Battle:Taking the fight to Voxiath

Part of the A Different Halloween Arc

Dami sat atop the corpse of the Ancient Dragon, the woman wrapping a tight cloth around her hand. The display of carnage could have only been the work of Revenant himself; Dami, the simple aftermath-clean-up. With a cigarette held limply in her lips, she puffed at it occasionally, her attention mostly in her palm. Literally. "Glad you made it- he's up ahead. There's still a bit more to take care of." She'd snicker from behind a rippled stream of smoke.

Three hulking things of metal thud down the path. The one in the lead waves its arm at Dami when she delivers her news. And then the machines would thud further down the path, zombie bits splattering all over their three pronged feet.

Kasyr hurtles back onto the scene, the winged Revenant quite literally plummeting from the sky, with a particularily large and loathsome zombie in his grasp. Whether or not the Kensai is aware of Damis presence is potentially debatable, given the manner in which Kasyr introduces himself and his undead traveling companion to the ground is a rather violent skid that sends him careening straight towards the Terramancer. On the bright side, Kasyr is effectively unharmed by this display- beyond being slightly jarred. His improvised landing cushion, on the other hand, is smeared from the point of impact, and onwards.

Thanks to Kasyr's buzzsaw clearing of the graveyard path, only few undead remained behind to pose any sort of obstacle. Said zombies were reduced to fine paste in incredibly short order. These Doorknockers were new and improved, from the last models that had been ruined in the acid rain of the Battle for Rynvale. The thud of heavy footfalls beats a tattoo into the land, in between the occasional moan of the undead. In a loose triangle formation, the Doorknockers stomp their way towards the source of this outbreak.

Xzarren took the scenic route, moving through the twisted forest to the east of kelay and then west along the moonlit path that would lead him into the busiest intersection of Vailkrin. The assassin carried his bow, sniping the shambling undead that poured out of this less traveled area, steel-headed arrow tips embedding into clammy, decaying craniums. He ran at a fast pace when not shooting or using a throwing knife to dispatch close enemies, instead focusing on evading those he could and still make it with the other's in time when their paths would intersect. He stuck to the highground where the zombies wouldn't reach, easily he traversed the rooftops, springing from building to building, using his vampiric gift to haste him along. Every now and then the twang of his long bow would eradicate the life from his chosen target barring his passage along the roofs, the poor undead souls not knowing what hit them as they barrel over the sides of the buildings into the mass of zombies on the roads. He would travel this way and cut through the city via the rooftops to find the place he needed to be.

Darinth slips into the area silently, his entrance announced by way of a thrown dagger that catches a zombie in it's eye. Other than that the assassin keeps his whereabouts somewhat hidden as he stalks behind the three behemoths that are currently wreaking havoc in the graveyard. Every so often thedrow dispatches a zombie that strays a bit to clos with a quick sabre stroke.

Dami had already tipped her head back, the bond between sire and fledgling letting her catch wind of the Revenant's sky-high descent, far in advance. What she didn't catch in time, was the release of the poor crippled body he had sent at her like a game of zombie-curling. "Eeep." With a clear, focused mind (and a good, -good- nights sleep), Dami was quick to react. Hiking a boot up, she'd stomp it down into the ground and shatter a slab of rock. Effectively catapulting the corpse up into the air like a hip teenager would a skateboard, the woman snatched the body by the throat, and planted it right into the ground. There was a sickening crack when she let go, the only thing remaining was a body without a head. "I like flowers and chocolates too.. Damnit."

Leifantiel was following the hulking golem-like thing which held Ranok. Dog? Perhaps... but he was the Child of War. Dogs were loyal, and like Leifantiel, willing to go to extraordinary lengths for those to whom that loyalty was sworn. He had offered it to Ranok... at least for this battle... and so it would remain. Here, in this dark place, he would whip his exploding shurikens with impunity. There was no need to worry... as there was little between him and the 'heart' of this threat save for undead. Fires would serve to better illuminate the path... as well as claim those undead unfortunate enough to stumble over the burning.

Kasyr allows himself a moment before he shoves himself off the ground, if only so he can proceed to dust himself off. Without a trenchcoat, the Kensai effectively only has a pair of faded black pants, a simple short-sleeved black shirt, and a vest...all of which is being assaulted by the grime which normally finds a home upon the Revenants trenchcoat. With an overdramatic sigh, and a roll of his eyes, he finally decides the cause is lost- before simply striding over towards Dami, "I'll keep that in mind if Satoshi divorces moi, ou quelque chose. But anyways, this situation hasn't spilled into Vailkrin- it's actually centered around a particular section of the graveyard." A pause, and the Kensai simply rummages into the pocket of his pants, a pair of cigarettes produced. "You coming? You've effectively worked off your...indiscretion, so the rest is up to you." Which is to say, apparently the Kensai didn't just up and drag Dami along for kicks. Implications of something or other aside, one of the cigarettes is offered to the Terramancer, as a spare- whilst the other is placed to the swordsmans lips.

The terms 'property destruction' meant nothing to the three Doorknockers, those bipedal golems. The humans inside that drove them didn't really care, either. The soft ground bore the mark of their passing, gravestones were kicked over, and one particularly ugly headstone was utterly pulverized. For the good of all humanity, really. Eventually, the graveyard would be exited and then to the city proper. Where the undead filled the gaps left by Kas, no doubt. As one, three enormous metal blades swing into place with the ring of metal. The right arms of the vaguely human shaped Doorknockers now carried a several foot long thing of metal that was a sword in name only. More enormous then cutting, the thing would sever any undead by sheer impact. And, right away, those machines got to work. The groan of metal and the creak of joints and the whoosh of air parted before a crash of metal on stone as a zombie was knocked into the ground in a morbid splatter. Right now, those machines were heading directly into the thickest of the zombies. The idea was that the thickest zombies meant the people controlling them there. On the macroscopic scale, across the city, the zombies move listlessly. Like the tides of an ocean of undead. The reality was that the liches, the ones controlling them could not make up their minds. Stuck in the past, they made movements on a chess board that had ceased to exist. Roads that could not be traveled due to being buildings, or buildings to be taken that had long since crumbled to dust. With each new revelation, the liches went to their rotted maps, trying to hash out the 'perfect' plan.

Darinth overhears Kasyr's words and breaks off from following the machines of destruction switching his path to head towards wherever the vampire was to lead. The assassin couldn't care less about how vailkrin fared or even the rest of the surface, he just wanted to try to stop the undead invasion before it reached the Underdark. Finding a good place to wait the drow takes cover, waiting for the kensai to make his move so he could follow.

Dami grinned, tucking the stick between her lips again. She was going to have to figure out where he got these.. Another addiction to couple well with the Hot Chocolate. "Sure." Goggles slid on, and sleeves rolled up, the swish of her very own trench coat danced wildly against her boots. "After you?" Dami enjoyed Kasyr's company; when she wasn't being held into the ground with one of many objects. Boots, elbows, swords-

Leifantiel paused to take observations of the battle movements. On all sides, the dead shambled... with the central column simply being pulverized under the weight of the doorknockers. But while they marched onward... were they really headed where the 'center' of this invasion began? The creature which had fallen from the sky seemed to know, too. And so the elf dissolved with ease into the mist, only to reappear again atop Ranok's golem-armor thing. He knocked upon it loudly, so that he was certain the man could hear. "Master Ranok... I still await your orders. Give me a task."

Ranok turns towards Lei in his machine. Nothing showed of the man inside it, just a reflective view port, "Vat? Oh. Kill zombies. Henny vun uf dem iz a target." There were ample targets. Crowd control as much as the Doorknockers were, they really could only effortlessly pulp the humanoid zombies. However, there were some bigger nasties out there. An undead ogre was wandering listlessly by, its jawbone missing. A group of orc undead was about a hundred years to the west, munching on some dirt. Forward progress was made regardless, the undead thickening. And that was slowing the Doorknockers. Sheer weight of gore was clogging the feet, making going a little harder. "Dem it. Keep it up. Johnny!" One of the other machines waves its arm. That would be Johnny. Piloting the machine of the same name. "Pile drive it. Ve vill klear de rear." Piledrive meant was it said. Johnny hulks down like a linebacker at the line of scrimmage...and then bolts forward, feet flailing. Zombie body parts go flying every where in what can only be regarded as a comical fashion. Behind the line of flying bodyparts, the other two clanked along, doing something similar. If Lei was still atop Ranok's machine, he better hold on for dear life.

Kasyr idly mutters the words to a cantrip he had learned so long ago- the result being a miniscule controlled flame. With that little element created, the Kensai simply lights his and the terramancers cigaratte before he begins to jog after the doorknockers. A brief pivot on his heels has him backpedaling and talking towards Dami, a casual, "On y va~" From there, the vampires simply hurrying full tilt- and straight towards any bits of lingering undead that are left untouched by the Doorknockers. That being said, given the sinister dark energy that oozes down from the Revenants sleeve and takes the guise of a Katana- one can only assume he's fine. Observations of him reducing zombies to finely minced and rotting meat simply lends credence to this assumption.

Xzarren was hunting for the source of the magic, the necromancer's that pulled the undead from their graves and gave them dead life. So far, no avail, they could be underground in a crypt casting these spells for all he knew, the damned sorcerer's had played their cards right, for the moment. He would keep his eyes out, seeing in the distance the ruckus and mayhem caused by the Doorknockers, and their glowing stones. The vampyre tsks to himself as Ranok really brought the calvary. As it were he was faced with two options repel down and join them or stay on the rooftops and continue sniping, even providing cover fire for those not in the stone mechs, raining arrows quickly and accurately on the ghouls that got too close. He would stick with that plan for the moment, always keeping an eye out for the liches, and shooting several arrows into the walking husks of undead, stopping them dead in their tracks.

Leifantiel had no choice. As the massive machine upon which he sat lurched, the masked elf used the momentum to catapult himself forward into the fray. "Target acquired..." he hissed, having reached his zenith, before coming to a dead stop. For only a moment, the shimmering threads of mana eminating from every pore in his body were made visible... and then he was hurtling downward, straight into a cluster of undead orcs. All of them were armed, and gnashing. But were they, he wondered, any match for the Child of War? His lips quirked into a sneer just as his blade lashed out for the neck of the first. "Ah. You weren't prepared for death from above. Now you all go back to the grave. How... tragic..."

Darinth trails behind the kensai guaging his direction before breaking off diagonally, still heading towards the carnage wrought by the doorknockers. Cursing softly he reaches up with his free hand and pulls the mask from his face, thus unhindering his field of vision. Doing what assassin's do he sticks to the shadows quickly and silently dispatching stragglers making sure none would be able to stumble to the back of the group unnoticed. Occassionally his gaze flicks to the katana wielding vampire should the man head in a different direction since he seemed to know where the source of the necromantic magics was.

Ranok paid no mind to Lei or anyone else. They were in the thick of it, now. And heading in exactly the right direction. Ranok's assumption in that the thickest of the zombies would be the nexus was correct. A mausoleum, grand by even the standards of Vailkrin, was in sight. The doors were yawning wide open, the only one so among others. A beeline right towards it the Doorknockers go. No doubt in a race against Kasyr and Dami. The machines, a smashying, throwing, and pulverizing force of applied physics, and then Kas, with his swords hacking apart anything in their way. A worthy challenge, even as earthbound as the machines were. The swath of destruction could actually be observed as a direct result of both. Pieces of zombie, broken or hacked, litter the entire graveyard, parts of the city, and just about every where. The machines were painted with gore, and more then once a metal hand scraps at the view plate to clear. But, the target was in sight and the impending confrontation bearing down. As for the group of undead orcs, they had no idea what was going on. Not only were they utterly unaware of death from above, they were unaware of death from the left, right, or from the pointy bits of metal that Lei was introducing to their bodies. Lumberingly, late, and entirely too slow, weapons swung in wide arcs to try to smack the elf. But, the orcs weren't the danger; the press of the other zombies making their moaning way towards Lei to swarm him and drag him into the dirt were entirely the bigger threat.

Dami split off in the opposite direction, two tombstones gripped tightly. Her stride, casual- her hits, devastating. It almost seemed as if the tombstones were lined with explosives, the few and occasional corpse that had been left behind, taking to the skies. Luckily, they were only a few, but still a threat, none the less. "I'll clean up the rear- I'll catch up Kas." With that said, Dami, spun around, the massive chunk of rock leaving her hands like a missile. She'd fall back to the rear, and cycle around, making sure that their numbers would not prove to be troublesome from behind.

Kasyr , with Damis' departure, has effectively lost all reason to slow down or take his time. It's for this reason that the Revenant promptly charges forward and takes to the air once more- skimming low enough to the ground that he can effectively carve through targets of opportunity. What's worse, is the absolutely harrowing mass of 'fractures' which form in the air around him- twenty four jagged cracks of darkness, which doggedly follow the Kensai. Likely, those who weren't familiar with Kasyr might make the err of assuming them to be a problem; only ascertaining their nature as an extension of the vampires Arsenal when each of those caliginous 'gashes' fully solidify into the shape of a Katana. From there, Kasyr simply focuses on setting the weapons into effectively orbiting around his position rapidly- quite intent on carving a neat little trench towards the Mausoleum. Stylish and effective~

Xzarren reaches for another arrow, only to find his quiver emptied. "Damn..." He would have to find another way to thin the herd. Still, their prize was in sight. On the rooftops he discarded his ranged equipment, prefering to be light and nimble enough to handle whatever may come as he slid down from the building using a rappel, booted feet landing softly on the ground below. Untethering himself from the line, the assassin draws his sword and makes a mad dash for the colleseum... his muscles burning from exhaustion. Before he makes it, the large creature previously thought to be an undead troll halts his progression, slamming down it's cudgel over him, he wasn't able to slip past it as he planned. Before his body had a chance to even touch the ground the cruel creature lifted it's gangrenous appendage and kicked the male upwards, effectively crushing his ribcage in the process and launching him some distance away from his objective. He lands, grunting in pain, trying to lift his sword and crawl to his feet... and not be at the whims of the ravenous horde that quickly surrounded him. "Keep going!" He screams, not wanting anyone to risk themselves trying to save him. Heaving his sword against his shoulder, he taunts the troll to focus on him.

Leifantiel 's blade cut cleanly through the dead orc's rotting neck, taking him off at the head like so many others. Immediately, the elf pivoted upon the foot he had landed... treating the rest of the clustered orcs to a similar fate. It was about that moment when Xzarren ran out of arrows and made his move... leaping into the fray as well. Leifantiel recognized him as the man from before, during the end of the battle in Kelay. He watched, from the corner of those ever observant eyes, as the man makes his way towards the massive arena. Even whilst fighting off the cluster of undead surrounding him, a fraction of his attention is devoted to keepin an eye on that strange swordsman. And then it came. That massive club had hammered down. Immediately, the elf was in motion... but his actions were too slow. The creature propelled the swordsman away reeling... until he had disappeared behind a wall of corpses. Leifantiel's gaze shifted from the point where the man had vanished... and the narrowing gap which Ranok and the doorknockers were attempting to make through the undead ranks. Snarling, he ground his teeth in frustration and very nearly missed the approach of a particularly recently-slain elven woman behind him. She staggered forward on uncertain feet, extended her hand, and promply collapsed in a heap. Baffled, the elf hoisted the undead creature up over his shoulder... then disappeared in the direction of Xzarren's screaming. One after another, the undead fell before him. Some clawed and grasped... others lurched and snarled. But the elf moved forward, blade never ceasing, only burdened by the undead creature upon his back. "Hey, swordsman!" He would eventually shout, bursting through the crowd of zombies at last. "... it looks like you found the interesting fight, in all this." Chuckling, he glanced up at the hulking brute and sneered. "I prefer dark meat. You're welcome to the rest."

To the mausoleum the machines smash and swing to. They couldn't really get much more peddle to the metal, like Kas could. But they made do. Eventually, they would make it. Ranok would waste no time promptly shoving an arm into the doorway to wrench free rock and mortar, widening the gap to allow his machine access into the extraordinarily large mausoleum. As before, damage to anything in the process was completely ignored. Eventually, it would be large enough that most of the machine could fit in, but not completely. Ranok takes the opportunity to crack open the hatch to get out, landing on the floor with holy blade drawn and out. Inside, the two liches argued, discussed, and poured over maps that existed only in their minds. They would ignore Ranok for the longest time, and Kas, too, if he squeezed through the gap into the dank stone interior. Finally, Voxiath adjusts his crown, and in the process, spots Ranok, anyone else standing there, and the damage to the wall. He says, irritatbly, "Go away. You're not supposed to be here yet. You're not following the plan!" His right hand man, Byaun, chimes in with, "And you're supposed to stand there!" A boney finger extends to illustrate a seemingly empty and pointless place on the floor. Voxiath adjusts his crown again. Had either lich had expressions, they'd have been completely dumfounded. Their plans were the only grasp of what you could call sanity they possessed, and even that could be argued against. Thinking on their boney feet was simply out of their grasp, their obsession with the 'perfect plan' long since irremovably rooted in their conscious. As for Ranok, he was just confused. The two liches dissolve into a discussion of the proper placement of invaders in their headquarters, once again ignoring said intruders. Outside, the Doorknockers hold open the gap, slamming bodies into walls, graves, other undead, and occasionally the other machine. They could offer no help to either Lei nor Xzarren. Both men were on their own. As for the troll, it was doing what trolls do best, undead or alive: smash the ever living hell out of absolutely everything.

Kasyr is effectively in there right alongside Ranok, merely needing to tuck his wings in so that he can effectively slip into the mausoleum 'entrance' and nose dive towards the floor- the lack of a trenchcoat allowing him to effectively handspring back into a ready position. ..Still a bit off from the 'ideal' dramatic entrance spot, but that's neither here or there. The revenants bladed entourage, when faced with the minimal entry way, simply dissipate into darkness- leaving Ranok and Kasyr standing in the midst of the semi-generic evil-lair. With a casual flick of Gospel forward, the Kensai simply prepares for what he assumes is going to be the start of their liches assault, a casual comment tossed off to the side towards Ranok, "You want the one with the crown? Or can I have him?"

Xzarren had his attention focused on the troll, who strangely, met his gaze with it's own challenge. Blood craze within it's eyes, it's decaying hands wielding the cudgel that nearly ended him. The assassin caught a glimpse of the havoc of Leifantiel, fighting tooth and nail to even up these nasty odds and reach him. He offers the man a pained expression as if he could not even summon up the energy to humor him and his quick wit. Although, he was surely welcome for the help. As the troll was distracted by the High elf coming into the picture the assassin rushes forward, hoping to take advantage of the precious moment he had. Every sinew of muscle torn from fighting, every fracture of bone sent pain into his mind, much worse than death. He flicks out his sword as he slides into the gravel like a batter running for a base, the weapon flashing and burning with a blue vorpal flame, cutting the troll's leg at the joint, but not completely severing it. It bends on it's broken knee, falling down with a great roar akin to it's natural race, a wail of sorts. Xzarren can feel his body crumble with the force of motion he put it through in his injured state, knowing he can do no more it is in Lei's hands to finish the troll, just hoping it doesn't fall and crush him after it's all said and done. "Now, finish it!"

As Kas enters the mausoleum, he twitches just slightly towards the 'planned' dramatic entry point. With a crow of triumph, the Lich King hits a lever topped with a human skull. A classic, but completely cliché. As what happens next. A pitfall opens underneath the spot, leading to a pit of skeletal fishes. To no effect, unless Kas deliberately stepped back into position dictated by the lich pair. Seeing their clever ruse and trap utterly fail throws the two for a loop. Immediately, and feverishly, they hit the table, trying to come up with some new play. Ranok offers Kas a bit of a 'hell if I know' look, but answers the question, "Hy radder like de look uf de krown. Hy tink Hy'll take it." This prompts an immediate reaction from Voxiath. "What! My crown!" Skeletal hands nervously fix the crown. The lich had been touching it near constantly since entry was breeched. His obsessive nature manifesting in the protective fondling. The crown was the Lich King's phylactery, all important to the undying lich. Vox next displays the swiftest reaction from the lich pair yet seen in chanting up an overly elaborate spell. His boney fingers point at Ranok, and the moment draws on as the completely elaborate spell goes on. Fortunately for Ranok, it seems that Voxiath feels the unpredictable urge to repeat the spell three times before unleashing it. That grants Ranok time to react, flicking a disc out of the mechanism around his right wrist, and flinging it outwards. The spinning disc that was thrown whacks the crown clean off the Lich King's head and utterly shatters the liches spell casting, "My crown! No! My crown! Find it! Find it find it find it!" Byaun was studying the 'maps' again as Vox tried to retrieve the removed crown.

Leifantiel wasted no time in hesitation. The undead woman upon his shoulder was given a slight jostle into more comfortable positions... and then he was charging forward, blade outstretched. Behind him, he could hear the groans and moans of the shambling dead... but he cleared his mind of such distractions swiftly. In battle... there was no time to lose focus. Narrowed green eyes settled on the weakest part of the dead troll's neck... and as he lunged up and forward, that cruel shortsword whipped around in a broad arc to cut through it right at the base. Closer... closer... and then, success. Leifantiel would use the damnable thing's own shoulder to whirl around the entirety of it's neck. All it took was the effort of kicking himself off of the thing to sever skull from spinal column... and sending the hulking body toppling over backwards. Leifantiel hit the ground hard, coughed up blood on the inside of his mask, and laughed. "Ah... excellent. A perfect display." The undead elf he had been carrying lay upon the ground some feet away. Slowly, she rose up to her knees... crawled to Leifantiel's side... and stared into his eyes eerily. Leif stared back... then reached up and patted her head. "You poor soul... mixed in with all those stupid creatures. How many who called this place home... got mixed in with the masses? Tragic. Even... death... is no escape from pain. I shall fix you. You have my word." And then... he succumbed to blood loss and passed out. It would seem he took more damage dealing with those orcs than he had let on. In truth, the inside of his robe was utterly saturated... to the point where the crimson fluid now pooled around where he lay.

Kasyr s' reaction to the click that occurs behind him is somewhat lax, the Revenant giving one bruesque flap of his wings to get himself clear of...well, whatever it was. Far be it from him to actually find out that its' a pit trap rife with creatures best fit to fight a plumber. That aside, and with 'partners' chosen, the Kensai simply flicks Gospel off to the side, and expectantly awaits the less regal looking lichs...map checking. "..Boneheads." With a grimace, Kasyr simply uses the time gained to exercise his will over Gospel, the odious weapons form abruptly altering itself- the ouroboros blades slender guise as a katana coming to an abrupt end, discarded instead for the bulky stylings of a brod sword. Hence armed with a weapon far better suited to crushing bone (without even taking into consideration the unnatural density of the weapon), the vampire abruptly dashes in towards Byaun. In effect, the revenants plan is simple- a quick invocation of his abilities allowing him to effectively dart across the room in a single flaring of lightning; a maneuver that is defensive in that it might allow him to cross the distance before the Lich might become aware of him, or be able to properly focus upon him, and offensive, in that the violent upswing which follows the motion is poised to crash into and through the table Byauns focused upon- and hopefully demolish the lich while he's at it. And hey, maybe he'll freak out over that map as an added bonus- seeing as its important enough to ignore two blatant interlopers over it.

Xzarren cringes, one of the last fading images he sees is the dire Ogre toppling over, his vision failing him, his eyes going blind to the world no matter how hard he fought to see the ending through. His hand reaches out for no one, the blindness falling over him too quickly before he passes out cold. His sword a mere broken fragment of it's former glory, before the battle. Several shards laying around him as his blood trickles into the soil. One can only hope he makes it, and that the other's have succeeded as well.

Leifantiel lay there, motionless... save for his harried struggles for breath. Mana flowed freely to the points in his body where the worst damage had been done... but with so much blood lost, there was no guarantee of survival. All the while, that undead creature stared at him. Her glossy eyes, even in death, were more than capable of expressing confusion. As the hand fell limply from her head, she turned her sights upon Xzarren and frowned. In the end, the only thing there was to do was wait. Dragging he masked savior over to his fallen comrade, the dead girl slumped down beside the unconscious elf and watched him breathe.

Voxiath scrambles to find his crown while Ranok moves in, similar to Kas. The man had no fancy sword that grew in his grasp, but then again, he didn't need to show off. He was skilled enough his blade, he felt, that making it bigger was just silly. As Kas advances on Byaun, the Lich Lord is thrown into a flurry of activity. Mutterings of plans broken and scattered issue from the minion's semi toothless mouth, and the skeletal fingers hit all sorts of levers, buttons, and toggles. A veritable death course springs forth from recesses, alcoves, and the ceiling. That is, it would have been if Kas was in the right place. The perfect plan was not being followed, after all. The kensai would have to dodge an errant fireball even in his lightning swift travel across the room, but it was no where near a challenge that it should have been. Though, both liches would surely be pleased if Kasyr was polite enough to endure the impromptu obstacle course as per the plan. Assuming Kas made it through, completely ignoring the proper procedures of heroism and death traps, Byaun would be whalloped while cluching his precious maps, trying to find the fatal flaw in the plan to correct it even as he's failing to properly react to the threat in front of it. As for Ranok, he had a slightly harder time of it, lacking the lightning quick reflexes. It was sort of a race to reach the fallen crown first, though Ranok wished to just knock Vox into next week, similar to Kas' approach. The sword in Ranok's grasp flicks down in a golf swing to simplify the search. Instead of seeking the crown, Ranok simply hits one. Punnery aside, Vox's head goes clattering across the mausoleum, through a minimum of three active death traps, and two fireballs, wailing about the crown the whole way.

Kasyr reaction to the oncoming fiery projectile is fairly typical for the Revenant. Rather than veer off to either side, the Kensai merely intensifies the eletrical energies currently coursing within his being, a number of bloody patchs effectively exploding into existance along his wings- courtesy of the chunks of flesh that are being ionized. The result is an intensification of the energies currently providing Kasyr his mobility, and the sudden adjustment of his momentum straight up- effectively bringing him over the fireball just long enough for him to land and follow through with his initial action. It's only when he's effectively whacked the lich lord that he ceases to move for a moment, if only because the Kensai is rather busy shunting out all mass of energy he's effectively generated within his form in a particularily violently downwards swing, that sends lightning arcing out from its wake. Which simply leaves the coup de grace- the Kensai effectively willing those floating blades of his back into existance, their current guise that of twelve broadswords, all neatly poised and prepared to crash down on Byauns position and hopefully reduce him to powdered bone before he can stop trying to contemplate which deathtrap to potentially active, and actually -do- something.

If sympathy could be summoned for the haphazard duo, a trace might be eeked into existence for the two. Their only crime being their obsession, the very same was their down fall. Rather than study magics that men normally could only imagine, the two liches spent their time pouring over those maps. Byaun was indeed pulverized into bone dust, his indecision disabling any real resistance. He died as he unlived: holding close the shreds of map to his bony chest. The lich lord's phylactery was nowhere to be found on his body, however. It was stashed some other place. Probably linked to some excessively elaborate deathtrap that one had to stand just so to fall into. As for the Lich King, he was faring slightly better. But only just so. His head flown across the room, his crown nowhere to be found, and his body being hacked to pieces by Ranok's sword, the Lich King was being dismantled rather easily. Only their disease really eased the pain of such a confrontation, of course, though Ranok was hardly going to complain when something went out of its way to be simpler for him. Kicking various bones towards the machine in the door, the Doorknocker begins to smash the bones in its reach with a metal fist. Hammering the bones into so much dust. A different method then Kas', but effective nonetheless. Ranok was rooting around for the head of the Lich King, mutterings about missing crowns and imperfect plans. Once the skull was in hand, Ranok takes a moment to decide just what to do with the thing. Once reached, he opts to scoot back to his machine, still smashing the floor so hard that cracks were appearing. Once inside, Ranok tosses the skull onto the floor and takes control of the arms. With more shouldering, more stone cracking and falling, the Doorknocker withdraws out of the mausoleum. A metal hand slams the ground over the skull, picking it up. Then, when outside, the arm slams the wall of the mausoleum again, just to be sure that the skull in its grasp was good and cracked, if not outright broken, before cocking back. Then the arm would let fly, releasing the small object in its grasp. The former skull of the Lich King goes sailing out, out, out, and into the murky twilight of Vailkrin to land in something or other. Ranok didn't care. It was the gesture that counted, since the skull had been broken of its undead occupant. Unfortunately, those careless slamming, damage to the walls, and the deathtraps going off every which way was a fairly effective way to end the life of the mausoleum. Or, perhaps, the load the two liches were bearing caused the thing to being its slow motion collapse. Secret lairs always did self destruct when the bosses were killed in one way or another. Kas would have time to vacate the area, but when it was all said and done, a hole would mark where the former lair laid. Deep, dark, and entirely too much trouble to go rooting through.

Kasyr , having finished his part, does the only sensible thing left to do in this particular moment; Which is to say, he promptly gets clear of the area. After all, whilst the vampire might not have fully functioning wings in this moment, he currently has the full extent of his vampire celerity at his disposal. He also has a delightful bundle of swords to effectively collide into anything that might otherwise hinder his departure. It's only when he's gotten fairly clear that his breakneck run becomes something of a jog, the kensai continuing to amble onwards with every intention of catching up to Dami and then departing back to Frostmaw. What's left in this area, after all, is left for the city itself to contend with.

Ranok was disappointed to leave without the crown as a souvenir, but these things can't be helped. Luckily for Lei, one of the other men had taken pity grabbed Lei. Xzarren had been nowhere to be found, so he couldn't be taken in a similar fashion. Ranok didn't really look like he gave a damn, and he didn't. The threat was silenced. Job done. He wasn't going to get any reward for it, either. But, mostly, he was grumpy over the loss of the crown. Machines stomp their ways towards Kelay and home, knocking any undead aside that were still milling about the area. Bosses dead or not, the connection would take time to sever. But it firmly wedged under someone else's problem at this point. Not like Vailkrin was his city. He had only entered it to take the fight to the zombies, in typical Ranok fashion. Regardless of intent or consequences, the matter was settled, and the three machines head home.

Ranok kinda wished he kept the skull, now, on second thought.