RP:Beacon
Lyros has been lingering along the eastern fringes of the forest for the past day or so, his camp well-hidden, tucked away from watchful eyes - most within Sage are an enemy in some form or another, be they elf or wearing the same skin as he. It's for this reason that the drow has been so reluctant to venture into the trees. He is doing his regular perimeter check when he comes across it lying among the tangled roots of a gold-leaved tree; a bottle sporting a black and gold label. With the wind tugging at his uncovered hair, Lyros bends to pick it up, turning it over in his hands and wondering where it came from, and if the liquid inside is fit for consumption - he did not bring any alcohol from the Underdark and has not had a chance in some time to indulge a little. Then he looks up, hearing movement, and catches sight of a light shifting through the trees, headed his way. Lyros steps back with every intention to hide and observe the intruder, but catches himself on a root and falls over backward into a bush. This is becoming more of a regularity than he would like it to be.
Amabella thought the noise of branches cracking and leaves rustling was her previous assailant, and thus spared no time to inspect the area. Nothing was obviously amiss aside from a somewhat-parted bush. It was probably him; a giant cat man easily five times the size of Amabella could definitely hide in such a location. Maybe Amabella shouldn't hold her lantern so close to her face. It would definitely keep her (and other poor souls) out of horrible situations that result from such recklessness. Speaking of recklessness, Amabella was completely unbothered with the idea of starting a forest fire. "Ha, found you! Damned beast!" the woman shouted at the foliage before tossing her lantern at it. Another candle would be produced from her muddy, ichor-stained clothing, lit, then also thrown at the bush Lyros fell into. Amabella crossed her arms and grinned in satisfaction as icy-blue flames caught and began to spread. She threw her head back in maniacal laughter, but had to stop to correct her head as it began to detach somewhat with the motion.
Lyros spares a moment to consider just staying still — maybe the mysterious lantern-bearer was deaf — but quickly begins thrashing when fire springs up around him, the dry bush catching the flame easily. Icy flame flickers hungrily overhead as Lyros twists and breaks through the branches beneath him, until he falls out into the narrow, dark space beneath the foliage, frantically crawling to escape the encroaching forest fire. But there is another thing the drow is much more desperate to escape - he recognised that voice. Scrambling through the undergrowth in an entirely undignified manner, Lyros is finally able to jump up and spin around, finding the fire spreading swiftly between him and Amabella. "You!" he shouts, pointing a claw-covered finger at the vague shadow of the woman he can see through the rising flames, his other arm raised to cover his face, half-shielding him from the blinding light. "What do you think you're doing?!" And where did that bottle go! Lyros is answered by a sudden 'pop' and an explosion from close by his left as the bottle bursts and the fire roars.
Amabella didn't hear the monstrous voice of the savage cat (which was probably a good thing), but was treated to the familiar tone of a certain dark elf in panic. Amabella responded with more evil laughter. "Yes, it is I! Doom-incarnate! Destroyer of homes! Towns! Worlds! Birthday Parties!" she exclaimed. Amabella took a moment to reflect that it had been too long since she crashed any birthday parties by jumping out of the cake and life-draining the poor sod. Ah, the memories. When she finally snapped out of her short nostalgia trip, the woman leapt forward through the magical fire with no regard for her own safety. The flames were mostly of her own creation, and it parted just enough to only leave Amabella with singed hair and clothing. There she stood arms akimbo in front of Lyros, looking rather gloomy despite her pose and energetic speech. "What do I owe you the repeated pleasure, sir-or-- er, sir?" Amabella asks rather flatly, completely disregarding everything burn down behind her.
Lyros would not hugely care if this entire forest were to burn down, but he does care about the attention the blaze is likely to attract, especially if they do not get it under control soon. He leaps back when Amabella dives through the wall of fire, amber eyes wide and wild - there are many things the drow hates, but fire ranks highly on that list. "Don't come any closer! I want nothing to do with your strange rituals!" If he had fangs, he'd be showing them - instead his hands are raised, gauntleted claws sharp and threatening, all his angles sharp as Lyros bristles with anger and an emotion he will not admit to, but it looks a little like fear. "Consider my debt paid if I don't kill you right here," he hisses, and a crackle of something snaps through the night air, arcane energies gathering around his fingertips. "Do you have any idea how many eyes watch this forest? Any idea what this— this beacon is going to do?" And something else can be felt in the spaces between the trees that is not Lyros' magic. Perhaps those watching eyes have come to investigate the ruckus...
Amabella allowed a small smile to crack her expression at the comedy mill known as Lyros. Trying to be threatening-looking. Saying such silly things; 'Don't come any closer!' and '...if I don't kill you right here,'-- ha! Adorable. All he needs is a collar and leash. Amabella was probably too sincere in considering such a thing as a tree crashed in the background, snapping her out of her fantasies. The woman gave Lyros an apathetic look at the notion danger would befall them before glancing back over her shoulder, then around at the surrounding woods. "It's just fire. It'll go out eventually. I think, at least," Amabella scratched the side of her head, parting the flesh at her neck wound for a moment in the process.
Lyros snaps, "And how much time do you think we have?" Never mind the fact that much of this area is dry wood, prime for nurturing a forest fire. Despite her casual remark, it seems to have no intent of stopping any time soon, flames licking up the sides of trees, catching on low-hanging leaves and torching them, turning the canopy overhead into a flickering roof of glowing embers and falling ash. The air is quickly filling with smoke, causing Lyros' eyes to water and his lungs to burn. Another tree topples with a creak and a crash, almost drowning out the soft whistle of an arrow set loose - Lyros catches it just in time, stepping to the side as the arrow buries itself in the ground by his foot. He hisses something at Amabella, perhaps an insult, before darting off back in the direction he came from, slipping into the shadows away from the fire. More arrows fly from out of nowhere, some hitting the trees in Lyros' direction, others targeting the woman. Honestly, it's unclear whether the enemy is drow or elven, but whoever they are, Lyros knows what they'll make of this mess. To the enemy, the fire is the work of a drow and his deranged undead companion, maybe started in another attempt to cause chaos in Sage. The fact Lyros was clearly yelling and glaring at her is something they aren't going to factor into the equation.
Amabella thought Lyros was just being a killjoy. She had not factored in that these woods were inhabited, let alone protected, by anyone or anything. The arrows raining around (and some into) her proved otherwise. Amabella's reaction was rather delayed, starting with confusion before turning to mild panic. The cat man is back for vengeance, and he brought friends!.. or so she thought, at least. Amabella decided the safest place would be to be on the other side of Lyros while using him as a shield, and thus turned and ran after the drow. Occasionally she had to catch her head before it leaned back too far off her neck, with it barely being held together by her spine. "Hey, don't leave me out here!" she calls out to Lyros, "I only have one head, and there's so many of them! They might play some kind of sport with it, and I couldn't bear the embarrassment!" Amabella more of stumbled than ran in pursuit, occasionally tripping over large charred roots and falling face-first into the dirt. This caused the woman's spine to detach, and her head to bounce and roll along the ground before it was quickly collected and replaced.
Lyros is regularly a killjoy, but this time he has plenty of reason to be one. The hail of arrows halts for a moment, providing a brief respite, when some find their mark in Amabella's body, but soon enough the next volley is whistling through the trees after the fleeing pair - Lyros yells in frustration and fury upon realising that the woman is following him. "Go your own way!" He ducks under a low-hanging branch, slowing in his steps to look back at her. "Go back to the desert! Just go away!" Were he alone, the drow might eventually be able outrun and escape whoever is after them, but he knows he has no hope of hiding with the undead bumbling after him like a headless chicken— literally, and Lyros' eyes widen a touch when her head detaches from her body. Another arrow strikes a nearby tree and goes spinning into the undergrowth, and Lyros fires a bolt of lightning in the direction it came from, covering his eyes. "If you hadn't started that fire, we wouldn't be in this mess." He yanks out an arrow that got caught in his cloak - a quick inspection is enough to tell him that the attackers are drow, and their weapons are dipped in a mixture of paralytic poisons. Lyros spares a bitter glare for Amabella as he throws the projectile to one side, before turning on his heel to run.
Amabella wished there was enough time to feel around for any corpses in the area, but not every adventure can be a necromantic one. While the poisons were hardly a problem for her, random shafts of wood piercing through her joints made moving notably more difficult as time went on as Amabella made no real attempt to dodge the onslaught aside from running in the opposite direction that it was coming from. Most of the arrows broke off with her running motions, but pieces were left stuck inside flesh and bone. "I can't! It's too hot there!" she cries out. It was proper justification to not return to the desert, at least. "If you hadn't been pretending to be a cat person I wouldn't have had to light everything on fire!" Amabella shook her fists in the air in rage, slowing somewhat in her chase.
"You seem to like it hot," Lyros hisses back over his shoulder, bitter, with a pointed glance to the distant roar of flames. The ground here is uneven and thickly covered with tangled roots and shrubbery hiding ankle-breaking potholes, but the drow moves with ease over any dangers, as light and graceful as a cat, funnily enough. "Cat person?" What the hell is she talking about?" Lyros growls under his breath, wishing she would just leave him alone already but she seems stubborn in her stalking of him, all the while shouting after him and making so much noise they'll never lose their attackers. His camp is not far off, and hopefully still undiscovered by anyone else in the area, but the drow is reluctant to head in that direction when it seems unlikely he can get away undisturbed. He turns to berate Amabella again but the words never come out - an arrow lodges itself deep in his shoulder, causing the drow to stumble and grunt in pain. He blinks, shakes it off and quickly yanks it out, but he knows the paralytic will already be coursing in his system.
Amabella liked the heat when she was alive, but now it just made unlife more difficult than it normally was. When Amabella came upon the rougher terrain she managed to vault over a few of the larger roots, while the majority of the obstacles reduced her to a stop within moments. It only took a few stumbles before the inevitable; Amabella's left leg sank knee-deep into one of the many holes dotting the area, then SNAP it went. It broke off right at the joint, ichor spurting once out of the artery and surrounding veins as the flesh tore. Amabella landed nose-first into a gnarled root, fully decapitating her once more as it landed with a thud behind her. In a fit of rage, the woman picked up her head and threw it with an unnatural strength at Lyros around the time of his own injury. Amabella's head held a disgruntled look as it flew through the air; her body decided it was a good idea to hide where it was, pretending it was the corpse of the previously-mentioned head-hunter.
Amabella thinks this is the best way to play catch.
Lyros has put up with a lot in his various dealings with the undead, from the terrifying and odd to the utterly disgusting, but he is certain he's never had one throw her head at him. His hands come up automatically to catch her all the same, the drow grimacing at the sudden weight straining his injury - blood flows freely from his upper right arm and over his chest, staining his clothing and disappearing beneath his gauntlets. Lyros turns Amabella's head over so that he can meet her eyes and glare daggers at her, and really, he's quite tempted to drive a real one into her skull. Somehow, it's not worth the effort, perhaps because he figures it won't outright kill her. Instead, he lifts her skull with a dangerous grin, then drops her while swinging his leg up in a strong kick, effectively booting her straight back in the direction they were running from. If she's lucky, she won't bounce and roll as far as the fire. In the meantime, Lyros makes to flee again when another arrow homes in on him - hissing out a string of esoteric spellwords, the drow raises his injured arm to deflect the incoming projectile with a small red shield, which seems to have appeared from nowhere, or perhaps was hidden within his vambrace... Another spell is spoken, Lyros' voice rising as he draws his arm back then flings a bright arc of lightning in the general direction of the attacking drow. This unholy bolt, for it is tinged with writhing dark magic, explodes upon contact with a tree into a brilliant flashbang that will effectively blind any drow not smart enough to cover their eyes, as electricity magic and dark energies fizzle like fireworks throughout the nearby area; a few surprised cries from the shadows suggest the magic may shock anything it comes into contact with. Lyros, in the meantime, is slipping away into the night, footsteps a touch unsteady, a hand clutching his wounded shoulder while the drow murmurs some sort of chant under his breath.
Lyros would be great at rugby. That kick would have made a try.
Amabella's head was caught between a set of split branches which held it above all of the chaos. She was utterly furious at the indecency of being punted through the air, but at least there wasn't an entire team doing it... The woman's head landed upside down, which actually aided with viewing the commotion below. Just as well the stub of her neck prevented any arrows that might pass by from piercing her skull; that would have probably 'killed' her, albeit temporarily. Amabella was glad to see the rest of herself was unbothered by the few drow that paused to briefly inspect the body. It was Lyros, the undead's apparent 'master', that they were more concerned with rather than whatever creations served him.
"But what if it's not really—" A laugh interrupts the speaker, followed by a threatening, "They're generally dead when the heads come off. If you want to be an idiot and waste some arrows in her, be my guest. I'll be back for you when I'm done with the runner." The brief conversation that occurs between the two drow who pause to inspect Amabella is short but enlightening...if one can understand drow, that is. There appear to be four of them, all sporting bows - two go on ahead while the others talk. Lyros, hidden slightly ahead behind a thick tree, looks down at his shaking legs and wonders if they can even carry him back to the relative safety of his camp, while peering cautiously out from around the bark at the approaching drow. His whispered casting trails off as the mage moves his hand back from his injury, withdrawing...something from within his very body, a sort of ooze that sticks stubbornly to his skin like a leech but eventually is torn from him. A ball of dark, cloying ichor wibbles and bubbles his palm; when Lyros flattens his hand and sends it back in the direction of his enemies with a breath and a command, the sticky liquid turns to a cloud of spreading dust. Nearly imperceptible in the dark, the black fog drifts through the air and is inhaled by one of the warriors, who abruptly stumbles after a couple of seconds and startles his comrades. Legs weak, arms trembling, the drow quickly succumbs to his own paralytic. And then there were three.
Amabella was treated to a rather peculiar spectacle as the signs of life in one of the drow began to partially falter. Her perception was just as lacking as (if not worse than) any other human's; however, being a priestess for Vakmatharas wasn't without its perks. The range of the effect was somewhat limited, but Amabella was able to sense the life force of just about anything with a soul around her after enough concentration. The two dark elves which were idly discussing things they had no real knowledge about began to move over to inspect their fallen comrade-- just as Amabella's form sprang to motion, lunging at their legs and gripping at their calves. Bone forced past the weak flesh of fingertips, piercing through leather and another barrier of skin and muscle. The victims screamed in horror as their bodies withered and collapsed, their wails akin to that of the damned. Ghastly light beamed out of their mouths, nostrils, and eye sockets for the mere moments it took for the lives to be drained and their souls sent to be devoured by the Great Void. Amabella's body slowly rose, propping her leg stump upon one of the limp forms below it. Her hands were held out to her sides dripping with gore, and covered in black tendrils of flame writhing out in every direction.
Lyros is lucky enough to have thrown himself back behind the cover of his tree, worried the other drow nearby happened to catch sight of him. Thus, the mage escapes being totally blinded by Amabella's light show, though even the illumination of the trees opposite causes white spots and sparks to dance across his vision - the remaining drow, however, suffers with the full exposure of the blast. Roaring a particularly nasty drowic curse the warrior blindly rushes Amabella, dropping his bow in favour of unsheathing his sword, which he draws through the air diagonally in front of him, from right hip to left shoulder. It's then brought down in a powerful swing as the drow attempts to bury the blade in the woman's headless body with such strength that it might possibly split her in two. Lyros moved when he turned his attentions to Amabella, slipping out from behind cover to approach the first drow, the one who got a full dose of his own paralytic poison... Lyros is not entirely sure if he just passed out or he actually died. Claw-covered hands prod the man's face and peel back an eyelid - his eyes have rolled back but he seems to be breathing. Lyros collapses to his knees by his side, still weak from the after-effects himself. With a soft, thoughtful hum in the back of his throat, he attempts to decide his fate. It would mean little to him either way, but he can't help wondering if it might be more of an insult to leave his enemy alive. A wicked grin crosses the mage's face - yes, it surely would.
Amabella was hardly in a position to defend herself against an armed opponent, let alone dodge any incoming attacks with the injuries she sustained. Amabella would have sighed as she watched her own body fail miserably in an attempt to lessen the damage inflicted by the drow's sword. Little blood or gore was left from the assault, although the drow managed to cleave right through Amabella's arms held up in futile defense as well as splitting her torso nearly clean through. The assailant was taken aback for a moment by disgust as the corpse continued to move before him, its organs starting to spill out through her parted rib cage while it attempted to prop itself on the ground. An urge to rid himself of such a horrid sight spurred the drow into motion once more until Amabella was a twitching mess of gore before him.
Lyros looks up— and grimaces at the sight of Amabella being butchered. The horrific spectacle makes it a little hard to tear his focus away from it, but the mage is forced to when the other drow, finally satisfied the undead has been hacked into an irreparable mess, turns towards his friend and finds Lyros knelt by him. Still half-blind and burning with rage, the bloodthirsty warrior advances with a low growl as Lyros stumbles to his feet and attempts to put some distance between them. But he is too slow, too light-headed, and the drow is intent on making certain this rat does not escape a second time. He catches the mage by the wrist and roughly drags him forward, then swings him around, slamming him back into a tree - the sword drives forward and Lyros' whole body jerks as it enters, puncturing the flesh of his abdomen and ripping through his armour with ease. He coughs, gripping the blade as if to try and pull it out, only succeeding in cutting up his hand, and the warrior gives him a truly vicious grin. "No running now, traitor." He uses a word so awful that even Lyros flinches at it - the term reserved for only the worst of drow, those who have chosen the surface over the Underdark, or committed such treasonous acts that they are no longer considered drow and traitors to their very blood and kin. Bowing his head, Lyros chokes, feeling his own life oozing up his throat, his gauntleted hand grasping weakly at the other drow's leather vest. Abruptly, the air between them sizzles with static charge and the mage's hand ignites with blazing dark magic; fuelled by his wicked, twisted art, Lyros unleashes a burst of his own blood and dark arcane energy directly into the drow's stomach in a close-range blast that rips straight through him, blasting viscera and gore out behind him to paint the ground red. Wide-eyed, the assailant crumples against him, leaving Lyros pinned to the tree half by his body and half by the blade still buried in his stomach. He makes a vague sound of protest and discomfort, managing a strained, "Are you still.. alive, or what?" Obviously, he's talking to Amabella. Or parts of her.
Amabella 's body, or what was left of it, raised a shaking hand in response. The rest of the gory mess just twitched helplessly. The woman('s head), herself, was no longer content to sit amongst the trees, and with enough wiggling, straining, and wobbling Amabella managed to set herself free from her leafy perch. It landed with a thud next to a pile of bones hidden in the brush-- wait a minute... The skeleton, a servant of Amabella's which ran off the other day, turned its skull to stare blankly back at its master's livid gaze. Realization hit after a few minutes, and it hurriedly stood at attention with a salute. Verbal commands didn't seem to be necessary as the minion picked up Amabella's head and carried it under one arm off to where her mutilated body lied. Trying to find the right point of reattachment took ages considering the body's condition, but eventually her neck was plopped back in its mostly-correct position. Now she sighed-- or rather, tried to. All that came out was an odd sputtering noise. "Boy! Get over here so we can both make it out in enough pieces!" Amabella called out. Her voice was tight, and the occasional squishing noises accompanying were rather unpleasant to the ears.
Lyros, after much struggling with only one working, weak arm, manages to shove the dead drow enough that he tips over backwards, giving the mage a little more room to gasp for air. His breaths are laboured and wet, but Lyros has lived through worse so he's taking it remarkably well. Gripping the hilt of the sword, he attempts to loosen it from the tree enough that he can pull himself free - he jolts forward suddenly with a groan, stumbles, but stays on his feet with the blade lodged in his stomach, minimizing blood loss. The skeleton's approach is noted and Lyros is almost too exhausted to be surprised by Amabella's reappearance, or the fact that she is even still alive— well, sort of. "That's 'sir' to you," the drow grumbles under his breath, taking weary steps over to the ruined remains of the woman's body. He stares down at her, a bit at a loss. "What the hell do you expect me to do?"
Amabella's animated slave gave Lyros an 'encouraging' pat on the back, effectively forcing the weakened man to his hands and knees over Amabella's remains. Her functional hand took hold of Lyros' face like a bird wrapping its talons around a skull. Their flesh stuck together from the energy coursing through where they touched despite her limited grasp. Amabella's eyes were visually consumed by a dark flame similar to that which earlier surrounded her hands. Instinct would futily cry to close his eyes, a primal fear no mortal was without. Entranced, Lyros would be forced to stare back into the bottomless pits where the woman's eyes once were. Faint tendrils of teal bled from his own orifices, funneling into the consuming darkness. This was a slow and painful process- almost savored -in contrast to the immediate drain their pursuers suffered. Lyros would be kept on the edge of death, the feeling of weak static coursing throughout his body. Amabella's form cracked and squished back together, magically reforming in a gruesome display of moving splintered bone and viscera. An odd thing happened, something which anyone else familiar with the art would be completely baffled by. Once Amabella was mostly restored, energy was siphoned back into her captive, reinvigorating him. When the process was finally complete Amabella would be left limp and 'lifeless' on the forest floor, while Lyros would be healed of most of his wounds, himself.