Arysel slips into the Hanging Corpse with a bit of trepidition to her step. It had strangely been quiet on the outside, an aura of..something..was not right. With her left hand resting lightly on the lyre which is never out of reach, the Avian takes a quick look around. What meets her wandering gaze is beyond description as what was once harmless has now seemed to come to live, chasing and devouring anyone foolish enough to get into her way. A galloping chair rushed past her, chasing some poor hapless soul who had not managed to find safety. Pressing her back to the now closed door, Arysel brought the lyre into her hands, the fingers of her right poised just over the restless strings should any of the monsterous furniture choose that moment to take a taste of her. Thoughts crowded into her incompreheding mind. What sort of trick was this? Where was Tenebrae, Maddie..even that strange elfish woman and her ..well, couldn't call him a companion, more of an annoyance at the time. Blowing a bit of blonde hair out of her eyes, Arysel skirts around the wall, her boots placed quietly so as not to draw attention. Perhaps they had gone upstairs. A look was cast ahead, seeking the safest route. The whisper of butter soft leather pants seemed overly loud, even among the screaming of those being eaten mostly alive. Her thoughts weren't on them, they were on her friends.
Arysel suddenly and unexpectedly finds herself falling into a dark place. Her lungs freeze, holding the air that she had drawn in at the instant she'd felt that pull. So unexpected, the Avian hasn't a chance to fight when she finds herself in a pool of light. There are others, but Arysel recognizes only a couple. Tenebrae and Shishi. Wait, there's that strange woman who was with that thing..Monster. The rest are given a brief look, commiting their faces to memory in that instant. Her grey eyes are drawn to a comotion. A fight? It was hard to tell and so the Avian dismissed it and made her way to Tenebrae. First things first. Check on friends, second..figure out just where the hell she was and how to get back home. At least there were no walls.
Senka is taken aback by the show of tables that turn into creatures, aided by a silver kind of substance she does not know, nor smelt anything like it before. It’s wrong in so many ways that the wolf, no matter how impulsive she may be, suddenly stiffens and pauses in surprise. Any table or chair would deserve her attention, any one of those objects turned beings out for their flesh it seems but she only opens her jaw and snarls, snout wrinkling and saliva covering every single one of her ivory teeth the moment “Take her” escapes Tenebrae’s mouth. Furniture is soon forgotten, her position making sure she’s far enough from them to let her mind focus on other matters. Matters that are still different from the one she has originally came for. Something inside the beast cringes, something human that did not expect the vampire to turn on her as she, in this confusing mess of both mind as reality, assumes is what happening but it doesn’t show on the outside, as a wild uncontrollable anger is the only thing she can express. The decision to fight comes naturally; there are few lycans who can match “the white one”s experience and strength, none of which she has found on Hollow, and her natural arrogance makes sure that she would not falter anyhow. So the albino pushes of with an impressive shown of strength and leaps…But the creature ends up in a place unlike any she has seen before, something which is apparently bound to happen every time she ventures into the two-walker world. Senka is quick enough to end her leap into a simple tap of nails hitting…nothing…or everything? She cannot understand it, the way no smell, sound or touch is familiar, some of which not even there, and her noble head is soon tossed in a restless manner as if she’s trying to fight of a particular irksome fly…Nothing makes sense anymore but it hasn’t from the moment she entered the tavern and so she uses her gift again in the spur of the moment. But something about this place, something that cannot be explained, takes that strength of the mind and turns it into an echoing voice. Where usually she would only speak to the nearest mind, wildly and needy projecting her thoughts, now she’s heard by all, her urgency heard by all and her anger. “Who claimed me?” The beast’s snout is yet to smooth, her ears yet to relax from being flattened against her skull and saliva still drips steadily from between ivory teeth. She is yet to be calmed…
Caeryph was weary of all those about; Tenebrae, the approaching white wolf- demonic-hellish furniture. The man had thought to tavern to be weird enough as it was, now there was this? It was official, when..and if- he ever made it out of this alive, he was going to avoid the towns possibly forever. Caeryph was about to act on instince and swing violently at Tenebrae, his attempt at shoo'ing the woman away from the Alpha, for he did not know who she was, but did not have the chance. Eyes blinked and his neck turned from left to right. Where was- how did..? This had to have been a dream, surely it was..right? One minute he was in the oh-so-hated tavern, now this..oblique nothingness. He no longer cared about those around, or even to notice that the cannibalistic chairs were no longer there. All he wanted to do was just get Creature and himself out of here- away from this chaotic scene. He looked up in front of him to see Tene call out the harsh orders, which struck him odd for a moment- so she was not foe? Or just a temporary aid- he thought to himself as Deilakrion was hastily scooped up in his arms. Now he had only to question himself and even Tenebrae; take here where? He didn't know how to loose himself of this nothingness, hell, he didn't even know how he got in here. So, completly confused and lost, the lycan would stumble about, trying to expose an exit for the two.
The tavern has been turned into a scene of Chaos. Where once people could come and eat and drink and be merry, death has prevailed. Somehow, the tables and chairs of the establishment have been turned into living things that kill and maim. Urghdak, security chief; and Steadman, bartender, are holding up the last stand near the bar. They fight off the fiendish things, though they are all bleeding from chunks taken out of them. Blood and guts spill across the floor, and any remaining within the Tavern are given only a few choices: Fight, flee or die.
Eudocia slips into the tavern, grey eyes closing to adjust to the light, and exhales a sigh of relief. All this woman desired, no, longed for, was a simple drink, a reprieve from the twisted maze of a day. As her eyes flickered open, however, a horror of horrors was revealed, one’s potential worst nightmare. The blood….The sight of it splashed about on the floor and walls was enough to excited a fierce hunger within her, enough to drown out momentarily mental cries of “Run! Fear!”. The tall vampire is ripped rudely back into reality by a slash of pain on her calf, a ripping, tearing feeling unlike any she had ever experienced in battle. Lips curl back from teeth in a horrible scream of anger, tongue rippling in a pink tide of hate. Her gaze drops to her leg and, to her astonishment, there was a chair there. Now a simple chair, but one with mobile legs, wrapped about her, dragging her once again towards itself. With a shout of mixed confusion and fury, the woman kicks at it, beats uselessly against it, until a knife is drawn and stabbed into splintering wood. As the chair bears retreat, she presses herself against the wall, surveying the damage.
Caedan is on the stairs, having just appeared from above after a terrible commotion below startled her from her latest nightmare. No doubt carried from the Pool to upper levels of the tavern and put to bed to recuperate, she'll pause on the stairs, holding a sheet around her with one hand and her long broadsword, Fallen Dream, in the other. The chaotic scene below is witnessed with wide eyes, even as a table observes her appearance and clumsily attempts to navigate the stairs. Eudocia is eyed sympathetically in the corner, a faint wave of her sword extended as a terse greeting of sorts.
Eudocia takes in the situation from her unobtrusive corner, too many thoughts to sort out at once slipping through her emotion addled mind. Should she run like a coward into the night? Should she stay and fight, earn perhaps much desired for honor? Who should she assist, be that her decision? From the corner of her left eye, a sudden movement is taking place, and the woman turns her head slowly, just slowly enough to get a better view, but not to alert the roving, dangerous pieces of wooden furniture that seemed to be forming ranks in the middle of the tavern floor. She sees a woman on the upper landing, eyes still heavy with sleep, about to stumble into unawares into the goings on below. Before she can open her mouth to alert the woman (something that a voice tells her would be a horrible idea, to attract more attention to herself), she appears to snap awake. The light glints off of a sword that is extended in her direction, and suddenly Eudocia does not feel quite so alone in her battle. She pulls her other dagger from its hip sheath, and prepares to leap on the landing, next to the woman.
Somewhere, Creature was wailing, and somewhere else there were snarls, and then a voice in her mind. Tenebrae wanted to answer, but her tongue had that cold and leaden feel to it again, and she feared the words would come out nonsense. A singular thought was pushed from her mind, into whatever space they occupied, becoming clear to her now; she'd been here before -- Bad place, we must get out -- and then things started spinning. It seemed to her, as Monster walked, that the place turned too, with every step. Wile, or the -thing- that masqueraded as Wile, was sickeningly gleeful, she could quite literally feel it in her bones, if he wasn't boasting already. The same way he'd been gleeful at the Pool… Cogs and gears shifted in her brain. "TOU" - the word came out all wrong, to everyone among the lesser creatures present, except Senka. Pleading eyes went the wolfess' way, hands were splayed helplessly; Senka would have to be her tongue, for now. The stark white of that fur showed grey in the abysmal light, and so to it she ran.. against the turning of the ground, if it was any kind of ground they stood on. Then she'd find the darker wolf by the gleam of his eyes, and Creature... The necromancer's features wrenched into a mask of pain, for the sake of the elf's. A stream of gobbledegook spilled over her lips, and it'd be up to the white wolf to pass it on. -- Monster, we have to get out! It's feeding -- A flourish of colour whispered past her, silk and feathers, and something more spindly within. Monster smiled, and his eyes flashed a gleam of bright metal that had no colour here but a shimmer of liquid gold, then silver, until -- perhaps at Senka's behest, but more likely at his own, the smile snapped off. Monster turned to the thing-that-was-Wile, suddenly still, and intent. Tenebrae, meanwhile, sank to Deilakrion's side, daring not to bestow another unthinkably terrifying touch to the woman, not even allowing her hands to hover helplessly over the traumatised woman. "R-cheeeerc!" She gave up on speech, then, and began humming a tune she knew, elvish, and ancient. She had to do -something. Or she'd stop acting, and start thinking again. And that, here, would be a very bad thing for Tenebrae.
Ginger spears an overhead board with her left wing in mild confusion, pulling herself into the rafters to get a better view of her surroundings. She stares at the ferocious furniture in subdued amazement. Her cries to the barkeep are barely heard above the mayhem ensuing below. "Is this a new attraction to drum up business? How long do you think they'll be active?" She sticks her right hand in her bag, as always, digging around for something useful.
Caedan steps aside to grant room for Eudocia as she joins her. The table's having some trouble climbing the stairs, but some of the chairs are having better luck. Caedan's fencing them off with relative success, but there are just too many gathering. After resorting to golfing them off the stairs with her shrieking sword, she casts a sideways glance at Eudocia and jerks her head towards the bartop. The teen leaps from the stairs to the light fixture above, and swings her way onto the bar, all while managing to keep a hold of her sword, and keep her sheet from falling off. Talent. The psychic joins Steadman, himself now atop the bar, and nice as you please, starts kicking plates and cups towards the furnitures' mouths, in hope to fill them, sate them, clog them .... whatever it takes.
Caedan said to Ginger, "It's that creature's doing. Should be stabbed with hot pokers, that one. That'd make him stop. Get atop something. Not the furniture."
Caedan said to the table, "Ouch you bastard son of a motherless pygmy! For all that's holy, I'ma fu---" She was drowned out by the table's mouth clattering ferociously as she jabbed at it, fencing style.
Ginger nods from her dangling position, searching her bag for some hot pokers. The closest things she has are poker cards and Pokey, inside the silver flask. Neither is up to the job, by anyone's reckoning
Eudocia lands lightly atop the landing, feet placed well apart to support her weight. She takes a moment for a breath, sweet relief for aching lungs, and looks the individual next to her up and down. Eyes take in her unique getup, the sheet, and finally make their way to her face. As the teen’s sword flashes through the air, taking nicks from wooden legs, wooden seats, a veritable carving fest, Eudocia snaps to vicious attention. Once soft eyes turn a steel grey color, darkly cold and calculating. One thin hand reaches up to brush long tresses out of her way (stupid hair, she had been meaning to chop the darn things off), while the other momentarily grasps both daggers. Upon clearing her vision, one dagger is passed to the other hand, and Eudocia takes off down the stairs, taking the lower path to the bar. Teeth - splintering teeth, extend to dig into her icy cold flesh, screaming and begging to rip life right out of her. Her daggers fly, shining with a strange and eerie light, and the woman laughs through her twisted lips, wondering why she had never chosen to take up carpentry as an art. She arrives at the bottom of the bar and extends an arm, vaulting on top of the counter. She nods to her fellow fighters and sheaths the daggers, reaching upon her back for her trusted bow, beginning to fire on the assailants.
Caedan tosses a piece of a chair rather violently at the door to close it promptly behind the obvlivious patron. It'd be ... well, chaos, if the furniture became at large in Vailkrin.
Caeryph was soon disoriented. Everywhere he turned- nothing, and every which way he seemed to stumble, his steps brought him no more further away then where he had started. Creature's arm dangled loosly as he held onto her tightly, letting nothing come near the pack's Alpha. But soon it became too much- not her necissarily, but the situation as a whole. Caeryph hissed as he dropped to his bloodied knees, resting the elf gently down before crawling back somewhat, but no where far enough so that he was only a second from fending her from whatever else this nightmare through at them. He was dizzy- lost, aggravated. To the point to where a few rough low growled words were directed at Tenebrae. "Get..us out-". His sentence went unfinished as the 'white one' was eyed. As if the situation was enough already, there was yet another unknown potential danger. He did not know what to expect of anything or one now- but if the vampiress seemed neutral for now, perhaps the wolf was too? Whether she was or not, he still kept his stance ready, knee's loaded, and those golden topaz eyes locked. He would claw, bite and lunge at it if he had too- even in this weak human appearance that was clearly no match for the canine.
Caedan is directing Steadman to get more plates, more fodder. She's lost the bouncer; poor thing is on his own. She'll swing away, tossing plates up to bat them into the line of forward-moving furniture. As Eudocia joins her, she'll take a moment and squeeze her eyes closed, then shout at the top of her lungs, "Darkness, come home!" She has no idea if it will be heard wherever the vampire has disappeared to and those along with her, but if she can find any link back to reality, maybe it will be enough. But then again, maybe they are lost; she can't see anything in her mind, no thoughts reflected of those she searches for.
Eudocia smiles to herself as the rough hewn wood of her bow seats itself in her hand. The bow was a gift, and it has long served her well. The arrows fly uselessly into chairs, tables, and casks, and Eudocia finds herself biting at her lip with panic, asking herself if she is destined to lose this battle. Suddenly, it seems, all of her hours of brutal training reawaken within her, fingers no longer clumsily pulling on the string of her longbow. She takes aim on a particularly aggressive looking table and focuses, the rise and fall of her chest ceasing, lips pursed with determination. The woman’s fingers dance upon the string, and a triumphant smile consumes her face as one arrow is loosed. In midair, this single, lonely arrow glows a dim shade of purple, and where one once flew, two twins soared on either side of it. An instant before they made contact with the wood, they burst into flames, the table echoing an unearthly screech of horror. Eudocia is overcome with pride at her success, not even considering what flames might do to a place like this.
Senka doesn’t understand anything anymore. No one answers her urgent answer and the suffocating press of a claim made over her person seems to have disappeared. To top that off the vampire utters a speech the wolf doesn’t understand, her ears lowering again and her growl becoming all that more confused when Tene’s pleading periodic gaze met her own of the opposite colour. The necromancer goes running and as the wolf follows, instinctively and without a thought as she had in the days that have passed, the days with pack, she feels the different types of ground shifting beneath the cushions of her feet. Words move passed her sensitive ears, uttered by the necromancer but Senka does not understand them and wishes that she could. The moment she does she feels a cold draft passing between the vampire and herself and Tenebrae will feel that very same connection the wolf does. A connection that should not be formed without either of their knowledge, since neither of them are completely ignorant when it comes to the gift of the mind but somehow it has and without thinking the albino repeats Tene’s words. Becoming her tongue like she was supposed to but the beast doesn’t seem to actively realise it, or perhaps she simply doesn’t care. The other lycan catches her attention though, she can smell him before she spots him, and he soon greets them with Wild in his arms and it’s enough to make the albino pause. “Get us out..” the words echo in the wolf’s mind and somehow it strengthens her own desire to leave, to escape, to return to something she understands… “Get us out,” the sentence begins to mingle with the ancient ones Tenebrae utters until it’s a mess of noise, ringing like a large bell and making the ‘ground’ vibrate. Louder and louder the sound becomes and as it does, the heavier everything vibrates until the wolf is sure that everything will soon fall apart. And fall apart it does, as if called to by her thoughts until black shadow makes room for a gap of sort, a gap showing a chaotic mess of blood lusty furniture and people fighting those very things. The moment she spots this gap Senka leaps towards it, selfishly, without a single thought of the ones she left behind. After all, she had warned the vampire’s mate…She would stop looking out for the other the moment he returned, leave it to him to get her out. Senka has had enough!
"The balance of debt is once more uneven." The voice was slick as milk, and as smooth, Monster seeming unruffled even amid the contorted, snatching mass of quicksilver and chaos that even now could be --felt-- slurping up the thick soup of this reality. "Now you may go." He flicked his fingers dismissively, in a gesture that -- only perhaps coincidentally-- mimicked one Deilakrion often made. And there it was-- a crack, in the dark, or perhaps a hole. It was sensed, rather than seen, anyhow, and Tene's instincts had her clutch the book close to her, the thing seeming to warm against her chest. "C... c'mon!" The word was forced out, over her disobedient tongue, the right way this time. But Senka was already a pale blur, disappearing through that.. door, or whatever it was, and that left Caeryph and Creature to get through before she'd go. "What's the hurry, Darkness?" Her vision could make no sense of what Wile had become, but she knew the voice. "Go to h... ugh. Shut up!" The quicksilver being's laughter, mocking as ever, rang about the space. And then, whether the wolf and elf were with her or not, she was --pushed-- out, and tumbling, tumbling, through balck marshmallow clouds. Right before the heavy "thunk"-- which'd be her body hitting the stone floor of the tavern.
Eudocia is in the middle congratulating herself on a job well done, it had felt like ages since she had been forcefully trained, and she was regaining aged skills more quickly than expected. She continues firing arrows towards the swirling, rabid furniture, when she notices a small wine cask sidling around the marbled corner of the bar. The vampire chuckles to herself, grateful for keen, alert eyes, and lifts herself on one leg, aiming to send the wretched thing back where it came from. Making a mental note to quit drinking so much, her foot swings outward. Disaster occurs, and her foot does not connect with finely aged wood, instead, it continues to swing in an arc through the air, and she flies off the bar into the swirling maw below. Her mouth opens into a wordless scream, and the woman’s back slams into the floor, all air being ruthlessly expelled from her lungs. Eudocia lays there, stunned for a moment, until she notices something rather sinister. A rug, old and worn, is slithering it’s way towards her, not unlike a flattened snake! The tassles on it’s forward edge suddenly seem quite sharp, and her limbs flail in an attempt to right herself. Finding that her body does not work the way it should, the woman begins to shriek loudly, hoping someone might take pity on her. Just when it seems all hope may be lost for her, a thick arm grasps her vacillating one, and Steadman hoists her back up onto the bar, scowling at her carelessness in battle.
Caeryph wasted no time in scooping Deilakrion back up, and held her tightly as he made quick about following the other wolf. It was light, and it was an exit, so he cared about nothing else right now, but to simply get him and Creature out. Whether she got a head start or not, Caeryph didn't know as he watched Tenebrae disappear from this plain of emptiness, with him soon following. Soon, he would feel the same tumbling darkness that Tene had suffered, and even more, his back slamming violently against the corner of ther bar. His body cusioned the blow for the elf as she rolled away from him, only to lay half-on, half-off the counter. Caeryph however..was on the ground, where he had hit his head hard aginst the stone floor leaving him unconcious. He was now at the mercy of those in the pub to save him if they so desired, for he was now furniture food!
Irin glances about sleepily, a hellish scene before him. Chalking it up to a dream within a dream, the demi-feline shakes his head and makes his way out of the Tavern before one of the demonic chairs or tabels or cushions tries to eat him.
Eudocia lies facedown on the counter, splayed out in the position that Steadman had dropped her in. She coughs, body aching for mercy, and a stream of red is released from her mouth. The scent of it reaches her nostrils, causing loose muscles to grow taut and, once again, ready. Her torn leg is bleeding badly, muscle ripped a bone gaping. Breath comes fast and hard as suddenly a creature appears to fall out of the sky, landing on that very injured leg. Blinded with pain and anger, the woman retracts her leg from under the dead weight, staggering to a rising position. All of the blood loss only serves to stoke the roaring fire within her, urging her to continue with this strange battle, for perhaps a blood meal could be had at the end of it. She leans against Steadman for a moment, trying to find some weapon, any weapon, as her bow was currently being trampled by the rogue rug. Several more figures fall from the sky, much to the vampire’s wonder, and she stares open-mouthed, wondering if they were friend, or another form of unearthly foe.
Senka barely even has time to recognise the cold stone beneath her padded feet of the tavern before she’s knocked over by an over eager table that seemed to be ready to pounce her. The answering snarl is vicious and like so many in the chaos that once had been a place to gather the wolf turns her head to burry her teeth in the aggressive wood. It’d be hard to judge who’s more blood lusty; Senka or the furniture. Either way, there is a lot of wood flying before soon as the noble creature turns her head violently to rip off an entire leg of the table. Yet it’s large yaws still snap of her and her whine mingles with the rest of the sounds that come from fighting before it turns into another vicious snarl as she curls her body to rip the offending teeth of her tail. Finally she is allowed to vent, finally the beast doesn’t have to hold back and her aggression is almost terrifying as with every swipe of her claws, every turn of her head and every eager leap has wood flying and splintering to cover her white coat and anyone else who might be nearby.
Eudocia lies facedown on the counter, splayed out in the position that Steadman had dropped her in. She coughs, body aching for mercy, and a stream of red is released from her mouth. The scent of it reaches her nostrils, causing loose muscles to grow taut and, once again, ready. Her torn leg is bleeding badly, muscle ripped a bone gaping. Breath comes fast and hard as suddenly a creature appears to fall out of the sky, landing on that very injured leg. Blinded with pain and anger, the woman retracts her leg from under the dead weight, staggering to a rising position. All of the blood loss only serves to stoke the roaring fire within her, urging her to continue with this strange battle, for perhaps a blood meal could be had at the end of it. She leans against Steadman for a moment, trying to find some weapon, any weapon, as her bow was currently being trampled by the rogue rug. Several more figures fall from the sky, much to the vampire’s wonder, and she stares open-mouthed, wondering if they were friend, or another form of unearthly foe.
Senka barely even has time to recognise the cold stone beneath her padded feet of the tavern before she’s knocked over by an over eager table that seemed to be ready to pounce her. The answering snarl is vicious and like so many in the chaos that once had been a place to gather the wolf turns her head to burry her teeth in the aggressive wood. It’d be hard to judge who’s more blood lusty; Senka or the furniture. Either way, there is a lot of wood flying before soon as the noble creature turns her head violently to rip off an entire leg of the table. Yet it’s large jaws still snap at her and her whine mingles with the rest of the sounds that come from fighting before it turns into another vicious snarl as she curls her body to rip the offending teeth of her tail. Finally she is allowed to vent, finally the beast doesn’t have to hold back and her aggression is almost terrifying as with every swipe of her claws, every turn of her head and every eager leap has wood flying and splintering to cover her white coat and anyone else who might be nearby.
Eudocia finds her eyes drifting to the tavern’s door, left open a crack by an entering feline. Her mind calculates the probability of a successful escape, the results, highly unlikely. As she stands there, open mouthed and non moving, pondering a cowardly retreat, Urghdak’s sudden grunts float to her ears. She leaps in place, body now facing the other way, and sees a large, ornate bookcase, crafted of fine wood, falling upon the bouncer. It beats at him, blood and thick spittle rising in the air from his battered body. All weakling’s thoughts of fleeing drift from her mind, and Eudocia launches herself from the top of the bar towards the bookcase, hoping to save the man. She secretly worries to herself about Steadmen, he always came off as gruff, but there was a heart of gold underneath that hardened exterior. The vampire tucks and rolls just before she would land in a belly flop, and she rises running. She wedges her small body in between the shelving and the bouncer, adding her lithe strength to his. The bookcase flies backwards, the upper trimming seemingly forming in a snarling face. The pair of them fly at it, Urghdak using his bare hands, and the vampire using a dagger pulled from the small of her back.
Tenebrae grunted, moaned a few words that were half-backward and half-not. Sharp splinters flew, all around, carpets wriggled, chairs were... "What the f..." She tried to scramble upward, but the table she leant on for support wheeled about, bits of other furniture melded to it to give it snapping mandibles, of a sort. "...uck." The necromancer landed back in the heap she was, previously, was still highly disoriented, and lay there another perilous moment, with the book pressed tightly to her chest. She'd glance upward in that time, a dire frown wrinkling her brow, but forced it downward to see who was and was not present. Creature.. check, (she scuttled out of reach of a voracious wingbacked armchair). The strange man, check.... (an ottoman lurched, she glanced in the direction a shattering cup had been flung from, distracting it. --Caedan!--) Senka, check. All present and accounted for; except.... "Get. Out!" Tenebrae screamed, and for some it sounded normal, to others as if it wa spoken backwards. "For the gods' sake ge..." A kingfisher-blue feather floated down from above, then a sharp laugh she knew. Monster was faring alright, then, maybe. But, as if to prove the thought wrong, out of that dark space flopped the head of a truly monstrous thing.. amorphous, shifting.. and grinning. "I have something for you....", came that terrible voice again, mellifluous and edged in cruelty. Wile was colossal, hardly a man-shape at all, which was buckling in and out , as though chewing something from the -inside- of him... or, more properly, its... self. If Monster was trying to eject it-- it wasn't working. On and on went the battle around the motley bunch fighting off the rabid furniture.
Vaelustil managed to show up from somewhere. How he managed it without bloodying his weapon on the bodies of the pair that follows him - the ever-chatting pygmy and his bone dragon in elf form - he would never know. Those two never stopped chatting with each other, and it tended to drive him nuts. Thankfully for him, it distracts them, however, and he uses that advantage to lose himself in what crowd there may be in the tavern, slipping off to one of the darker corners of the place. Yes, they wouldn't find him for at least a few minutes. That was at least some reprieve. And so, with a sigh he relaxed, veritably sinking into the chair he selected for himself.
The chairs and tables that had been splintered gathered anew at the resounding cackle of its master. The piece of furniture with the largest piece of chaos within --the hearth, now with a fiery maw that was roaring and gibbering -- rallied its foul troups. Chairs marched from the far walls. Tables spun 'round the hearth. Pieces of shattered cups and plates became tainted from the blood beneath, and they formed into humanoid shapes to stand like a wall before the door. It was a lull, a false sense of peace as Chaos itself took stock and stared into its enemy. Capitulating and capering about, the mass of furniture that had reformed and regained heart. The hearth had somehow gained the ability to form words. It was spitting fire. "Yooou wiiiiill fiiight!" It boomed, slow and deep. Hell broke loose anew. This time the chairs remaining acted as riders to the tables, circling around the hearth and letting out fantastically awful creaks and moans. The glass/plate concoctions began to spin, razoring across the floor like tops or some seriously deranged merry-go-round. . .except this time the only music available was the groaning of wood ill-used, and whatever shrieks of humanity's pain might accompany. The hearth laughed in rotten accompaniment to Monster, as the Monster extended further effort to rid its Place of the gaping maw of Wile. With a final burst of power, skidding sparks across the tavern's interior, Wile was launched, twisted and fell into the cackling goblin-hearth's maw. And that couldn't be good at all.
Tenebrae was semi-crawling on hand and knees-- her other hand still clutched that book-- her flight too hasty to allow her time to stand, for a goodly distance before she clambered upright. White-ringed eyes glanced about the devastated room, and she'd be about to call another retreat when Wile came hurtling out of the dark and into the fire. Shrieking, the mass gathered itself, all the bits of the Wile-thing that had spattered free in the fall rejoining him, hissing subtly but not diminishing on the coals. Tene halted, backed up. The "trick" only grinned, flame licking about his features. Then somebody hurled a missile, a tiny thing, at him. The reaction was instant; Wile screamed rage and surged forward, showering spark and coal hither and thither. The necromancer backed up a few hasty steps into the path of an ale keg that had tipped itself over, and as now doing its best to flatten her. The "trick" was cursing like an innful of sailors, and beat another hasty exit to the door, a long howl of a cry given once he was outside. Something had made him very upset.. and "phoomp!" the barrel hit its target, knocking her down, rolling back for more. The force of it drove her skull into the stone, where she lay, unmoving. And that was all, she wrote. Goodnight, Tenebrae.
Ildarin is nearly hit with a glass shape, the projectile colliding with the wall near the door, "What the hell?" With those words, the man continues to dodge flying glass, occassionally being nipped or even struck.
Eudocia and Urghdak slam the bookcase against the wall, and splinters fly, narrowly missing the thin skin of the woman’s face. She breathes a sigh of relief, for it seems as if the worst of this ordeal may be past, perhaps she will indeed emerge, if not unscathed, then alive. Her face turns to the bouncer and she smiles up at him, grateful she was able to reach the man just in time. She opens her mouth to speak to him, but her words are drowned out by a sudden roar, a horrible, unearthly noise, speaking words that she does not quite understand. Her legs give out from under her, weak with terror and excitement, and she drops to the floor, hidden behind the thick marble bar. She sits there for a moment, back kissing the cool stone, body shaking, until the roaring voice ceases. Eudocia’s head peeks around the bar, only to see everything that Caeden had thrown, all of the tables that she had smashed and burned to pieces, return to life. To the woman’s utter horror, the strange wolfish man, that one that she had approached the morn before, was laying lifeless upon the floor, sharp bits and pieces of ceramic swirling about, threatening to slice his throat in two. Her survival instincts leave her, and two shaking hands grip at her cloak, ripping and tearing pieces from the whole, only to tie them about her bleeding calf, as well as the whole one. If she was lucky, this strong material would protect her from the hungry material lurking about the floor. She dashes out, chairs beating against her body, and scoops the man up. She curses at him, laying there like a deadweight, and makes a break for the stairs. Another cask blocks her way and she shoulders into it, sending it flying into the wall. She sets the male unto the floor of the landing, feeling bruises begin to emerge all over her body.
Seehd appears in a flurry of billowing black smoke. As the plume clears, the man can be seen holding a large gash in his side. His left hand holds a sword made for two hands, and adorning him are pieces of pitch coloured armor. His entire left arm is bare, along with his chest. Two spots are set in the armor along his back that fall from the plating like a 'w' leaving slits large enough for his wings to maneuver freely. The gauntlet on his right hand is spike tipped along the knuckles with large claws on the ends of the first and third finger. His hair is tied back into a low tail, and falls neatly between the raven like wings that prove he was once avian. He stumbles slightly before falling into a nearby seat.
Caedan said to Seehd, "You might want to get up. And if you leave, close the Sven-damned door."
Seehd looks up at Caedan through no longer crimson, only bloodshot eyes. A soundless voice is given before he points to the large wound in his side.
The chair Seehd had sat upon snarled and started trying to eat Seehd's arse from under him.
Seehd pans his eyes down quickly, letting them find the chair before he rolled out of it and slung his sword arm at its legs. The resounding snapping would go unnoticed however as the others went about there troubles. He would roll aside and grimace as the rib he was holding in sprung from his skin. He looks around before wondering what the hell was going on.
________segue_______
Wake in a sweat again
Another day's been laid to waste
In my disgrace
Fear is how I fall
Stuck in my head again
Feels like I'll never leave this place
confusing what is real
There's no escape Beyond pain. Beyond fear. Beyond touch. Hurt. Faith. Confusion. Panic. Worry. Hatred.
Beyond the
knowing.
Deilakrion was gifted by a small moment of clarity, as though she had tripped into a small bubble of precognition. Above and below, she could see her continuing torment, and though she clung to the moment it was slowly slipping from her like sand beneath her feet. She knew where the chaos within her had gone, and it made her heart pound with fear to think of it. This small moment of relief was also a moment of choice. She could give into the darkness, and fall without thought. She could burn her mind out of her body, and exist as a shell until all of it stopped. If it ever did stop. Or she could rip and tear herself upwards, every day feeling the pains and agonies as though she were an addict of the most hateful substance, and putting herself through detox. Every second. Every minute. Every breath. Every cycle.
It wasn't much of a choice after all. She'd been born to fight and struggle, but most of all she'd been born to live. Beyond what she'd endured before, beyond what she'd fight again, the battle was taken with startling intimacy within her own being. She would hate herself for it, she knew. She'd conquer this thing within herself, and then she'd conquer
him. She snarled, and tore upwards, back into life and the fight before she lost the moment of means not her own volition.
And deep within her consciousness, buried in filth, she lived again.
There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming
Confusing I'm my own worst enemy[/i]
Pain blossomed back into being. She was not conscious by any stretch of means, but she was aware. In that was power of its own. The interloper may have access to all of her, but she knew hereself better than any other. First, she enacted-- with what little power remained to her -- carefully constructed walls. She bit, pushed, pulled and tore the bits of mercurial liquid out of that tiny space in her mind. Within it she folded all that was precious, all that was good. She put into it the thing she couldn't bear for the Chaos to find, and then she walled it off so thoroughly even she would not be able to see into it.
Then her waking mind focused upon the . . . . her . . . . . spawn. It was burrowed painfully into her, and she knew with a thought that it was almost a foregone conclusion. Almost. The bits of it that were still somehow hers she Wrapped the last of her power around, until they were buried so deep and wholly within the . . . .her. . . . .spawn that only she would be able to access them. It took time, and painful accuracy. It took her to acknowledge the awful things that had beset her, and to embrace them. It took all of her weary Life to not just abandon herself, fling herself into oblivion and just stop existing. She wanted to. She wanted very badly to. But she had made her choice, and she would live it out. Somehow.
Then she gave herself to the Chaos.
I'm sick of feeling
It's like a self control I fear is never ending
Is there nothing you can say?
Controlling
Take this all away
I can't seem to find myself again
I'm suffocating
The walls are closing in It feasted upon her. It wormed its way in and around her, until she was digested and -one- with the thing. She might have wept, might have mourned for herself. . .but it ate her emotions too. She damned herself. It ate that. She cursed it. It ate that. Finally, she let herself do the inevitable, and then she ate it. Consummation had never been so wrong. The two halves became whole, and the entirety of her being vibrated at the jangling chords. She knew then, that it watched her from the inside. She was not safe any longer. Her mind was imploding. She pushed it back, down, scattering herself with the effort just to cope.
She had drawn it in.
She had succored it.
She was a living nightmare. Living a nightmare. She fought it the length of her body, to no great avail. She could only clear one space for herself, but she wouldn't do that. She had to keep it distracted. Outwardly, her body was wasting away as her lycanthrope started to cannabalize her body in order that she might survive. Irony did not escape her even then. She would have to wake up eventually and face it. After she was done laying the foundation.
Around every corner and path her mind tread was another nightmare waiting to bloom into full living potential.
Thought I was focused but I'm scared
I'm not prepared
Crawling in my skin
I hyperventilate, looking for help somehow somewhere
These wounds, they will not heal
And no one cares
Fear is how I fall, confusing what is real. Her consciousness lifted closer to the surface. Again. She knew what had happened. The trick had planted himself within her, after she had tried to suck the life out of him. She'd guessed wrong. Very wrong. Now she had to contain it, and nurture it while it grew within her, while that. . .thing watched. Maggot spawn indeed. She'd never wanted to have anything to do with mating rituals, or other fleshy nonsense. Funny how things worked out. She would fight for it. She would kill it if she had to.
She would.
Really, she would (not?).
Emotions were ripping her apart, spreading her thin into confusion. She was supposed to act, not think. But none of this had supposed to happen either. So she coiled against the hurt and the wrongness, and readied herself to be conscious again.
God
distracting
reacting
Put me out of my misery
It's haunting how I can't seem to find myself again.
Put me out of my fucking misery.
I've given up
My walls are closing in
Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me. Thunder was booming. Rapidly. With precision. It was her heart. Gods be damned, she was still alive. Haunted, wounded, and so very tired, but alive. She could feel the internal struggle still flaming within, but . . .odd pieces were missing from her mind.
She lived.
"Given Up" & "Crawling in My Skin"
lyrics by Linkin Park ______/segue______
Monster closed the rip to his domain, and all that was left was the chaos within. She lived. Deilakrion could well believe that, as she surfaced into full awareness, and she gaped at the. . .things. Wood. Chairs and tables . . .and blood? There were no words for it, only a struggle as she got to her feet despite the liquid burning that ate at her. She blocked a table leg even as a chair slid into her, wood splinters lodging within her arm for her efforts. She howled and rolled, kicking with desperation to splinter the stuff. It was a mad scramble, to the bar -- and then she saw Tenebrae. Gods above, a flipping cask was trying to bash her leader's head in. She growled and ran, narrowly dodging spinny glass things, and romping tables splattered with blood, when she landed heels first into the casket, shattering it so that shiny silver liquid spilled out. She realized what it was. It was what was within -her-. "Fire!" She roared, using the snapping remnants to clobber a chair. She dared not touch Tenebrae. She would not. Ever. No. So she stood over the woman within a last stand, feeling remnants of Wile's own pain. "Fire, NOW!" The reassembled furniture attacked with renewed vigor, drowning all the beings within under waves of wood, glass and ceramic. If it was not destroyed, blood would give way to chaos. They had to kill it quickly. With fire.
Ildarin is hit, a chair in his side. A roar of pain is emitted as the rage flows through his entire being. A reckless hate begins to spawn from the rage already inside. The lycan falls to the ground in a heap, wincing as he grabs his ribcage.
Tirla dashes into the room, sword smashing this and that, her wings tucked close as she put her sheild to the test, blocking, smashing, Her first move is to jump over to Tenenbrae, though the wild being got to her first, breaking the barrel that was pummeling the pub owner. Tirla set herself in front of the vampiress and the creature, her sheild blocking what it may as her swords lashed out, lethal steel carving and cleaving its way through assailants, but more and more slivers peirced her skin, and blood began to flow. When the call for fire came she looked about and then screamed at the top of her lungs, "Everyone behind me," this was her specialty, suddenly her right hand burned with flame as she held her sword. Her left took on a green glow as the druid called on the gods and goddesses in silent prayer. Her hand lashed out and fire struck out like an arrow, burning a table to ashes, her left hand swung and several peices of crockery turned to dust, fire and earth, this is where her power lay.
Caedan is beyond happy to see the safe return of her clansmates .... mostly safe .... except for Wile. As he, in all his silver and slick and evil appears, her eyes narrow. The sheet wound around her is tucked under her arm, her sword stuck into the counter for the moment. With a hiss, the psychic makes a quick cut with a piece of glass, and removes the shard from just below her elbow, on her forearm. Without thought, the thing was thrown at the mercurial Wile with as much velocity as she could muster, and then he was gone, vanishing into the night, screeching and carrying on, leaving only the cannabalistic furniture -- a fate easier dealt with. Deilakrion is calling for fire, guarding Tenebrae; why won't she pick her up and carry her to the safety of any sort of altitude? Her own voice raises to meet Creature's. "And water! And don't open the doors!" While looking at Deilakrion, she'll cock a brow at the unconscious vampiress, silent inquiry as to what should be done with her. Creature couldn't fight if she was busy rescuing, could she?
Vaelustil was not in the mood for such things as what was befalling the tavern. No, he could not stay there. "Streea," he shouts above the din, "grab the pygmy and get out." He was about to follow his own advice when he noticed that Tenebrae had been knocked unconcious...and by a barrel that was still trying to pummel her? By the gods, Cire would certainly enjoy this scene. But regardless, Vael was not Cire, and so over to the woman, over to his sire, he went, stooping only long enough to hoist the woman up onto his shoulder. "Now to get her out of this place." That said, he rushed through the press of furniture and people, bashing his way out the door.
Ildarin crawls toward the door, slowly closing the distance. A hand clasps the door, opening it. The lycan rolls outside the tavern, kicking the door closed as he leaves.
Caedan shouted, "Moderately!"
Seehd mutters a simple, "Oh hell." As another chair comes thumping towards him. With a quick move, he lodges his sword in the rafters and swings upwards, perching on the things like some shiny bird. Quicker than the move was the thinking that led him to one conclusion: Absolute incineration. Right hand still clutched to his side, he bends over on the rafters and mutters three words, "Gods give strength." just before he raises the left to his lips and lets spew forth something resembling magma unto the crowd of chairs and pots and such below him. A wift right foot is placed on his sword, then kicked down so as to bring the thing from its mooring and into his right hand, which he had released causing a current of blood to flow out and drip to the floor. With a flap of his wings he fans his inferno, finding some way to maneuver the large things even here. Then, closing them in, he drops into the flames of his breath and begins the torrent of slashes upon the surrounding decor. He shouts over his shoulder to anyone at all, "What the hell am I aiming at?"
Eudocia coughs over the male's lifeless body. Her lungs hurt, every breath was ragged and painful. Another river of red spews from between rapidly paling lips, some of it falling upon the body lying underneath her. Her faces twists in disgust at wasted blood, that ever raging fire within her growing stronger still. Why could she not have had a normal evening? Why was she never allowed to just sit down, put her boots up, and have a relaxing drink with friends about her? She sighs, a rivulet of blood running from the corner of her mouth. By now, the slithering rug had left her longbow alone, and she considers attempting to retrieve it. She gnaws at the inside of her left cheek and looks about, satisfied that the wolfen creature will be safe, for now, on the landing. She throws herself down the stairs, rolled into a small ball, and lands directly in front of her bow. Her hands grasp for it, only to have it torn from her by a whirling dervish of plates. She shuts her eyes tightly and shoves her hand into the spinning, hand grasping on the corner of the instrument of war. A scream erupts from her throat, her hand is being shredded to pieces! By the time she can beat a safe retreat to the landing, her left hand is bloody, only small bits of pale skin remaining. Unsure of how to fire her bow, she loads it with one hand and uses her teeth to draw it, loosing another flaming arrow into the corner of the tavern.
Caedan said to Seehd, "Don't destroy all of it! Just .... char it. Slow it down. We don't want ghost furniture haunting this place! Sonless sack of a goat-herding ooze. Sven's sake."
Caedan said to Eudocia, "Oi, you there. Birdie there is a healer. See her when she's done completely destroying our livelihood."
Seehd groans, "Could've said that sooner." He swings at a nearby pot and sends its remain flying into a part of his inferno. With a deft left hand he calls the flames to heel, letting them die down to only char. He swings at a flying plate, then curses as shards of the thing land in his neck, causing yet more of his blood to spill. A lithe movement of his right foot sends a chair to his rear towards a fire that now would only roast the wood and melt the ceramics together.
Caedan is getting tired, and as the tavern seems under moderate control, she'll sit on the bar and wrap a strip of leather around her arm, stemming the flow of blood to the wound she had plucked the shard from.
Tirla nodded her head to Caedan, taking a moment she closed her eyes and her sheild became coated in flame, Her eyes tracked targets as she covered the man grabbing Tenebrae and retreating out the door. She grabbed the door and shut it before anything could escape and went to work with the other, flames lashed out from her sheild in flares, only licking at the furniture, causing them to blacken but not be destroyed, though after a little bit, the flames didn't seem to go as far, she was tiring, already weakened by a visit from a shade. Her eyes moved to Caedan, "How do we stop them for good?"
Eudocia fires arrow after arrow into the furniture, the magical arrows causing them to burn slowly, almost painfully. At least, one could imagine that this demonic objects, once designed for human relaxation could feel pain, as their writhed and groped, a whistling sort of shrieking noise seeming to eminate from them. Her hand reaches over her shoulder only to find that her quiver is full. Her tongue is sliced and bleeding from the string of her bow being in her mouth, and she reels with dizziness. A finely clawed hand tightens on the banister in order to keep her balance, and she tries to calm the swirling sea with deep breathing. Her body is sweating, beads appearing all over her face, a pink tinge to them. Flames from all over the tavern are generating a terrible heat, adding to her confusion, and she falls to the floor, senses overcome. She looks to Caedan, perhaps to Tirla, hoping that someone might be able to assist her. She needs a moment, just a moment, so she can rise to fight again.
Caedan said to Tirla, "We don't stop them. Take the hunter here," she gestures to Eudocia," and fly away. Close the door behind you. We'll regroup in the mean time."
Caedan said to Seehd, "If you stay here, don't kill it all. Best you can do is get out for now. We'll figure out something. Close the door behind you."
Caedan said to Deilakrion, "This isn't working. We need another plan." She'll look towards the stairs and figure out a way to get herself there. One fluid acrobatic leap later, and she's on the stairs, padding her way upward where the furniture hasn't been affected, and the tables and chairs haven't figured out how to climb. "If your other is here ... bring it as well?"
Tirla smashed her way over Eudocia and gripped her with a her sheild arm and dragged her to the door, Sword flashing as she carved her way through the mess. Quickly she shoved the other out the door and closed it before bringing her sheild up and sending more flares of flame at the possessed furniture, "Then, everyone, get out, I'll hold the door and then slip out and tend to any wounds that anyone has."
Seehd grinds to a halt, the last slash of his sword cleavng a chair neatly down the middle. The father of the shades looks about for a moment before his eyes fall to the stairs and Eudocia. A quick pull of his sword arm brings a plate smashing into the ceiling as he runs to the steps. A quick leap and he lands on the landing, right arm being thrown out to sweep the girl up and pull her close. The coolness of his body would counteract the heat quickly enough. It was then that he noticed the archer's quiver was empty. With a curse he plants his sword in the wood of the stairs and manifests another holster of arrows. He sets this down before shaking Eudocia and saying, "Hun, we really don't need you passing out of heat exhaustion." His free hand whips up at a large gobbet that had been flying towards his head, causing the silver object to melt to gether and fall to the ground, immediately halted. His sword was regained, then swung out at another piece of the hazardous decor just as it comes to his chest. A curse was given as a chipped fragment penetrated the marble like skin of his left pectoral, then was yanked out by the thumb and forefinger of his sword hand. He shakes Doci again, "Come on."
Deilakrion was ridiculously grateful for Tirla's timely intervention, and even more grateful when Vaelustil left. Yet as time passed after Wile's exit, the furniture began to slow. Deilakrion kept watch over Tirla's back, lashing out at any errant furniture even as her own strength lagged. "I go to the stairs." She'd gasp, then, and move that direction. Splinters stuck from her skin like porcupine quills, and blood was leaking over her. She'd stumble and smash and drag her way through, and up. She couldn't abandon the Corpse now. Not after what had happened.