stone shelf above before there’d be much chance for struggle. Next was Tene, her turn once she’d gained the ledge to bestow apologetic glances, a mumbled ‘Sorry…” given her patently furious companion. Before them was a blackened tunnel, the way out of the gorge she’d asked for. In the very little light that reached inside the maw of it, she could see the tunnel sloping sharply upward. Another soft sound of dismay, another worried glance at Deilakrion, and she leant over the rock to growl her thanks to the young troll, who grunted something back and padded away. She sat there a moment, collecting herself. “Might be a way yet, Creature. But we’ll make it, I promise.” Tene’s thoughts were far grimmer than her carefully courageous words sounded. She pushed herself up to gain her feet, and stepped toward the waiting blackness.
~~Two Days Later~~
As Castellian and the Lich Diiroehn led the undead horde south Tenebrae was almost returned from her detour to burn the bell-rope, to the site of the first battle. Having achieved her impulsively-conceived task, though with what success she could not be sure, she now focussed on the one she'd originally come to accomplish: seeking in the wreckage of the former battle those of the Cabal who'd still not returned, and were presumed missing in action. In almost forty-eight hours there'd been no sign of Edricyn or Creature, though Garath had returned hearty, if not so very hale. Of Leoxander’s presence at the tower she knew nothing, as yet, and his habit of making himself absent anyway gave her no cause for any real concern. Picking her way through strewn bodies and still-twitching severed limbs of the undead, the necromancer drew her shadows tightly about herself, these almost revived completely by virtue of the many dying whom she’d shriven as she passed, each leaving life with a beatific smile and cleansed soul, each feeding her darknesses in turn. By the time she’d slipped back toward the northern tower they were replete, and more than capable of shielding her from the few remaining troops left to guard the northern road. The wreckage, relatively free of bodies now employed in the second assault, was still impressive. Piles of grey stone, bloodstained in places, the flocks of corvines and other carrion-eaters picking through the few corpses too ruined to be resurrected… And here, amid the horror somewhere, she’d begin her search for the mad elf of whom she’d become inordinately fond. First, however, there were guards to be taken care of. Only a few had crept back to the site of the Lich’s summoning, the men clearly terrified and casting superstitious warding signs with every second step. Silence was imperative, the vampiress pressing her back against a segment of ruined wall, peering ‘round it to ascertain numbers and positions. And, charged with sins of threescore dying soldiers, her familiar blacknesses crept forth like an ebon mist, serpentine path taken along the ground; they would have seemed no more than flickering shadows underfoot, were any of the guard to look. At least they would seem that way, until… it was too late.
Deilakrion had been sleeping fitfully, striving to hoard her energy until she could leave to feed. Foolish as the fleshies often were, she could admit to herself in the quiet black that she needed to carry supplies. Yes, as she once had, when Black Folds--the present! She had clenched her hands hard and reluctantly relaxed them. Worming her way through the tiny spaces of the tower had revealed nothing, if not that she was grossly incapable at the moment to find the sky predator. A growl, thready and weak, trembled past her lips. So she still had gumption. Head raised, she looked about herself. The occasional hole to the wrecked landscape above lent her light, but in these tight confines she was still uneasy. Creature she might call herself, but her bloodline was still elven, and the dark emptiness was reaching deep into her mind. Hands groped along her waist for her dagger, that rust-flecked piece of metal that was given to her so long ago. . . focus! Bulbous shapes of rock and not a few stench-ridden corpses were the only things to greet her eyes as finally she focused her efforts upwards. And then the ground trembled. She froze, skin prickling and lips peeling back from teeth. That would be the deciding factor, then, for now panic edged along her nerves, singing in her ears to escape. After she reclaimed presence of mind she would lick her wounds and decide a new course of action. Her mind shut down and she picked a new direction to crawl, squeezing through tiny spaces to reach an opening large enough to climb out.
Tenebrae waited ‘til the small contingent of guards appeared to be separating – it would never do to allow them too wide a berth from each other. The darkling mist that swarmed and curled around their ankles was noticeable now, more than one swearing fealty to his gods anew, making folk-sigils with trembling fingers against evil; they assumed the sooty fog a lingering trace of the Lich’s art and, since they seemed harmless enough, soon came to disregard it and, in voices redolent with bravado, made plans to stake vigil of the fallen tower in pairs. Peridot eyes peering from the curtain of her cloak’s sanctuary, Tenebrae was not long in giving her own order. The shadows rose up, thickened into broad tendrils that snaked about the limbs of the men simultaneously, the darknesses coalescing further to forms dense enough to grasp and hold… No sign of there was the ghastly polyps that spoke of the Unmaker’s power, and for this the necromancer was grateful. No, the shadows merely twined about the hapless men like serpents, cries muffled well before the panicked soldiers could emit them. Their struggles came to naught, and soon they lay dazed, breath stolen by the suffocating coils and fear. And it was then that Tene stepped forth, hesitantly at first, and then with something of regality in her pace. Let them who still clung to consciousness watch her pass. She’d allow them to live, to whisper the tale of the witch who commanded Darkness. She would have smiled, were not her mind filled with fear of further troops and concern for Deilakrion. Her cloak billowed lightly around her, though no wind blew to cause the motion, and then seemed to drop from her shoulders, spreading sheet-like on the ground before writhing with a grotesque sort of life, the dark matter wafting toward the mass of broken stone, its command singular: to seek out the one known only as ‘Creature’ and return with news, good or ill.
Deilakrion was almost there. Sun hit her full in the face as she scrabbled past the last rock, scree showering around her as she clawed her way free. Her hands were slick with sweat and her body coated in dust and dried blood, not all of it hers. A silent snarl curled her lips as she placed weight upon her injured foot, but she paid the pain no more heed than that. From her crouch amid the rubble, her shifty eyes scanned furiously for sign of opposing forces, and she trembled in strained concentration as various noises assaulted her ears. Yet the dusty, blood soaked landscape was all that--no, there! She was taken aback, even for her, as shadows gathered and bated. Fierce hunter! A grin loosened her features as relief rose palpable, her mind clearing so fast as to make her body sway in loose-limbed exhaustion. Yet a few blinks was all it took and she was skulking for her leader, dagger pulled from its sheath in preparation. She may have failed in her quest to find the sky predator, but now questions could be given and answered, once she found her tongue again. A grunt was given in warning as she neared the other, and then she stopped in shock as she almost tripped over a crouched guard. Eyes met, adrenaline raced and hearts sped as one. Hissing out a breath, she reversed grip on her dagger, skipping back a step. Landing hard, wincing, then her empty hand shot out for his sword arm. Flesh was doubly scored, blood hit the air with tangy stench. Deilakrion touched ground with the fading body of the guard, consternation screwing her face into a rictus. She lifted her forearm to her face, licking the laceration with strangled groan. She staggered to her feet, lips pressed tightly together but for a brief spurt of words: "Leave. Now."
Tenebrae’s own weapon was drawn, steel ringing loud in the relative silence, but the elf had put paid to the remaining guard and now all she could do was sheath the heavy sword and nod. The grin of relief and greeting delayed by Deilakrion’s brief skirmish broke free now, and to say Tene was glad to see the woman alive would be the grossest understatement. A hurried assessment proved the elf free of any dire wound, though battered and no doubt victim to exposure. But any words would have to wait, the vampiress pointing toward the breach in the westerly wall that she and Castellian had spied through earlier. Finger crooked to beckon Deilakrion forward, she stepped out toward the small gap, eyes flitting nervously about. It seemed the battle to the south had drawn the bulk of the Claw’s legions that way, the few left to guard that area now struggling on the ground against the thickened pall of her shadows or, judging by the hoarse shouts and clang of metal further north, busy holding off a few stray revenant corpses. A glance back saw the woman struggling to keep up, and so she made a hasty return to curl an arm around her clansmate’s waist, heedless only this once of any discomfort such close contact might cause the elf; she’d carry her, if she had, to, kicking and screaming, but get the hells out of there they would, and alive. A likelihood less likely, now the sound of marching men from the east was discerned by keen vampiric ears… Gods, they were coming from behind, and there was a lot of them. “Creature…” Her voice was a low breath, words run together with their haste. “Wegottarun!”
To say the elf was irked would have been an understatement-- twice within the last few days, now, her skin was blemished with touch! But except for a low snarl, the woman made no complaint--yet. Rabble was gathering, having spotted the two Cabal members made vulnerable, and Deilakrion was not so thick in the head as to make escape any more difficult. Her jerky movements belied her vast discomfort with the whole situation, but she struggled onwards with naught but a grimace and a few pointed growls. A thud to the side had Deilakrion leaping sideways into Tenebrae, knocking the other woman off balance and stride. The two lost momentum, almost hitting dirt as more arrows went wild around them. Deilakrion made a short hopping movement towards the guard detail behind them, but a sharp yank from Tenebrae had her nod in reluctance. Escape first, score settling later. Stomach roiling, Deilakrion accepted Tenebrae's assistance once more as they flew for safety from which to plot their counterattack. She was confused as to who all of these fleshes were, and it showed in her frequent glances back, causing her to trip more than once. Ease of movement was greatly hampering for the normally fleet-footed woman, and the group behind them was steadily eating the distance. Soon now the choice would be lost. . .but what options were left? She wheezed breath, shooting looks rife with apology towards the shorter vampiress. "Fuh-ffff--fie. . .fight?" The word was barked more than asked.
“Run now. Fight later.” The statement would have conformed to Deilakrion’s prior thought, as Tene regained her footing and with a tightening of the no doubt loathsome grip half-dragged the wounded elf closer to the wall’s gap, unable to do more to shield them than recall the thin pall of darkness that passed for a cloak, the fabric-like substance having thickness enough at least to deflect the bulk of missiles shot their way. But without the mass of her power at her beckon, these still busy keeping the guards at abeyance, she could do little more. Beyond the wall, she knew, lay the elite guard of the Flaming Claw, set to guard the entrance, if any remained. She’d not take the chance of running into that lot. And without Castellian and the Lich, they’d not get far…Her mind raced. No use going south, the fighting was too thick. North was impossible. East was .. definitely out of the question. So forward was their only option, and that way she continued, thoughts humming, turning over possibilities… Were things not so dire, she might have slapped her forehead. “Creature… We’re going to see a big monster. Ugly…” The words came rough, ragged; her breath was burning in her chest. “But there’s no danger. At least I don’t think so. Trust me.” With that, she fell to silence again, the hole in the stone barrier reached. Most likely to Deilakrion’s great relief, Tene released her, to climb through, once the coast was discerned clear. Well, a couple of hundred men were nearby, but their attention was cast to the battle at the southern tower, and the track leading under the bridge oddly untended. The two women passed as silently as possible, descending the dirt path to the murkish streambed below.
Deilakrion half slid, half crawled down the path, eyes cast furtively about in paranoia. Never had she seen so many fleshes within such a small passage of time, and her head whirled with the sheer numbers. Yet then her attention turned towards the dank and smelly space they were descending into, and her nose wrinkled in distaste. The smell of fleshes rose thick and cloying and she skidded to a halt. Grimy enough she was, and the sodden ground she was standing on would only make matters much worse. Shadowed were the regions under the bridge, and her nose clogged with fleshy waste that she didn't notice the troll lingering cautiously beneath the deeper shadows. Tenebrae she kept attention for as the glint of water caught the majority of her attention. She padded closer, the squelch of mud beneath her feet causing a wince unrelated to the pain nagging at her mind. Closer inspection revealed the source of the smell, and she swung around to make a sulkish grimace at Tenebrae. It was then that her eyes fell upon the hulking . . . . . . .nostrils flared. Flesh. It was a flesh. Big, yes, that was what the fierce predator had likely been talking about. Yet her instincts tightened her into a defensive stance, bared dagger raised horizontal towards the ground, dim flash of metal aimed towards the skulking troll. It blinked owlishly at her, looking rather. . .offended. A long stare was exchanged, then, but then dissipated between one breath and the next. The sharp regard was broken, and both the troll and Deilakrion turned head away from the other in blatant disregard. This time she set the weight of her stare upon the vampiress, tongue working her dry lips as she once more lifted her cut forearm for a lick. Battered, slowed and hungry, the feral creature waited for her leader's direction.
Tenebrae gritted her teeth as elf and troll faced off; it was her hope that another battle wouldn’t ensue, neither of them up to it, and some ways to go yet to safety. A thought of the men crossed her mind unbidden, teeth dragging across her lower lip; but Castellian was the best of men and Diiroehn… quite something, himself. As the two calmed to mutual indifference, Tene ducked her head oddly, a throaty grumble tearing from her vocal chords not built for such guttural speech. “Eghhwull!! Meghrekh dunn?” The troll, long arms trailing beside its shaggy form, fingers lighty tracing through the muck it stood in, jerked suddenly, as though shot. “Dunn gimmgrah Meghrekh. Bagrul…?!” Piggish eyes regarded the necromancer with incredulity, though the expression may have been lost on the two women. “Akhweel dunn derrahn!” Wide feet splished and splashed through the mud, the bestial creature abruptly turning to follow the filthy stream toward the west. Tenebrae offered the thing a brief reply, “Akhwad!” She paused before following, leant close to her elven companion, her voice low, husky from the interaction. “The troll will take us to safety. I knew his parents well.” She blinked gently in the shrouded light. “Don’t ask…” With a wry half-smile, she led on.
Deilakrion sighed as with mute acceptance she trailed after the vampiress and troll, mincing through the sloppish mud. Her eyes were downcast as she watched it squish through her toes, each step lending another wince to her down-turned lips. A shake of her head dispelled the fleshy thoughts, and she instead sped her pace slightly to draw even with the vampiress. In the process she slung her dagger back into its sheath, wiping her clammy palms against her thighs as they continued onwards. Her mouth hung slightly open as she panted her fatigue, mind still racing from the day's hectic events. Her eyes burned for a moment against the troll's back, distrust and uncertainty rippling outwards, but she directed her eyes towards the river as quickly, glaring into its fetid depths. Her jaw muscles worked in anger at the fleshy signs displayed so grotesquely, much like the lewd displays of rutting fleshes in the tavern. A brief shake of her head to disrupt her scattered thoughts and her pale eyes sought out the vampiress once more in question. Her mind flitted from subject to subject as her limp gradually worsened, muck and grime taking their toll on the myriad of cuts and scrapes adorning her body.
They walked for what seemed hours, continuing for some way along the polluted stream, though the waters cleared a little before the unlikely trio reached a sheer rockface: the walls of the great canyon over which the guarded bridge above ran. To the east the ground sloped sharply away, the stream churning over rough rock as it spilled to the fathomless depths below. Meghrekh – for this was the troll’s name, though he’d almost forgotten it himself ‘til Tene had spoken it aloud -- turned to give the women a horribly snaggle-toothed grin, bits of gods-knew-what nastiness stuck in his crooked brown fangs. “Buhggruu!” With that foetid exhalation he pointed upward, to a narrow stone ledge, just above his matted, mossy-furred head. Tene turned her peridot gaze to follow the creature’s gnarled claw. “Up there? Erm.. Buhggruu?” The breath she took as she turned to face the rapidly failing Deilakrion was almost a sigh of despair, eyes pained with worry over the elf’s appalling state. And it was then she noticed the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from the woman’s side. “Oh no….” And there was only one way up to that ledge. Pale green eyes flitted to Meghrekh, and back again. Tene swallowed, reached a hand to tug at the troll’s slimy-furred back. A halting, broken stream of trollish words was exchanged, the necromancer inching back as the rough phrases gravelled her throat. And it was with a soft cry of guilt and dismay that she watched as the shaggy half-beast shot forth uncannily long and powerful forelimbs -- evolved for the purpose of snatching prey from higher places; bridges, for instance -- to grab up a very startled Deilakrion, depositing her on the stone shelf above before there’d be much chance for struggle. Next was Tene, her turn once she’d gained the ledge to bestow apologetic glances, a mumbled ‘Sorry…” given her patently furious companion. Before them was a blackened tunnel, the way out of the gorge she’d asked for. In the very little light that reached inside the maw of it, she could see the tunnel sloping sharply upward. Another soft sound of dismay, another worried glance at Deilakrion, and she leant over the rock to growl her thanks to the young troll, who grunted something back and padded away. She sat there a moment, collecting herself. “Might be a way yet, Creature. But we’ll make it, I promise.” Tene’s thoughts were far grimmer than her carefully courageous words sounded. She pushed herself up to gain her feet, and stepped toward the waiting blackness.