RP:Escape From Trist'oth

Summary: Quintessa recuses Kasyr from a horrible betrayal at the hands of the Drow. She desperately struggles to carry him back to the Vailkrin-Trist'oth border and keep him alive at the same time. Luckily, Quintessa manages to contain Kasyr's wounds in a most unorthodox way until a proper healer can be found.

Reverent Path

A number of people walk along this road, some of them entering a large building to the South, while others merely traverse to the east or west. From the faerie-fire limned sign hanging over the southern door, it seems to apparently be the Trist'oth Tavern. A towering set of adamantite reinforced doors to the North, emblazoned with the insignia of Trist'oth's ruling family, marks the entrance to House D'Artes. The palpable field of magic radiating outward from the entryway a mere hint at the protective measures undertaken to secure the Patriarchal compound; it would be easy to discern this isn't the kind of place one enters uninvited. In the distance toward the north, one can see that this ever-expanding house seems to occupy no less than fifteen large stalagmites and nearly that many stalactites looming well overhead, nearly every inch covered with either intricate carvings or outlines of decorative faerie-fire.

Kasyr let's out a laboured breath, weighed down by the soul crushing exhaustion which permeates his body, and makes the act of propping his head back against the wall a trial. He's trying to find something to take solace in that moment, and yet, even the little bit of satisfaction he might feel in having drawn things out, is intruded on by the thoughts which percolate unbidden within his mind. Whatever macabre triumph could be found in leaving a trail of bodies is undone by the simple fact that it leaves a readily followed trail for his enemies. And where, even in the estate was he? There's the distinct sense that it's familiar, and he should recognize it, and moreover, the familiar presence that seems to linger just beyond the doors- but his attention is drawn to the D'artes Crest which looms in the room, demanding the Kensais attention. "Merde." Maybe it'll go away if he just shuts his eyes.

Quintessa twists her sword as she executes the last anti-mage, the hex blade sighing in relief as the flow of magic is returned to her. It was unbearable being separated from her mana for so long. For a moment, the changeling forgets why she even came here until her aura finally extends out to Kasry just beyond the door. She rushes over, ignoring the hum of defensive magic flowing through the house as she shoulder rams the door open. "Kasyr!" she cannot believe the state he is in. "W-what have they done to you?!" Quintessa returns her katana to her sheath so she can lift up Kasyr with both hands, pulling him onto her back so she can let her powerful legs do the work. "You dolt! I told you not to deal with the Drow! I knew they were up to something." Her adrenaline would carry her back out of the doors and into the streets of Trist'oth before she ducked into an ally and sat him down again. "D-Delisha's bosom! I-I-" She was just down getting to look at the wounds up close, "I-I don't think I can heal this." Would potions be enough? Then it hits her. "False life! Just a little further, Mon amour. I have a book that can save you..."

Kasyr 's body is barely held together by such intangible elements as will & faith, despite the innumerable self inflicted fissures having spread out across his limbs. Still even at a glance, those traumatic injuries would pale in comparison to the massive gaping wound in his guts. It's likely only be when Quintessa's inspecting the Kensai that the sheer severity of the injuries might hit her, though perhaps the fact that the back of her shirt wast soaked through might hint at just how calamitous the wounds were. Because examination would reveal that rather then the damage that might have been attributed to Gevurahs hands, there's merely ruined scraps instead, the likes of which are still in the process of sparking away into inexistance. And whilst they might not be quite vitals, the Kensais long term survival may as well be inexistant, even without the absolutely profuse amount of blood loss that's set his pallour to one that was more familiar with his status as one of the undead. The only hint that there's something there at all, is the almost feverish look he manages to level in Quintessa's direction, and even that lasts a few moments. Still, his state did leave him notably easier to move about, if only because of the dreadful amount of weight he'd lost.

Quintessa locks eyes with Kasyr for a moment, the severity of the situation setting in. Really setting in. The novice necromancer struggles to recall what she read about the spell. Living things had 'life force' and that life force could be syphoned and controlled just like any other force, she just needed to focus, to feel it. A pale hand moves to his chest as her aura wraps around him, cradling his position along the weave with her own. Kasyr's aura felt so weak. He was barely still with her. Then, the changeling felt for her own aura, something she had never attempted before. She could feel herself along the weave, her energy wrapping around the energy of the kensai. Quintessa knew she could syphon his lifeforce, but could she syphon her own and give it to him? Could she reverse the flow of a Vampiric Touch? She didn't have time to think about it, so she just acted, pooling her own lifeforce into a her palm and shoving into the former vampire chest, hoping, praying to Daedria that this desperate act did something to help him.

Kasyr in what numb considerations were slipping through his psyche, probably wouldn't have been able to really contemplate the idea that things could get worse, and yet, here we are. That burst of Vital force is certainly invigorating, and yet the way in which it pushes back that numbing chill that had settled within his flesh allows for all new excrutiating sensations to etch themself into his person- forcing his eyes shut in the wake of the painful aftershocks. When he finally manages to speak, there's a sibilance to his words, something raw inside that draws out when he says, "Sorry." At the very least, however, she had his attention, his eyes remaining at last partially opened.

Quintessa can literally feel her life force slipping away, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling, life her consciousness was being sucked away by her own magic. Slowly, little tears began to split like seams across her body as she began to take on the damage Kasyr had sustained, but she would not be able to keep this up long. She knew it. The moment her lover was able to speak to her again she dropped the improvised spell. Using necromancy to simulate healing was not her greatest idea. "You can apologize to me later!" she snaps at him, ignoring the pain in her body and lifting him up once more. "The border to the Dark Lands is this way," she says, doing her best to carry him with her new fatigue setting in. Quintessa had bought the swordsman more time, but at what cost? If she couldn't get him back to Vailkrin then all this borrowed time would be squandered.

Kasyr s' almost tempted to exercise what little energy he has to retort, but there's something about the tone and look she gives him which brooks little argument. Instead, he simply focuses on doing his best to assist in holding on, though in that regards, his left hand is far more useful than the broken ruins of his right. "You're not." He needs a moment to swallow, the discomfort of being moved all the more palpable then it was moments prior, before he manages to finish his thought, "walking...? Right...?" Whilst there's certainly a hint of incredulousness in the tone, there's more than a few shades of concern as well, the Kensai's clouded brain already trying to sort through itself in search of something that could be passable as a solution, or some form of stop gap. Lacking that, prayer was always a pretty decent crutch- and this definitely seemed like one of those moments where he was maybe overdue for some soul searching. ..Or at least some form of mostly dignified pleading to divine sources that his student doesn't get murder ganked because he decided today was an excellent day to get his ticket punched.

Change In The Path

The path here makes a sharp turn. To the West there are many people shuffling down the underground path, all with blank looks upon their faces, each of them wearing a symbol of some type on the shoulder of their cloak, symbolizing what family that person is with in, showing honor. To the South is a road that is lit with a strange burning light, despite the flaming sphere, it is still extremely dark. To the east opens up a cavern, of sorts, heavily guarded. To the north is the Trist'oth Arena, where denizens of the deep enjoy the sport of bloody combat.

Quintessa struggles to carry Kasyr down the street, the crowds in the street parting as the changeling raises a hand to threaten them with, a spark of fire twirling around her fingertips. "Begone!" she hisses in Drow. She at least knew that word. None of the peasants here want anything to do with an angry mage, so they give her a wide berth. Some, slaves probably, even flee. "Bloodbeak is on the surface... I couldn't just bring him down here. As soon as we get to him I'll ride you back to my manor and stabilize you." She stops for a moment to catch her breath, mismatched eyes gazing southward. She remember using this exit the last time she had to escape Trist'oth. It was under Razurath occupation back then but the situation was markedly less dire. 02:43:45Ayras said OOC, "o/"

Kasyr wants to make some sort of fierce face to accompany the threat, but manages something closer to pained discomfort and aggravation, instead. His heart really isn't even in it, anyways, given his thoughts are diverted towards their current plight. Did they have long until more soldiers would arrive, or would they instead need to contend with the more calculated threats of assassins. . . .Would he even be there for Gevurah to take vengenance against? It's that thought which has him loosening his grip from around Quintessa's shoulders, as she tries to catch her breath, "This es not. Not something." The words are almost a slur but he manages to stay the course long enough to finish, "I walk away from, cherie." For the life of him, he wishes he could stand, but whatever energy had been breathed into him, it seemed all but devoted to simply ensuring he stayed conscience. Cognizant. "You. know. Quin."

Quintessa sets Kasyr down for a moment to fish around for her potions. She knows she has something that will buy them both a little more time. The changeling had managed to kill the guards that had kept her outside, but more would be on there way, probably. Who knows? The recent war had seen many casualties. Would they even bother going after these two? "Then don't walk. Drink." she brings a slender vial up to his lips and tilts it back, the bitter, yellow liquid sliding into his mouth. This wasn't a healing potion, but a powerful stimulant, one that would make it almost impossible to fall unconscious under. She knew that will alone was keeping him alive, so she needed to bolster that willpower instead of wasting her healing potions. That potion Quintessa quickly quaffs before moving to lift Kasyr again, the tiny wounds scattered across her body beginning to heal slowly. "I'm not going to let you die... I... n-" she cuts herself off, picking the swordsman up before she hurries down the street, not bothering to finish her sentence.

Faintly Lit Cave

The tunnels takes a sharp turn here, you can see a faint light coming from the North and a cave back toward the East. A small ball of faerie fire floats along the upper southwest corner of this path. A second shaft appears to have been torn open recently to the south, leaving the floor of the cave strewn with rubble.

Kasyr doesn't fight the changelings ministrations, even though fresh agonies blossom with each one. Somewhere between the words and the fresh warmth spreading in him, an ache starts to burrow it's way into his chest, making it that much harder to swallow. But there's a comfort to be found in that moment, compared to the uncertain darkness he'd been ready to commit himself to, that makes holding on for just a little while longer easier. "Okay." And then, with a bit more effort, he lamely manages, "It's okay." His eyes shut again, though this time more out of a need for concentration, then for the sake of pained exhaustion. As Quintessa leads the pair out from the city, and into the twisting tunnels which ensconce it- the swordsman simply tries to focus on what he can do, reaching out with his empathy in an effort to provide some small sense of reassurance. Some clarity and calm to be found at the center of this calamity. "I'm here."

Quintessa can tell the kensai is in pain and knowledge of that fact bring her reassurance. Pain meant that he was still alive. "Good," the hex blade says, her mismatched eyes gazing back in the direction of the city before she carries Kasyr eastward. She honestly felt relived. They were so close to climb up to Vailkrin. Quintessa wonders briefly if hauling Kasyr's dead weight up to the surface would be easier or harder than it was to haul Laharl's dead weight down from Frostmaw. She's certainly more motivated to get Kasyr back to safety than she was concerned about the lycan. "Then stay with me. We've almost made it home free."

Path of Bones

All along the path here, there are bones scattered about the floor, some old and some new. They appear to be from various different races, such as vampire skulls, human femurs, Elven ribs, and some other unknown bones, the smell here is putrid and not the best to be around, perhaps you should take your leave before you contract an illness. The path leads upwards at a very high incline or to the West towards a cave that appears to wind downward. Also, a trail of bones leads to the East.

Kasyrs' attempts at bolstering Quintessa in what little way he can right now also having a great deal of difficulty in keeping certain elements under wraps, such as the mingled sense of relief, along with the twinges of guilt that just seep out from the swordsman and into that sense of comfort he'd tried to exude. "I think..." Home had long side become a nebulous concept to the Kensai, as time marched onwards. Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped taking it into consideration- the castle becoming an empty shell as he kept moving. Even when he drifted to a far corner of Chartsend, and waiting for the next calamity to sweep him up, or some hint of something. Even his office in the mage guild had very little that could be said of it, other than that it appeared lived in (and questionably stocked up on liquor). "I'd like that." It's an answer to a question that wasn't quite asked, the hold of his arms about the changeling tightening slightly even as he feels his sense of clarity lurch. The potion, after all, kept him awake, but lucidity was never quite promised, was it?

Quintessa urges herself up the steep incline, a hand reaching to touch the ground more than a few times as she pulls them both upward. She was cursing herself now that she had not yet installed the pully system she was planning. No matter, if she never went back the that dreadful place it would be too soon. Quintessa rolls her eyes at Kasyr, "Enjoy it," she scoffs, remembering long nights at the Mage's Tower using that potion to stay awake to study. Cramming four years of schooling into two months required a lot of effort and a lot of alchemical assistance. Soon, the changeling can see moonlight, her inner strength building as she reconnects with the myscial energies of the Dark Forest. "Almost there. Bloodbeak is just up ahead." A few rocks tumble downward as the exit the path into the earth, finally crossing the border between Vailkrin and Trist'oth.

Path Into The Earth

The cave walls seem to squeeze the air around you, the old stone wishing to give way and rest for once, but it continues to be strong. Virtually no light exists here, accept, one, single torch, which barely lights one wall. The flame seems to burn for eternity and looks as though it has never been extinguished since its life began. A small pair of black iron gates seem to lead down further into the ground, being unlocked they can easily be opened. The only other way to go from here, is to the West.

Kasyr might not necessarily equate the idea of enjoying things to this particular situation, but there's at least a queer sort of comfort that he can cling onto in the moment. A sense of security and something more that makes continuing forward for a little while longer a bit more doable, despite the every jostle and ache that ripples through him as they ascend. Unfortunately, the inability to fight or do little more than exert his stubborness in the only way he can means he has little more to do than contemplate what just occured, to the full extent that his distorted thoughts are capable of. "Oh f***." Yup. "We're Probably. . . All?" Mmhmm. " going to die." Give him a prize folks. he manages to cut right to the heart of the matter there. I mean, sure, it lacks the imperative description of divine apocalypse. But, it's definitely the best he can manage right now.

Quintessa whistles for her mount, the three meter tall bird, Bloodbeak, and he stalks out of the tree line like the dangerous predator he is and eyes the pair suspiciously. He tolerated the changeling, but this human was a stranger. His feathers ruffle in agitation, but the glower earned by Quintessa is enough to make him behave as she straps Kasyr to the saddle, pulls him along. "What are you talking about?" Quintessa knows nothing about apocalypses, divine or not. "If they come for us in my manor that'll be a clear act of war. The vampire houses might be in a tizzy but once they have something to focus on they'll crush what remains of the Drow." Now that Quintessa felt safe again, her anger at the situation was growing. "The Drow!" she spits, "Inbred cave elves, more like! Why were you even there? Why were you in -her- house?"

House Dragana

Towering over the abyssal forest, the dark mass of House Dragana is no less eerie than the vegetation, or lack thereof, in which it stands. The mansion's outer perimeters are flanked by the twisting trees and there are no gates to prevent the seemingly less desirable denizens of the forest from trespassing upon the property. A sleek, obsidian walkway runs from the house's entry to the path. The only source of light without comes form wrought-iron lanterns that are placed on either side of the walkway, spaced perfectly from one another. Within them, an eldritch glow of a deep, verdant hue flickers. Those brave enough to approach House Dragana's doors will be greeted with iron knockers bearing blackened skulls, their eyes set with emeralds that glow with the same light from the lanterns. Within the house's walls, there is no shortage of decadence. Only the most elegant of furniture is placed throughout its rooms. A grand staircase of blackened wood leads to the upper levels, where rooms for those that reside within the house can be found. Midway up, the stairs split to the left and right, spiraling upward. Here, there is a landing with a set of double doors that leads to a large ballroom. The lower level of the house plays host to a dining area and kitchen, though rarely used, a grandiose library filled with grimoires and tomes, and a small museum of artifacts collected by the house's residents. Though there appear to be no candles to light the way, an ethereal glow floods the innards of the house, providing ample reading light - undoubtedly arcane in origin. Dark magic is weaved into the house's existence as a measure of protection.

Kasyr has not often been interchangeable with luggage, but this evening has been full of all sorts of initial experiences- and this one features amongst the most tolerable of them. At least he wasn't in a burlap sake? That's definitely an idea that his all but insensate mind latches upon for a while, and which provides a comforting distraction as the comfort and stability provided by faith begins to wane. How long, exactly, has he been stretching out this agony for himself, anyways? How long exactly since that meeting with Gevurah? There's something monstrous in his own continued survival. "Fitting match." Yeah, he's -really- not helpful right now, as far as questioning goes.

Quintessa gasps angrily, "Fitting match? What the hell does that mean?" She pulls Bloodbeak close to the doors of House Dragana and they swing open with magical propulsion as she calls for her vassals to come help her. As her men hoist Kasyr from the aggressive cockatrice (who stomps away the moment the swordsman left his back) the Baroness heads to her laboratory to set up Kasyr's 'hospital bed' on the autopsy table. In red chalk, she begins to escribe runes from a book she collected from Larewen's library building a circuit, a network in which to cause a feedback loop of magic energy once she primed it. By the time her zombies carry Kasyr to her lab, she is ready for him to be placed in his makeshift medical bed. As she works she sheds her cloak, letting it fall to the floor as she grabs tools and implements stop the bleeding, to contain what bits of him she could with a metal cylinder normally used to hold together flesh golem bits. If Kasyr was soup, at least he'd be canned. On the metal too, the strange girl began to inscribe runes, but instead of the golem ritual she did something different. From another book she copied the runes for a 'Continual False Life spell' mockingly called the 'pseudo-healing spell' in the margins of the same book. But she didn't care about that, she knew she could get this right. Quintessa was thankful that she was constantly made to deal with runes even though she hated them. They were a solid foundation for magic in any situation. With Kasyr finally prepared, the hex blade bring out a fist-sized chunk of quartz and holds it over him, letting her natural pool of mana flow freely into it to active the many runes she had prepared for him. Inside of her tin can, the ghostly outlines of missing organs would simulate real life functions, although crudely. It wasn't perfect, only functional. A false body would contain false organs, connecting where they should where flesh and blood ended. Once the final rune had activated, she lowers the crystal and takes a long breath. This was the most advanced thing she had ever attempted, and she hoped it at least worked correctly. Even if it did, she had no idea how long it would hold. "Kasyr?" she finally speaks, nudging him, "You better still be alive."

Kasyr s spasms upon the activation of the spell, the connection of counterfeit 'organs' serving to kick-start sensations that had been buried. Phantasmal organs echo phantom pains- relieving sensations of rending then searing apart that had been covered in the fog of battle, and which serve to sever the connection to the Kensais consciousness. And without consciousness, How can one lean upon dutiful devotion, or stubborn will? The network of fractures which run the gamut of the Kensais body start to shimmer and spark once more, some dread subconscious force hungering as the Kensais grasp on life becomes more tenuous- and then, the spell takes proper hold, the Kensai finally slipping fully into an unrestful, but 'living' state of unconsciousness.

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