Post by Joliette Thorne on Oct 19, 2008 0:49:26 GMT -5
Turel walked out of the portal that lead to the city of Vailkrin --- or the so called 'City of Vampires' that he had heard it called several times. Eyes that held a cold, sapphire hue in them looked over the scene. A simple bridge converging over a massive void; nothing but darkness was all the avian could see. Slow steps carried the avian to the edge of the bridge as he stops dead in his tracks. Whipping his head to and fro, Turel took in the rather strange scene. Broken remains of a stony creature, slain remains of what resembled gnomes. Peering over the edge, the slightly still bruised avian took in yet another sight. Troll corpses. Without thinking, as the majority of warriors do, the avian’s right hand shot over to his left hip; fingers grazing the worn hilt of the avian’s chosen brand. Unsheathing the katana from it's leather sheath, Turel began his slow walk over the bridge. Very cautious and slow, eyes wandering here and there, Shattered Dream cackling like mad, the crazed avian moved.
There is a profound silence; even the travellers and traders normally bustling to and fro here have found an alternate route in and out of the city, as word has travelled quickly about the ghastly stone beings coming to life, the terrible visions and mayhem that occurred. A chill wind gusts the mist away, and the stench of aging blood rises from the lip of the bridge’s stone railing. Below, on the ledge, scavenger-birds ruffle and squawk, fighting over the carcasses of several trolls. A fleeting shadow flits among the bodies, stirring the birds to rise in a black-winged cloud to circle in the deep ravine’s lower reaches.
Turel takes several steps across the bridge, wondering to himself what he had gotten himself in for. As the chilly wind billows down on the avian --- whipping stray locks of platinum around his bruised, still cut features, he stops. Gripping tightly onto the hilt, the smell of dried, aged blood waft towards the man's nostrils. Shaking his head slightly, mainly from the unavoidable smell Turel took a step forward just before the avian stopped. Did he see something? Hear something from down the rocky crevice? Peering over, the scavenger birds squawk as they circle the ravine. Turel continues to look down, and yet, something familiar he saw. How this cavern looked, to the one he and the Creature traversed down several months back. "No rope..." A dull-less set of words, ones that hold no meaning leave his lips, as Turel continues to peer down into the winding ravine. Yet, playing on the back of the anti-mages mind, something, or someone was watching him.
Turel wouldn’t see it but beneath a cowl of black two glittering eyes peer up through the flurry of dark wings above, to spy a larger flighted being on the bridge, only a speck in the distance to eyes more used to near-sighted tunnel life but bright enough to catch the bogeyman’s attention. A soft snarl is given, swept away by the wind, and the creature slinks back toward the tunnel’s entrance. As he does so, crows and other carrion-birds swoop close again, only to mill in a mid-flight chaos when one of the ‘corpses’ struggles to rise among the litter of limbs and bodies and shattered gargoyle pieces. A massive clawed hand sweeps toward the shadow-gnome, or what might have been a shadow-gnome were his race not so utterly corrupted by the evil artefact to the east, clutching in abject agony and ravenous hatred for one of its “masters”. The troll knows it’s dying, has nothing to lose now' the unexpected blow catches the gnome hard, and a thin shriek echoes upward as the illusionist buckles over, clutching the front of its ruined robes with his innards spilling out from a ragged wound in coiling loops to the stone below.
Turel 's eyes continue their steady like glance over the ravine, a cold like shiver running the length of the man's spine. The eyes the avian did not see, but ears never lie. Or do they? The soft snarl that carried on the winds current swept past Turel; though in fact it only sounded like a slight rumble once it did indeed reach his ears. Turel places his left hand on the stony railing that made the bridge. Still, the avian couldn't shake it. The small game that the mind plays; voices and images run wildly at their own pace. Then, the thin shriek of pain and those images disappear. Looking over, Turel was going to aid the half dead gnome. A slight sadistic grin crept up on the weathered old features, as the gnome stumbled about; its innards spilled over in a glorious sort of way. A fitting way for the gnomish bastard to die. Now, placing his katana on the railing, the avian attempts to move his frame onto it. Silly idiot. A misplaced hand had the avian tumble over, his right only barely catching what he had attempted to climb onto. The faint sound of steel catching stone is heard from the depths of the ravine, as Turel knocked his blade over. "Shi..--" The avian mumbled the curse under his breath, holding on for dear life. Trying to with all his might to pick himself up, the avian did try. And his grip was worsening with each passing second.
The bogeyman is little more than mush by the time the avian’s sword plummets down, leaving its owner to his precarious grip on the rails. Big trollish fists, like twin steam-driven hammers, drive all life from the warped gnome and do not stop until the illusionist is a thin paste among flattened black fabric. The troll staggers, raising its shaggy head to bellow rage to the sky it hates, the open spaces that bring food and death and little else, and teeters closer to the ledge’s lip. Wounded horribly, it will likely join its ancestors soon The troll sinks to its knees, swiping eager buzzards and corvines away with its claws. Dying as it is, the huge beastlike creature still has strength to roll aside as a sudden crash and flash of metal announces Turel’s blade, which has landed on the ledge less than two feet away from where it had hoped to find its rest.
Turel grip had worsened by now, not really caring for what the troll was doing at first. Trying to get somewhat of a better grip, Turel managed to cock his head to one side, and only just caught the troll steam roll through what remained of the gnome. Nothing now. "Poor bastard..." Turel manages to mouth to himself, as his head swings back to the task at hand. The avian had managed to get his fore arm on the lip of the bridge --- and then he felt himself about to fall. And fall he did. The echoed scream growing smaller and smaller with each second. And yet, as the scream had subsided, the avian shoots through the open ravine --- wings that hold a stunning pearlescent hue cuts through the darkness that was the void. Turel aimed his body back on the ground, a waft of dust moving up, and back down onto the ground. The avian’s wings just remain there, as the avian eyes the troll. And yet, he did nothing but stay there.
“G’jhar! Tekret bugrum dhele!” It was a garbled blur of words, a curse against the avian’s parentage that, even if Turel understood the language wouldn’t have made a lot of sense to anyone unversed in the intricacies of trollish mating habits. The great creature shuddered, too weak to swipe at the pale-winged being, which it had never seen before and assumed was just another scavenger, albeit a very odd-looking one. Prepared to meet its death with an iota of pride, the troll simply huffed a great sigh that spattered the stone with blood, and started crawling with agonised wrenches of its limbs toward the edge, its intention to throw itself into oblivion before the man-bird thing could take any bites out of it.
Mahri twisted her wolfen head to peer at Adair over her forearm as he tugged her tail and called out "Mush". If she could have, she'd have given him a raised brow, as it was, she gave him the canine equivalent of a raised lip, showing off sharp teeth that gleamed dully in the growing darkness. The path was illuminated faintly. Perhaps old glowing stones that had been set in small alcoves. Mahri continued forward, her paws making little to no sound on the carved stone floor, though they did manage to find a few loose stones which bit into the soft pads. On and on it went, turning and twisting, but always on a gentle slope downwards. Sure that the rough floor must be hard on Adair's hands and knees, Mahri paused often to allow him a drink from his flask, of which, the lycan wondered if it might not be magical in some way, since it never seemed to run out. At least, it hadn't yet.
Adair only grumbled mildly as he crawled along behind the furry female, every so often batting the bushy tail from his face as it tickled when the fur went up his nose, and didn't taste all that scrumptious when it went in his mouth. And on they went, slowly and stopping now then, which when they did, he became delighted and did take a sip of five from the flask at his hip. With hands on the ground and knees scraping along, the only sounds from the pirate were his mumblings and the clink-clank of the metal bands about his hands. He thought things were going along well, until a spider swung down from a thing stand of silk, her many eyed face staring threateningly into the green eyes of Adair. A short pause was thus taken, as eyes went crossed, and then a womanly sort of squeal erupted from somewhere deep inside the man that he didn't know about, or he did, he just never confessed to himself that he could scream like that, and in a frantic fashion, batted the eight-legged creature away and ran on hands and knees into the rear of Mahri, "C'mon yeh lump o' fur, go go go, spiders! Icky thin's ge' outta me way!"
Rhian walked along with her elven companion through the tunnels, her body staying close to Misha’s staff as it provided her only illumination in the darkness. The only sound echoing off the walls was the shuffling of their feet for a time and the steady ‘thonk’ of Rhian’s staff as it hit the ground. As far as they’d been going, the steady throb in the human’s leg grew worse and worse as they trekked, more weight being supported on her staff. Sweat began to gather along the woman’s brow beneath her inky curls and she stops to catch her breath as walking had become near tiring as moving a boulder. She leans her arms against her good knee as she stops to steady her breathing as get a reign on the pain in her leg. As Misha turned back to face Rhian the woman dismissively waves a hand in the elf’s direction, muttering, “Jus’…catchin’ m’breath. I’ll…I’ll be done soon.” However convinced her tone, the woman’s body would not agree, the heaviness in her limbs making a short nap a very attractive prospect at the moment. Misha still remained a few paces ahead and Rhian finally worked up the nerve to press on and attempt catching up with her companion, after all traveling together was better than- Her thoughts were cut short with a sharp and sudden drop into a pitch dark pit in the floor. No jagged edges waited at the bottom and the edges were fortuitously smooth considering the rocky terrain above. The dark woman’s black eyes widened and her ears heard the shouts of Misha from above yet the space around her was as black as death. “Misha!” she calls above into the darkness. Yet no answer comes.
Rhian ’s shouting continued until her voice becomes hoarse and with no response she glances down to her stomach. Her injured arm goes protectively around the area of her torso, her good arm and leg teaming up to lift her body back into standing. She glances around the area, squinting, as if that would make her eyes adjust any faster. Her vision consists of stray shapes and shadows, though she can make out just enough to tell the pit walls were too high for her to climb from. She traces the end of her staff up the wall until it extended out into the open air above. From her head about half the length of the weapon reached out and she brought it back down to relieve her aching back on the rough walls. “Th’devil did I come down ‘ere…?” she sighed, staring up into the abyss above with senses alert as they could be. Now all there was to do is wait till either friend or foe lifted her from the place, and her mind was convinced it would be the latter given her luck in these lands…
The apparent oubliette was, in fact, a small pocket of naturally vitrified rock that lay adjunct to a relatively well-used side-tunnel, though its exit was small and not immediately visible to eyes not wholly familiar with darkness. To human sight it would seem a trap, and so it would to poor Rhian. As the girl blurted her companion’s name, the sound would echo vibrantly in a space where silence usually reigned, the “bogeymen” being accustomed to keeping silence unless sound was an inescapable necessity. So it was that one of their number, drawn to the ruckus on the ledge and on his way there in a mad scurry, his gnarled staff -- a fragment of stalagmite -- clutched in one bony hand, came to an abrupt halt outside the little cavern, long ears pricked to the girl’s muttering, browless forehead knitting upon its hideous little face. The staff glittered faintly, as the shadow-gnome slipped like an animate inkblot into Rhian’s “prison”, unseen, unheard, at once cautious and aware of its own frightful potential to be a danger to unwelcome interlopers.
Rhian 's staff was clutched to her chest tight with her good arm as she continued to gaze up into the darkness above. With her dull ears and even worse eyes she didn’t notice the tiny figure prowl into the pit, this probably being for the better. The woman made to stand once more, using her staff as a crutch coupled with any hand-holds she may have found in the stone. The foot of her good leg feels around the sloping floor for any cracks that could be of use whilst her good hand does the same. The woman’s dark brows furrow as her eyes finally begin to adjust and her lips purse as her wearied mind races to try and discover any possible way out of such a pit if help was not near. She feels around with the end of her staff again, wincing as the throbbing pain in her leg began to grow worse with strain. As she moved along the edge of the big, feeling around with her foot, the edge of the miniscule tunnel was suddenly felt and came just short of the gnome. This drew the woman’s black eyes to dart down at her new discovery.
A soundless snarl wrinkled the little illusionist’s lips over carnivorous teeth at Rhian’s near-blind prodding. He could sense the intruder was a being possessed of magic, but was confident his own wood prove no match for what was clearly a wounded and confused human “child”. The snarl widened to a nasty grin. After all, his race had come to be called “Bogeymen” for very good reason. Rhian might feel a sudden drop in temperature, the chill of the cavern dulling to a deeper cold still, and the silence was broken by a sibilant whisper that may or may not have been an errant gust of wind blustering past the entrance -- though, where would a wind come from, in these depths? Focussing his ill-intent upon Rhian, the shadow-gnome caused the exit to vanish from her senses, and a sudden slithering sound to hiss in her ears, as though some massive, torpid serpent had been awakened by her cries. And -- should that very thought occur to the girl, giving the maker of nightmares a foothold in her mind -- that’s exactly what she’d see: a shifting, winding serpentine shape uncoiling from around the walls, a glint of feral and yellow eyes, the flash of fangs as what would seem a limbless, hungry cavern-wyrm descended from its rest to make a meal of her.
Mahri yelped as the dreadlocked sailor pushed at her from behind. Tucking her hind legs under, she leapt forward, scrambling not to slip and slide on the loose stones that littered the floor, except that suddenly, the floor took a sharp dive downwards and she began to slip, clawing for perch and failing, down into the hole that opened below. By the Gods, she wasn't a cat, or one of the cat-folk who could, invariably, land on their feet. No, instead, Mahri landed on her side, the one that had recently recovered from cracked ribs. Adair, in his haste to escape a perfectly harmless cave spider, didn't even notice that Mahri wasn't ahead of him. Down, down, down he went as well, hands reaching out to grab something, anything to hold on to, then, as though suddenly remembering, one hand reaches down to be sure the flask is still at his hip. He may need a few more fortifying drinks after this ride was over. He landed on top of Mahri, cushioned by her furry self. Her breath rushed out with a soft woof, and the lycan was sure he had broken her other set of ribs, if not bruised them severely. However, they were both alive and in another cavern. This one had an obvious exit, since it was the only one. Luckily, neither had to crawl through as it was large enough to accommodate a mid-size giant. Or perhaps a dragon. Either way, it was large enough to walk through. When they had untangled limbs and tails, Mahri and Adair made their way cautiously towards the arched doorway, Adair taking a healthy swig from his flask, and Mahri sniffing along the floor. Yes, the scent was much stronger down here. As they went through, both were brought up short by the surprisingly pale, still snoozing dragon. Snow-white scales glistened coldly in the faint light. Wasn't this a fine place to be..right infront of its snout. Hopefully, it was so deep in slumber, the smell of lycan and man wouldn't rouse it.
Adair placed the silver flask back into its holster and walked along side Mahri, gazing downwards now and again to look out for any sudden holes in the floor that might spring up and snatch him. The last fall was quite a doozy and not at all enjoyable. Suddenly, he bumped into the wolfish lady as his path and pace had slowed, and in a moment of curiously, looked at her, then in front of him. "Uh oh." He said, as he eyes the massive whiteness in front of him, and again, like a damnable cat, curiosity crept up on him and the pirate foolishly wiggled his fingers upon the snout of the dragon, making weird noises as he does so, like someone talking to a child, "Oogly oogly oogly."
Rhian yelped and shot back against whatever wall she could find that was furthest away from the cavern she’d uncovered. She stifles a sharp hiss of pain as her shoulder rams into the wall with this motion, new blood pouring from the wound. Her quarterstaff is gripped in both hands now, bony fingers clenched so tight white would show through the dark skin if it were not for the blackness of the area. Her eyes dart around for the source of the hissing, a few memories flashing to the fore of yellowed eyes set against darkness. This is exactly what she did see, the only magic being possessed of the woman being in her belly where a hybrid baby lay growing. Her heart skipped quite a few beats at its rapid pace as her black eyes fixated on the terror, nightmare or no. With her first impulse to flee taken by the smoothed walls of the pit, fight was the only option left-- that is after her limbs finally decided to un-freeze themselves and submit to her foolishness. For now she was chained there by invisible bonds, a sitting duck for the beast should it choose to strike out unless the adrenaline finally starts pumping.
The malignant gnome snickered, no need for silence now. He was in control, and as the illusory wyrm slid down into mighty coils that wound around Rhian (really, the Bogeyman was tying her with rope), he’d snark a hoarse-voiced call to the creature he’d left waiting outside. The enslaved troll, too afraid and ignorant to know it didn’t -have- to be a slave, peered into the little space, snuffling in annoyance that the gap was too small to fit through. The Bogeyman handed the end of the rope to it, with an order to gather up their unexpected “prize”. The slave-breeding program that produced their “Guardians” and other abominations was short of females, and this had been the gnome’s precise mission in crossing to the west, along with the rest of his “hunting party”, who’d taken a route one level above. Chortling wicked glee, he’d watch Rhian (who was likely struggling in the grip of a mobile wyrm now) be dragged through the exit and gathered into thick trollish arms. A cant of his withered neck, and the Bogeyman’s cowled head nodded toward the route to the Slavepits. The girl was young and healthy, aside from her wounds, and smelled vaguely of magic. A fine catch, indeed.
Mahri simply couldn't believe the complete idiocy of humans, and Adair was no exception. With a low growl, her teeth reach for his trouser leg, intending to tug him away..however there was something odd about the dragon. While her eyes told her brain that a dragon was sleeping, her nose said there was no dragon at all. It was hard to not smell them, after all. They stank to the heavens and beyond. In her tugging, she pauses...unsure. But then, she had found during this escapade, nothing was to be trusted, let alone her senses, there for, the eyes were believed. Mahri, after the insistent gnawing upon trouser, edges backwards, body lowered to the ground in preparation of leaping for throat should the dragon prove solid and woke up.
Rhian ’s limbs finally unlatched themselves from paralysis…right as she was being carried away by the ‘wyrm’, far larger than her native asps. As the ‘coils’ squeezed down on her barely swelling stomach, the woman found new fire within herself, wriggling, squirming, pushing against the tightly bound ropes with all her wiry arms could manage. Though the sting of the scratchy bonds made her wince whenever the troll bounced a little too much, her mind’s eye seeing a shifting of the wyrm’s coils, the woman’s voice began to come into play. At the very least she’d make this serpent’s ears bleed, she thought as she shrieked, yelled, and squealed, hitting notes only human females in trouble were capable of. Her legs began kicking in unison, hoping to loosen the hold of the monster holding her captive. Depending on how the troll held her, either her knees or the heels of her boots had a risk of coming into contact with his face with how wildly they flailed.
A hissy command had the troll tighten its grip on the struggling female, and it’d seem that all her efforts only succeeded in the snakelike dragon-kin coiling all the harder around her, like some disgruntled python. The troll itself showed little discomfort, but would have done so even had it been injured in some way by piercing screams, booting heels and sharp fingernails. Which it was not. A scaly expanse (or a troll’s hand, depending on how it was being perceived) clamped across Rhian’s mouth, cutting off her breath for a time by way of warning to be silent. Once she was more well-behaved, the odd trio travelled quickly through the murk and drip of tunnels so deep in the earth as to harbour blind, albino bats and other disgusting minor life-forms. The Bogeyman rubbed his skinny hands together, imagining just what horrors he could spawn with nice, fresh brood-things to help his experiments along. It’d be a long an uncomfortable ride for Rhian, until they reached the Eastern Slavepits. The place was beyond dismal, spartan and functional, and guarded by … Guardians. Six stood sentry to the tunnel leading to the main of the slave quarters, hideously deformed beings with circular mouths akin to gaping shark-maws, hardly recognisable as having trolls for their heritage.. among other things. The Guardians parted silently, allowing one their Masters and his ‘companions’ to pass, while the Bogeyman led the way to the sorting-cages. The girl would have to have her wounds seen to and pass inspection or be thrown to the Guardians for a snack. That, or simply killed and left for the horrible Abandoned or other scroungers to feast on later. Rhian was eventually dumped in a cage, in the dark, and if she was still conscious would have the delightful experience of feeling ratlike ‘nurses’ -- mutant fermin, too ugly for description -- lick at her flesh with long, anteater-like tongues, their saliva holding healing properties gleaned from gods-knew-what ancestry.
Adair gives Mahri a stern look as nothing seems to happen thus far at his wiggly-fingers. 'Shoo. It's nothin' ter worry 'bout pooch." He shook his leg free and frowned at the tooth-marked and saliva ridden fabric. Bored, he stuck a finger up the left snout of the Dragon, "Eww." He exclaimed as he pulled his finger free, and wiped it off on the back of Mahri. "Well, this is mighty borin' darlin', shall we continue onward, to wherever the hell it is we are ter be goin'?" He started to move forward towards the only exit when he felt something on the back of his hand, and thinking it to be the fur of Mahri, prepares to tell the creature to back off, when he looks to his hand and sees a horde of spiders, millions of them! Well, to his eyes anyways, but it was more like two, but he didn't care, and so, started screaming and dancing around, flicking his hand to rid it of the spiders, and for good measure, took his hat off and waved it about, all the while dancing and hopping around, "Get 'em off me, get 'em off me!"
Mahri felt rather insulted, being called first a rat, then dog..now pooch. She'd half a mind to bite Adair, just for the hell of it. Well..besides the fact it seemed to have been days since she had last hunted. When the man stuck his finger into the nostril cavity of the dragon, Mahri was ready do just that, bite him, if the dragon stirred even slightly. However, it was the wolf who stirred. Shook really when slimy boogers were carressed down her back. Gods be merciful, she was really going to need a bath now. As they started forward, Adair seemed, to the lycan, to have lost his mind, and she had to scramble rather quickly to get out of his way as he danced and lunged about, swatting at his hand wth the hat. Not willing to let him see any more of a change than he'd witnessed in the tunnel, Mahri trots to a more shadowed area of the cave, giving a go at the fasted wolf to human change she'd tried since she had been a pup. It hurt blue blazes then, it hurt even worse now. Her snout sunk back into a woman's features and bones lengthened, becoming legs and feet, a straight upright back and arms that swung freely. Bruises on either side over her ribs were starting to become known, starting as faint purple marks on the other wise near perfect skin. Shaking her head to clear the pain, the nude woman hurries over towards Adair and growls out to him, "Stop your leap-frogging, and I'll get them off you. Not afraid of sleeping dragons, but you'll go all girly on me over spiders." Her own hands join in, slapping the cave spiders off Adair..that is, if she didn't smack him upside the head first to make him calm down.
Rhian ’s final yelp was stifled by the coil, the woman’s eyes widening and her heart quickening even more as her source of breath was cut off. Though her air was given back after the warning, the woman’s nerves could only take so much before she fainted. The fear coursing through her system made her heart no better than a hummingbird’s wings and only when she became overloaded was her body given the respite for calm. The pair of her present captors might find her sudden limp cooperation a relief or weakness, only they would know. As she was carried deeper into who knows where in the tunnels, she would be fortunate not to see the guardians and their hideous forms or the other menagerie of cages that foretold her fate. Only the sharp plopping of her body into the cage with the ‘nurses’ and their wet tongues trailing along her wounds to clean off the by now dried blood and fresh alike that oozed out woke the woman. And she would more than likely have fainted again were it not for her still bleary eyes and her heaving sigh of relief that a snake had not gutted her belly… Her dull ears pick up the chattering of elves, humans, and orcesses alike from some of the nearby cages. Her black eyes glanced their way and while some huddled in their respective corners and others hissed to set their dominance, the softer of the whisperings caught her attention most. Those select individuals who were the most wary and shifty of their sentries. Her ears strain as if to pick up more of their mutterings to each other, almost as if in code.
.
There is a profound silence; even the travellers and traders normally bustling to and fro here have found an alternate route in and out of the city, as word has travelled quickly about the ghastly stone beings coming to life, the terrible visions and mayhem that occurred. A chill wind gusts the mist away, and the stench of aging blood rises from the lip of the bridge’s stone railing. Below, on the ledge, scavenger-birds ruffle and squawk, fighting over the carcasses of several trolls. A fleeting shadow flits among the bodies, stirring the birds to rise in a black-winged cloud to circle in the deep ravine’s lower reaches.
Turel takes several steps across the bridge, wondering to himself what he had gotten himself in for. As the chilly wind billows down on the avian --- whipping stray locks of platinum around his bruised, still cut features, he stops. Gripping tightly onto the hilt, the smell of dried, aged blood waft towards the man's nostrils. Shaking his head slightly, mainly from the unavoidable smell Turel took a step forward just before the avian stopped. Did he see something? Hear something from down the rocky crevice? Peering over, the scavenger birds squawk as they circle the ravine. Turel continues to look down, and yet, something familiar he saw. How this cavern looked, to the one he and the Creature traversed down several months back. "No rope..." A dull-less set of words, ones that hold no meaning leave his lips, as Turel continues to peer down into the winding ravine. Yet, playing on the back of the anti-mages mind, something, or someone was watching him.
Turel wouldn’t see it but beneath a cowl of black two glittering eyes peer up through the flurry of dark wings above, to spy a larger flighted being on the bridge, only a speck in the distance to eyes more used to near-sighted tunnel life but bright enough to catch the bogeyman’s attention. A soft snarl is given, swept away by the wind, and the creature slinks back toward the tunnel’s entrance. As he does so, crows and other carrion-birds swoop close again, only to mill in a mid-flight chaos when one of the ‘corpses’ struggles to rise among the litter of limbs and bodies and shattered gargoyle pieces. A massive clawed hand sweeps toward the shadow-gnome, or what might have been a shadow-gnome were his race not so utterly corrupted by the evil artefact to the east, clutching in abject agony and ravenous hatred for one of its “masters”. The troll knows it’s dying, has nothing to lose now' the unexpected blow catches the gnome hard, and a thin shriek echoes upward as the illusionist buckles over, clutching the front of its ruined robes with his innards spilling out from a ragged wound in coiling loops to the stone below.
Turel 's eyes continue their steady like glance over the ravine, a cold like shiver running the length of the man's spine. The eyes the avian did not see, but ears never lie. Or do they? The soft snarl that carried on the winds current swept past Turel; though in fact it only sounded like a slight rumble once it did indeed reach his ears. Turel places his left hand on the stony railing that made the bridge. Still, the avian couldn't shake it. The small game that the mind plays; voices and images run wildly at their own pace. Then, the thin shriek of pain and those images disappear. Looking over, Turel was going to aid the half dead gnome. A slight sadistic grin crept up on the weathered old features, as the gnome stumbled about; its innards spilled over in a glorious sort of way. A fitting way for the gnomish bastard to die. Now, placing his katana on the railing, the avian attempts to move his frame onto it. Silly idiot. A misplaced hand had the avian tumble over, his right only barely catching what he had attempted to climb onto. The faint sound of steel catching stone is heard from the depths of the ravine, as Turel knocked his blade over. "Shi..--" The avian mumbled the curse under his breath, holding on for dear life. Trying to with all his might to pick himself up, the avian did try. And his grip was worsening with each passing second.
The bogeyman is little more than mush by the time the avian’s sword plummets down, leaving its owner to his precarious grip on the rails. Big trollish fists, like twin steam-driven hammers, drive all life from the warped gnome and do not stop until the illusionist is a thin paste among flattened black fabric. The troll staggers, raising its shaggy head to bellow rage to the sky it hates, the open spaces that bring food and death and little else, and teeters closer to the ledge’s lip. Wounded horribly, it will likely join its ancestors soon The troll sinks to its knees, swiping eager buzzards and corvines away with its claws. Dying as it is, the huge beastlike creature still has strength to roll aside as a sudden crash and flash of metal announces Turel’s blade, which has landed on the ledge less than two feet away from where it had hoped to find its rest.
Turel grip had worsened by now, not really caring for what the troll was doing at first. Trying to get somewhat of a better grip, Turel managed to cock his head to one side, and only just caught the troll steam roll through what remained of the gnome. Nothing now. "Poor bastard..." Turel manages to mouth to himself, as his head swings back to the task at hand. The avian had managed to get his fore arm on the lip of the bridge --- and then he felt himself about to fall. And fall he did. The echoed scream growing smaller and smaller with each second. And yet, as the scream had subsided, the avian shoots through the open ravine --- wings that hold a stunning pearlescent hue cuts through the darkness that was the void. Turel aimed his body back on the ground, a waft of dust moving up, and back down onto the ground. The avian’s wings just remain there, as the avian eyes the troll. And yet, he did nothing but stay there.
“G’jhar! Tekret bugrum dhele!” It was a garbled blur of words, a curse against the avian’s parentage that, even if Turel understood the language wouldn’t have made a lot of sense to anyone unversed in the intricacies of trollish mating habits. The great creature shuddered, too weak to swipe at the pale-winged being, which it had never seen before and assumed was just another scavenger, albeit a very odd-looking one. Prepared to meet its death with an iota of pride, the troll simply huffed a great sigh that spattered the stone with blood, and started crawling with agonised wrenches of its limbs toward the edge, its intention to throw itself into oblivion before the man-bird thing could take any bites out of it.
* * * *
Mahri twisted her wolfen head to peer at Adair over her forearm as he tugged her tail and called out "Mush". If she could have, she'd have given him a raised brow, as it was, she gave him the canine equivalent of a raised lip, showing off sharp teeth that gleamed dully in the growing darkness. The path was illuminated faintly. Perhaps old glowing stones that had been set in small alcoves. Mahri continued forward, her paws making little to no sound on the carved stone floor, though they did manage to find a few loose stones which bit into the soft pads. On and on it went, turning and twisting, but always on a gentle slope downwards. Sure that the rough floor must be hard on Adair's hands and knees, Mahri paused often to allow him a drink from his flask, of which, the lycan wondered if it might not be magical in some way, since it never seemed to run out. At least, it hadn't yet.
Adair only grumbled mildly as he crawled along behind the furry female, every so often batting the bushy tail from his face as it tickled when the fur went up his nose, and didn't taste all that scrumptious when it went in his mouth. And on they went, slowly and stopping now then, which when they did, he became delighted and did take a sip of five from the flask at his hip. With hands on the ground and knees scraping along, the only sounds from the pirate were his mumblings and the clink-clank of the metal bands about his hands. He thought things were going along well, until a spider swung down from a thing stand of silk, her many eyed face staring threateningly into the green eyes of Adair. A short pause was thus taken, as eyes went crossed, and then a womanly sort of squeal erupted from somewhere deep inside the man that he didn't know about, or he did, he just never confessed to himself that he could scream like that, and in a frantic fashion, batted the eight-legged creature away and ran on hands and knees into the rear of Mahri, "C'mon yeh lump o' fur, go go go, spiders! Icky thin's ge' outta me way!"
Rhian walked along with her elven companion through the tunnels, her body staying close to Misha’s staff as it provided her only illumination in the darkness. The only sound echoing off the walls was the shuffling of their feet for a time and the steady ‘thonk’ of Rhian’s staff as it hit the ground. As far as they’d been going, the steady throb in the human’s leg grew worse and worse as they trekked, more weight being supported on her staff. Sweat began to gather along the woman’s brow beneath her inky curls and she stops to catch her breath as walking had become near tiring as moving a boulder. She leans her arms against her good knee as she stops to steady her breathing as get a reign on the pain in her leg. As Misha turned back to face Rhian the woman dismissively waves a hand in the elf’s direction, muttering, “Jus’…catchin’ m’breath. I’ll…I’ll be done soon.” However convinced her tone, the woman’s body would not agree, the heaviness in her limbs making a short nap a very attractive prospect at the moment. Misha still remained a few paces ahead and Rhian finally worked up the nerve to press on and attempt catching up with her companion, after all traveling together was better than- Her thoughts were cut short with a sharp and sudden drop into a pitch dark pit in the floor. No jagged edges waited at the bottom and the edges were fortuitously smooth considering the rocky terrain above. The dark woman’s black eyes widened and her ears heard the shouts of Misha from above yet the space around her was as black as death. “Misha!” she calls above into the darkness. Yet no answer comes.
Rhian ’s shouting continued until her voice becomes hoarse and with no response she glances down to her stomach. Her injured arm goes protectively around the area of her torso, her good arm and leg teaming up to lift her body back into standing. She glances around the area, squinting, as if that would make her eyes adjust any faster. Her vision consists of stray shapes and shadows, though she can make out just enough to tell the pit walls were too high for her to climb from. She traces the end of her staff up the wall until it extended out into the open air above. From her head about half the length of the weapon reached out and she brought it back down to relieve her aching back on the rough walls. “Th’devil did I come down ‘ere…?” she sighed, staring up into the abyss above with senses alert as they could be. Now all there was to do is wait till either friend or foe lifted her from the place, and her mind was convinced it would be the latter given her luck in these lands…
The apparent oubliette was, in fact, a small pocket of naturally vitrified rock that lay adjunct to a relatively well-used side-tunnel, though its exit was small and not immediately visible to eyes not wholly familiar with darkness. To human sight it would seem a trap, and so it would to poor Rhian. As the girl blurted her companion’s name, the sound would echo vibrantly in a space where silence usually reigned, the “bogeymen” being accustomed to keeping silence unless sound was an inescapable necessity. So it was that one of their number, drawn to the ruckus on the ledge and on his way there in a mad scurry, his gnarled staff -- a fragment of stalagmite -- clutched in one bony hand, came to an abrupt halt outside the little cavern, long ears pricked to the girl’s muttering, browless forehead knitting upon its hideous little face. The staff glittered faintly, as the shadow-gnome slipped like an animate inkblot into Rhian’s “prison”, unseen, unheard, at once cautious and aware of its own frightful potential to be a danger to unwelcome interlopers.
Rhian 's staff was clutched to her chest tight with her good arm as she continued to gaze up into the darkness above. With her dull ears and even worse eyes she didn’t notice the tiny figure prowl into the pit, this probably being for the better. The woman made to stand once more, using her staff as a crutch coupled with any hand-holds she may have found in the stone. The foot of her good leg feels around the sloping floor for any cracks that could be of use whilst her good hand does the same. The woman’s dark brows furrow as her eyes finally begin to adjust and her lips purse as her wearied mind races to try and discover any possible way out of such a pit if help was not near. She feels around with the end of her staff again, wincing as the throbbing pain in her leg began to grow worse with strain. As she moved along the edge of the big, feeling around with her foot, the edge of the miniscule tunnel was suddenly felt and came just short of the gnome. This drew the woman’s black eyes to dart down at her new discovery.
A soundless snarl wrinkled the little illusionist’s lips over carnivorous teeth at Rhian’s near-blind prodding. He could sense the intruder was a being possessed of magic, but was confident his own wood prove no match for what was clearly a wounded and confused human “child”. The snarl widened to a nasty grin. After all, his race had come to be called “Bogeymen” for very good reason. Rhian might feel a sudden drop in temperature, the chill of the cavern dulling to a deeper cold still, and the silence was broken by a sibilant whisper that may or may not have been an errant gust of wind blustering past the entrance -- though, where would a wind come from, in these depths? Focussing his ill-intent upon Rhian, the shadow-gnome caused the exit to vanish from her senses, and a sudden slithering sound to hiss in her ears, as though some massive, torpid serpent had been awakened by her cries. And -- should that very thought occur to the girl, giving the maker of nightmares a foothold in her mind -- that’s exactly what she’d see: a shifting, winding serpentine shape uncoiling from around the walls, a glint of feral and yellow eyes, the flash of fangs as what would seem a limbless, hungry cavern-wyrm descended from its rest to make a meal of her.
Mahri yelped as the dreadlocked sailor pushed at her from behind. Tucking her hind legs under, she leapt forward, scrambling not to slip and slide on the loose stones that littered the floor, except that suddenly, the floor took a sharp dive downwards and she began to slip, clawing for perch and failing, down into the hole that opened below. By the Gods, she wasn't a cat, or one of the cat-folk who could, invariably, land on their feet. No, instead, Mahri landed on her side, the one that had recently recovered from cracked ribs. Adair, in his haste to escape a perfectly harmless cave spider, didn't even notice that Mahri wasn't ahead of him. Down, down, down he went as well, hands reaching out to grab something, anything to hold on to, then, as though suddenly remembering, one hand reaches down to be sure the flask is still at his hip. He may need a few more fortifying drinks after this ride was over. He landed on top of Mahri, cushioned by her furry self. Her breath rushed out with a soft woof, and the lycan was sure he had broken her other set of ribs, if not bruised them severely. However, they were both alive and in another cavern. This one had an obvious exit, since it was the only one. Luckily, neither had to crawl through as it was large enough to accommodate a mid-size giant. Or perhaps a dragon. Either way, it was large enough to walk through. When they had untangled limbs and tails, Mahri and Adair made their way cautiously towards the arched doorway, Adair taking a healthy swig from his flask, and Mahri sniffing along the floor. Yes, the scent was much stronger down here. As they went through, both were brought up short by the surprisingly pale, still snoozing dragon. Snow-white scales glistened coldly in the faint light. Wasn't this a fine place to be..right infront of its snout. Hopefully, it was so deep in slumber, the smell of lycan and man wouldn't rouse it.
Adair placed the silver flask back into its holster and walked along side Mahri, gazing downwards now and again to look out for any sudden holes in the floor that might spring up and snatch him. The last fall was quite a doozy and not at all enjoyable. Suddenly, he bumped into the wolfish lady as his path and pace had slowed, and in a moment of curiously, looked at her, then in front of him. "Uh oh." He said, as he eyes the massive whiteness in front of him, and again, like a damnable cat, curiosity crept up on him and the pirate foolishly wiggled his fingers upon the snout of the dragon, making weird noises as he does so, like someone talking to a child, "Oogly oogly oogly."
Rhian yelped and shot back against whatever wall she could find that was furthest away from the cavern she’d uncovered. She stifles a sharp hiss of pain as her shoulder rams into the wall with this motion, new blood pouring from the wound. Her quarterstaff is gripped in both hands now, bony fingers clenched so tight white would show through the dark skin if it were not for the blackness of the area. Her eyes dart around for the source of the hissing, a few memories flashing to the fore of yellowed eyes set against darkness. This is exactly what she did see, the only magic being possessed of the woman being in her belly where a hybrid baby lay growing. Her heart skipped quite a few beats at its rapid pace as her black eyes fixated on the terror, nightmare or no. With her first impulse to flee taken by the smoothed walls of the pit, fight was the only option left-- that is after her limbs finally decided to un-freeze themselves and submit to her foolishness. For now she was chained there by invisible bonds, a sitting duck for the beast should it choose to strike out unless the adrenaline finally starts pumping.
The malignant gnome snickered, no need for silence now. He was in control, and as the illusory wyrm slid down into mighty coils that wound around Rhian (really, the Bogeyman was tying her with rope), he’d snark a hoarse-voiced call to the creature he’d left waiting outside. The enslaved troll, too afraid and ignorant to know it didn’t -have- to be a slave, peered into the little space, snuffling in annoyance that the gap was too small to fit through. The Bogeyman handed the end of the rope to it, with an order to gather up their unexpected “prize”. The slave-breeding program that produced their “Guardians” and other abominations was short of females, and this had been the gnome’s precise mission in crossing to the west, along with the rest of his “hunting party”, who’d taken a route one level above. Chortling wicked glee, he’d watch Rhian (who was likely struggling in the grip of a mobile wyrm now) be dragged through the exit and gathered into thick trollish arms. A cant of his withered neck, and the Bogeyman’s cowled head nodded toward the route to the Slavepits. The girl was young and healthy, aside from her wounds, and smelled vaguely of magic. A fine catch, indeed.
Mahri simply couldn't believe the complete idiocy of humans, and Adair was no exception. With a low growl, her teeth reach for his trouser leg, intending to tug him away..however there was something odd about the dragon. While her eyes told her brain that a dragon was sleeping, her nose said there was no dragon at all. It was hard to not smell them, after all. They stank to the heavens and beyond. In her tugging, she pauses...unsure. But then, she had found during this escapade, nothing was to be trusted, let alone her senses, there for, the eyes were believed. Mahri, after the insistent gnawing upon trouser, edges backwards, body lowered to the ground in preparation of leaping for throat should the dragon prove solid and woke up.
Rhian ’s limbs finally unlatched themselves from paralysis…right as she was being carried away by the ‘wyrm’, far larger than her native asps. As the ‘coils’ squeezed down on her barely swelling stomach, the woman found new fire within herself, wriggling, squirming, pushing against the tightly bound ropes with all her wiry arms could manage. Though the sting of the scratchy bonds made her wince whenever the troll bounced a little too much, her mind’s eye seeing a shifting of the wyrm’s coils, the woman’s voice began to come into play. At the very least she’d make this serpent’s ears bleed, she thought as she shrieked, yelled, and squealed, hitting notes only human females in trouble were capable of. Her legs began kicking in unison, hoping to loosen the hold of the monster holding her captive. Depending on how the troll held her, either her knees or the heels of her boots had a risk of coming into contact with his face with how wildly they flailed.
A hissy command had the troll tighten its grip on the struggling female, and it’d seem that all her efforts only succeeded in the snakelike dragon-kin coiling all the harder around her, like some disgruntled python. The troll itself showed little discomfort, but would have done so even had it been injured in some way by piercing screams, booting heels and sharp fingernails. Which it was not. A scaly expanse (or a troll’s hand, depending on how it was being perceived) clamped across Rhian’s mouth, cutting off her breath for a time by way of warning to be silent. Once she was more well-behaved, the odd trio travelled quickly through the murk and drip of tunnels so deep in the earth as to harbour blind, albino bats and other disgusting minor life-forms. The Bogeyman rubbed his skinny hands together, imagining just what horrors he could spawn with nice, fresh brood-things to help his experiments along. It’d be a long an uncomfortable ride for Rhian, until they reached the Eastern Slavepits. The place was beyond dismal, spartan and functional, and guarded by … Guardians. Six stood sentry to the tunnel leading to the main of the slave quarters, hideously deformed beings with circular mouths akin to gaping shark-maws, hardly recognisable as having trolls for their heritage.. among other things. The Guardians parted silently, allowing one their Masters and his ‘companions’ to pass, while the Bogeyman led the way to the sorting-cages. The girl would have to have her wounds seen to and pass inspection or be thrown to the Guardians for a snack. That, or simply killed and left for the horrible Abandoned or other scroungers to feast on later. Rhian was eventually dumped in a cage, in the dark, and if she was still conscious would have the delightful experience of feeling ratlike ‘nurses’ -- mutant fermin, too ugly for description -- lick at her flesh with long, anteater-like tongues, their saliva holding healing properties gleaned from gods-knew-what ancestry.
Adair gives Mahri a stern look as nothing seems to happen thus far at his wiggly-fingers. 'Shoo. It's nothin' ter worry 'bout pooch." He shook his leg free and frowned at the tooth-marked and saliva ridden fabric. Bored, he stuck a finger up the left snout of the Dragon, "Eww." He exclaimed as he pulled his finger free, and wiped it off on the back of Mahri. "Well, this is mighty borin' darlin', shall we continue onward, to wherever the hell it is we are ter be goin'?" He started to move forward towards the only exit when he felt something on the back of his hand, and thinking it to be the fur of Mahri, prepares to tell the creature to back off, when he looks to his hand and sees a horde of spiders, millions of them! Well, to his eyes anyways, but it was more like two, but he didn't care, and so, started screaming and dancing around, flicking his hand to rid it of the spiders, and for good measure, took his hat off and waved it about, all the while dancing and hopping around, "Get 'em off me, get 'em off me!"
Mahri felt rather insulted, being called first a rat, then dog..now pooch. She'd half a mind to bite Adair, just for the hell of it. Well..besides the fact it seemed to have been days since she had last hunted. When the man stuck his finger into the nostril cavity of the dragon, Mahri was ready do just that, bite him, if the dragon stirred even slightly. However, it was the wolf who stirred. Shook really when slimy boogers were carressed down her back. Gods be merciful, she was really going to need a bath now. As they started forward, Adair seemed, to the lycan, to have lost his mind, and she had to scramble rather quickly to get out of his way as he danced and lunged about, swatting at his hand wth the hat. Not willing to let him see any more of a change than he'd witnessed in the tunnel, Mahri trots to a more shadowed area of the cave, giving a go at the fasted wolf to human change she'd tried since she had been a pup. It hurt blue blazes then, it hurt even worse now. Her snout sunk back into a woman's features and bones lengthened, becoming legs and feet, a straight upright back and arms that swung freely. Bruises on either side over her ribs were starting to become known, starting as faint purple marks on the other wise near perfect skin. Shaking her head to clear the pain, the nude woman hurries over towards Adair and growls out to him, "Stop your leap-frogging, and I'll get them off you. Not afraid of sleeping dragons, but you'll go all girly on me over spiders." Her own hands join in, slapping the cave spiders off Adair..that is, if she didn't smack him upside the head first to make him calm down.
Rhian ’s final yelp was stifled by the coil, the woman’s eyes widening and her heart quickening even more as her source of breath was cut off. Though her air was given back after the warning, the woman’s nerves could only take so much before she fainted. The fear coursing through her system made her heart no better than a hummingbird’s wings and only when she became overloaded was her body given the respite for calm. The pair of her present captors might find her sudden limp cooperation a relief or weakness, only they would know. As she was carried deeper into who knows where in the tunnels, she would be fortunate not to see the guardians and their hideous forms or the other menagerie of cages that foretold her fate. Only the sharp plopping of her body into the cage with the ‘nurses’ and their wet tongues trailing along her wounds to clean off the by now dried blood and fresh alike that oozed out woke the woman. And she would more than likely have fainted again were it not for her still bleary eyes and her heaving sigh of relief that a snake had not gutted her belly… Her dull ears pick up the chattering of elves, humans, and orcesses alike from some of the nearby cages. Her black eyes glanced their way and while some huddled in their respective corners and others hissed to set their dominance, the softer of the whisperings caught her attention most. Those select individuals who were the most wary and shifty of their sentries. Her ears strain as if to pick up more of their mutterings to each other, almost as if in code.
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