Fight:Northern Sage Booby Trap

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: Gevurah and Zendor's best laid plans come to fruition. After using the map given to him by Gevurah to manipulate the elven council in Frostmaw to stage an attack, Zendor accompanies the elven raid on the drow patrol in Northern Sage as per Gevurah's orders. He is accompanied by the intrepid spellblade Emrith and 4 other elves. In a clearing in Northern Sage, the mercenary and the drow reveal the trap. Emrit deduces the deceit and flees before he is caught in the trap and either captured or killed. Worried that Zendor's cover may be blown, Gevurah and the double agent scheme to keep his cover in tact.

Opening in the Trees (Northern Sage Forest)

Zendor’s intelligence is good. As expected, four drow march towards this strangely hypnotic clearing in the woods. They march in typical drow formation, which is to say they are disbursed to dissuade ambushes. A scout leads several yards in the front, a warrior follows second, and, several paces behind him, a rogue lingers near a mage. Were it not for the procession of dark elves, travellers through Northern Sage may be fooled into believing that the forest was never invaded at all. The North, less affected than the South, still boasts that sweet green light of the canopy, and thick clog of heady herbs and incense. But those rangers and elves familiar with the typical herbal cocktail of the Sage may detect regents in the air favored by the dark elves. The air hums with magic, which isn’t unusual, but this magic may feel just a little bit wrong to those keenly attuned to the woods.

Emrith spent the first two hundred years and more of his life in Sage Forest, and like the other elves now accompanying him, he is preternaturally attuned to the life, the breath, the magic of the woods. Laheya, a druid, and Larkis, a ranger, keep pace with the spellblade as he slips silently north; instead of using the ground, the elves are up in the branches, hopping and lunging and swinging from branch to branch under cover of the leaves. Their garb is such that camouflage within these leafy bowers is easy despite their rapid movement. Emrith had come into possession of information regarding the intelligence Zendor acquired, though he believed it largely rumour until he spoke to the man himself. Zendor is a human whose acquaintance Emrith has already made, and he has delegated half of this patrol to keep Zendor company on the ground while he approaches from above. Each elven ranger wears a circlet of hawthorn about their well-made heads which allows them to communicate in limited telepathic concert; if either group has trouble before the other sees it, knowledge will likely pass by way of this link. The druid on the ground as well as the one accompanying Emrith through the treetops have both been chosen for their affinity with flora and fauna; little escapes the notice of druids so rigorously trained. Emrith thinks he can hear the patrol ahead, and slows his pace, signing to the nearest ranger and druid to match his speed. Larkis, no doubt, has heard the drow even before Emrith has, and has hopefully relayed the information to the other half of the expedition. For now, these two halves are apart; shortly, they will likely come violently together, joining whatever skirmish might await.

Zendor walks in a partially stooped manner, wearing a cloak that covers most of his armor. Sensitive ears would hear the subtle clinks in each step. At his side, is his new pet! A smart-eyed timber wolf. Trained so well in its short time, that it requires no leash and no leading! At some points in their whimsical meanderings, the wolf would lightly sniff the air or plant its nose in the dirt. Maybe an ear twitched on occasion, such things were normal for a pooch weren't they? Surely they had no bearing on which direction Zendor stepped next. In a moment, Zendor makes his way to the center of the hypnotic clearing and kneels down, unshouldering a leather satchel and digging for something inside. Behind him in the brush, a drab-painted elf pulls his bow-string taut, and focuses his unblinking eyes. As per their plan, Zendor was the first to approach the location of the dark elves, being that a human shouldn't usually be expected to arouse suspicion here, not as much as an elf. When he finishes his business in the satchel, he leaves it on the ground and begins whistling. It's an eerie melody, that might be familiar to most drow, but would definitely remind ones who had heard Nymh play, of the riot in the Underdark when Zendor was captured. In the stillness, the tune carries far enough that the drow and elves would both hear it.

Gevurah tracks Zendor’s position through the bracelet she ‘gifted’ to him. Before the elves (and human and wolf) even reach Sage, their position is betrayed to her, as is the fact that a raiding party should approach at all, all thanks to Zendor’s loyalty to gold. The bracelet, however, does not tell her how many join him, or which powers they possess, or how they travel. But Gevurah has been fighting this war long enough to make some educated guesses. The elves are found of studying and serving nature as druids and rangers, and so she prepares for that. They have mages in their ranks, and warriors, and so she prepares. She’s seen Gilwen and Skylei take to the trees, and thus some precautions were necessary in the canopy as well. The high priestess had ample time to carefully lay a perfect trap enchantment by enchantment. The man who gifted her that time whistles Nymh’s infuriating song, and she bristles in her hiding place in the shadows. A light enchantment makes her invisible outside of direct sunlight, though sunlight would dispel its effect. She didn’t bother spending the regents, energy, and focus for the full invisibility spell; the arrogant, young D’Artes can’t imagine it will take very long for her to accomplish her goal today. As the elves in the canopy slip unseen from branch to branch they near the canopy’s trap. It’s triggered by race, and as soon as an elf touches an enchanted branch bordering the clearing, a magical web materializes and sweeps across the canopy in a 30 yard radius. It’s shaped like an orb spider’s web and its magical strings glow in patches of blood red and black. The net’s apparition suggests the position of at least one elf, and the drow mage quickly works his hands in the right gyrations and flicks to invoke a sleeping spell, which descends like a cloud upon the web and hovers there, posing no risk to the drow (or elf allies) on the ground. The mission would seem focused on capturing, not killing, and in that vein the ground trap springs as well. Gevurah grabs a fistful of marble beads from her satchel and smooths them in an arc upon the ground, fanning her had in the direction of Zendor and his entourage. Transparent, rippling energy moves over the grass like a ripple in a pond. If the ripple touches any bipedal creature on the ground (Gevurah did not expect a wolf), their legs will slowly begin to turn to marble from the soles of their feet up to mid-thigh. One could deduce that the area of effect on the ground must have a timer, for the drow soldiers on the ground stay beyond the ripple’s wake for now (about fifteen feet in all directions from Zendor’s position), but look poised to enter as soon as Gevurah gives them the signal that it is safe.

Emrith and his pair reach a point some forty yards south of the clearing before Laheya signs desperately for them to stop. Something is amiss; the druidess cannot tell what precisely it is, but whatever it may be, it's ahead. Unfortunately, her brother, who has been scouting a little in front, has fallen afoul of the web, and in but a moment Emrith sees the poor ranger begin to waver. He has time to loose a single shot down into the clearing in the general direction from which he sensed the magic emanating, then collapses, belly-down on a branch, in an enchanted sleep. Emrith turns to Laheya, both of them still beyond the edge of the snare and thus free of the drow mage's spell. He makes a curt chopping motion with one hand, and Laheya instantly crouches down and slaps the bough in front of her. A cacophony of snapping sounds from around and above the clearing herald the druid's counterspell; branches, most of themm sporting remnants of that ensorcelled magical web, go tumbling into the clearing and into the underbrush around it. It is Emrith's only means of nulllifying this advantage, and he can only hope that the sleep spell, having received an arcane tie to the web itself, will now fall upon drow. Even if the web itself may be triggered by race, surely the enchantment of slumber is not. In any case, Emrith is still camouflaged, and now stands with Laheya crouched at his side upon the edge of a more ragged clearing in the forest...a clearing which is much large now, and littered with fallen branches amidst the marbles on the forest floor. The spell-blade never comes to a raid without being prepared, and now he taps the runes in both his boots and within the jade clasp at his throat. He fades from sight and begins to hover some four inches above the branch which previously bore his weight. Leaning down to Laheya, who has been told to expect this, he whispers words in his own tongue into her ear: "Birds. Use their eyes. Hunt the mage first." She bobs her head and sets to work even as Emrith straightens, leans forward and leaps, launching himself into the air. He falls to earth but does not strike it, landing cat-silent and invisible upon his feet. At the moment he cannot worry about Zendor, who may well have been caught in the magical onslaught; he sets his mark on any drow he can see...and because of the rearrangement of the clearing, the first target he lays eyes upon is Gevurah. Stealthily drawing his shortswords, he glides without disturbance across the clearing, meaning to deliver a surprise attack from the side...two decisive blows, one for the belly and one for that traitorous throat.

Zendor and his wolf companion are both grounded, so naturally they're still awake. Behind him as well, is his elf stalker, Nyil. There's no proper means of defense against Gevurah's snare, and Zendor's legs start turning to stone. Feeling his feet go numb, he falls over instantly. By the time he tries to get up, he's one third a statue. As can be expected, the elf behind him in the bushes is in a similar predicament, though he remains hidden for now, his arrow and eyes still trained on who might be the first to start the ambush. Zendor's two elves can detect their companions plans, and instantly add it to their own. The wolf turns back into his true elven shape, and alters the branches further. The ones that would cascade upon them instead, wrap around them, keeping Zendor, Nyil the hunter, and the druid in a protective cage of wooden limbs. With the drow's cover decimated, Nyil finds one drow particularly easy to spot, and pokes part of his bow through the wooden bars. Pulling the bow taut once again, he releases, and an arrow is sent flying towards a drow warrior. Zendor meanwhile, drops his black cloak, revealing his fists to be wrapped in a leather cestus, adorned with spikes. His companions think it must be to defend against the drow, and of course are unconcerned. But while Nyil is focused on his prey, Zendor snaps his thorny fist into the druid's neck, and tears it out the side. As the druid's spell fails, the bubble of branches falls upon them, leaving Nyil unconscious or dead under the branches. Zendor lies here a moment until his legs return to normal, and then sprints back to regroup with his allies in the trees, and leading the drow right towards his company.

Gevurah lifts a magically-shielded hand to distort the path of the oncoming arrow and send it screaming off mark a foot to her right. Her lips curl in displeasure as druidic magic dispels her carefully laid web. The tumbling web and cloud of sleeping spores vanish at the will of their creators, Gevurah and the mage respectively, and pose no threat to the drow allies who stand at the ready to invade the clearing the moment Gevurah gives them the go ahead. And she does with a shouted word in drow. The mage reflexively summons a large orb of darkness that swallows the entire clearing and then some more of the forest, giving the advantage to the drow’s infrared sights. As Gev shouts to her men and Emrith schemes with Laheya, the witchy priestess slips her hand into her satchel of regents and pulls out a small vial of magically-treated Dead Caves ooze. She smears this gunk across her eyes. The translucent film smells like rotting compost, but this negative is greatly outweighed by its positive effects: it allows her to see magic on top of the heat signatures she can already see. And just in time too! Emrith gains on her, his invisibility enchantment no doubt masking his bodyheat (for he is clever enough to know that before going into battle with the drow!), but his enchantment glows brightly in her enhanced vision. She unhooks her seven-viper headed whip from her hip and deflects the belly-blow with its adamantite handle (thank you, Daath). She bends lithely backwards at the waist to avoid the sword at her throat, her pliable body moving as if it were made of rubber bands. As she bends, her free hand jerks forward in Emrith’s direction without making contact, palm facing him and fingers pressed together, as she bellows the Word of Sound. A sonic boom, like an explosion without fire, attempts to force some distance between the priestess and the spellblade (and maybe bruise or fracture a rib or two) Given the tiniest of space, Gevurah will zoom upwards and levitate into the air with no canopy to obstruct her, thanks to Laheya. Meanwhile...The rogue shoots a poisoned arrow at the wolf-cum-elf-druid, which is timely considering Zendor’s attack. The mercenary can always blame the drow! But the kill is Zendor’s. That same rogue makes a show of giving Zendor chase, but seems mysteriously incapable of catching up with a human (hm!), up until the human has revealed the location of the other elves, at which point the drow whistles for backup and loads his crossbow. He lets a bolt fly loose towards Laheya’s heat signature. The scout joins the rogue and shoots bolts towards the ranger who escaped Gevurah’s web. Nyil’s position in the bushes is also betrayed by his heat signature which filters through the leaves. The drow warrior rushes in with twin-blades at the ready, poisoned no doubt, to deliver Nyil’s head from the oppression of his neck. They don’t need to capture -all- the elves.

Emrith has indeed masked his heat signature during this sortie, having sought the cantrip to do so from a mage of his acquaintance. Emrith himself does not yet know the spell, but it is something he intends to learn. Both of his sword-strikes go awry, one blocked and the other dodged, and as chaos erupts in the clearing around him, he realizes something. This was a trap, and Zendor was very likely its cause. Rather than stay to fight, the spell-blade knows that he is outmatched. Even as his attacks are avoided, the spellblade channels a quick burst of mana into his boots and, as the priestess raises her hand, he is changing direction, swivelling on the ball of his right foot so that the wave of sonic force slams him mostly from behind. he stumbles, staggers and then starts to run, boots letting him glide effortlessly above the roots of the forest floor and imparting to his naturally swift flight even greater speed yet. Laheya will, it seems, have to fend for herself, as will the other elves behind him. At least one is already dead, and two of the others may soon join them. He leaves the fray without a single look back, putting all of his considerable effort into living another day rather than remaining in order to join combat in which he is both outnumbered and outmatched. He has seen faces, if only briefly, and has marked well the events of the day. Zendor, at the very least, will be Emrith's intended sacrifice at his first opportunity. Treachery such as this simply cannot go unpunished.

Zendor continues sprinting until he finds a spot behind a tree, and slams into it with his back, and catches his breath. There was a drow chasing him, but has luckily forgone the chase, perhaps to deal with more imminent targets. The globe of darkness overtakes him, and he relishes that he's found the ultimate cover. He has no idea what's become of Emrith, or any of the other elves. Though one figure (he can't tell through the darkness), has passed him by with all the quickness of a meth primed cheetah. He waits for further trailers, or anybody else to pass him by. Regardless of who may come, he stands stoic and ready for an actual fight.

Gevurah waits until her men have killed all the remaining elves, so that Emrith is the sole survivor of the elf allies — and Zendor, of course. The priestess doesn’t want the mercenary’s cover blown, not yet. She dispels the orb of darkness and orders her men to scan a perimeter to make sure there are no spies. With her ooze-enhanced eyes, she scans the forest for any shape-shifting druids and finds none. Once assured that no eyes falls upon her and Zendor, she approaches the mercenary. The rotting smell of the ooze upon her eyes reaches him before her voice. “Your actions today have pleased me greatly.” She pulls a small coin purse from her robes and hands it to Zendor - payment for a job well done. “The one who escaped, tell me his name. What he saw here today may make him suspicious of your allegiance. Do you have a plan on dealing with him yet?” She teases the question, her tone on the fringe of a laugh. Clearly the sinister witch has a plan of her own.

Zendor remains planted at his tree even as the dark globe dissipates. The first thing he senses is Gevurah's stink eyes. Once she approaches, he steps from behind the tree with weaponized mitts at his sides. With an air of guilt, he takes the coin purse, admitting to himself that he's just a mercenary, once more. "This is not what I expected, I came here to kill dark elves," he says bravely. "His name is Emrith, like me, he's engaged in the tournament in Frostmaw. I've fought with him...in our practice bout, he has shown to be ruthless and skilled." Of course Zendor's had an answer to this question in mind all along, as might any double agent. "If it comes to pass that he is distrusting, or even certain of my allegiance, then I will ascertain how many of his kin he has told. My status as your rat may have ended today." Being alert to her sinister joy, he presses her. "What did you have in mind?"

Gevurah smiles cruelly at Zendor. “And you will kill dark elves.” She whistles two eerie notes. “Zendor, do not despair. It’s embarrassing to watch.” Her red eyes scan him from head to toe and back again, sizing up whether his mettle meets her next challenge. “Focus. It is your word against his, and yes, he may be an elf, but he fled and left behind his kin to die. Spread that rumor. And…” Perfectly timed, the scout comes to Gevurah’s side. The whistle was for his benefit. She whispers something in drow and smooths a hand over the scout’s shoulder. Suddenly he’s paralyzed. His eyes panic left and right as his body fails to respond to him. She draws a blade from her hip and effortlessly slices against the drow’s soft trachea, veins, connective tissue, esophagus, all the way through to the spine. Blood squirts between Gevurah and Zendor’s noses. The priestess makes a show of shushing the slaughtered lamb, but the feint lines of a grin reveal the pleasure she takes in every kill. “Shhh.” The paralyzing spell keeps the scout upright, and Gevurah steadies him with one hand as the other wipes the blade on her skirt then slips it into a holster at her hip. With both hands she wrestles the spine, working the vertebraes this way and that. The discs squick and scrape and the grisly decapitation slows down time until it seems like her show goes on forever. By the time the show is over, her face, chest, and arms are covered in blood. She hands the severed head to Zendor by its snow white hair. “You will take this as proof that you fought the drow to the bitter end, and that you are loyal. You will say that along with the elves that this Emrith abandoned, you forced the drow into a retreat. You will explain that the other elves suffered injures too great to survive. Post this in public spaces and tell anyone who will listen. Make Emrith a pariah, but do not attack him. The elves like to pretend they are a judicial race. Appeal to their sense of justice and let them handle him.”

Zendor nods thinking, "well he did...", and notices her checking him out. Strange since he didn't think he was her type. "I do like the sound of that, though I'm quite dubious as to its reception...uh..." He gets interrupted by the gory decapitation of Gevurah's ally, a reminder of what a tentative thing it is to be. A grimace appears on his face, showing especially in the way his lip arches. He takes the severed head, and beholds the countenance to notice it's forever frightened expression. He holds it up to a tree, and bashes it hard once, leaving his mark on it. "I have little faith that such a plan will work without further insurance." With that, he unclasps the straps holding his armor together, and they dent the ground with their weight. "I'll need something else to show them as well." He closes his eyes and stands against the tree awaiting his punishment.

Gevurah nods appreciatively at Zendor’s willingness to go the extra mile. She takes her dagger and slashes twice at his arm: one deep but avoiding major veins, the other shallow. With butt of her whip she whacks the side of his ribs to bruise, but hopefully not fracture them. She isn’t that strong, anyway. “You can add anything else you deem necessary. I must go. The longer I linger, the more likely you’ll be discovered. Post your message as soon as you can.” She steps towards the shadows and disappears.