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RP:Gualon Plaza: Hours after the Siege

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Part of the Siege of Gualon Arc


The people were unsettled and milling about, clogging the tavern and the usually pleasant plaza leading into the exotic gardens of Gualon. Something seemed to be going on in the middle of the town square. An orphan ducked out from the surrounding crowd and ran toward the town hall, followed shortly by another. They were replaced by two more, elbowing and shoving their way into the crowd until they reached the epicenter of the large gathering. Those in the immediate vicinity were of orcish descent, with a few goblins and orgres thrown in for variation. There was a large cage in front of them, surrounded by a mass of orcs, some alive, some undead. In the cage were two figures - an immense ogre, who was, for all intents and purposes, quite dead, and savagely carrying out a task willed by some unseen hand. The other figure was a man shackled to the interior of the cage's floor by his wrists. He was kneeling - probably because he couldn't stand - and spitting blood out of his mouth and onto the already saliva and bloodstained steel floor of the cell. The ogre swung again, and sent Tristram sliding sideways with a painful thud and clatter of chains. And then the orcs cheered. The sound was worse than hearing his own bones break. The foolish, fickle orcs. They had turned on him the second they were fed the insidious lies that he had abandoned them, traded the city for his own protection. The saurian spit out a stream of blood and a tooth or two and forced himself into an upright position again. The undead ogre, once on his very own side turned to face him and bellowed into the crowd, which roared in response.


Helich :: Helich was one of the bystanders. If he could be called that. Surrounded by a few of his undead greenskins of course. Well. Several. Well. Alot, really. Could never be too safe but - but - here he was. His entire face was bandaged except the eyes and nose - those eyes were narrowed with anger, the nostrils flaring with contempt....He had had a seat brought to him. Even with the scene before him - he did not appear to be enjoying himself. Though he watched each blow with passing interest. His mind was a swarm of plans, contemplation.


Tristram was defeated, sure, but he wasn't any less himself. The orphans were doing their part to keep Tristram, well, alive, and this time they had slipped a sharpened bolt into the corner of the cage, which he had collected when being thrown across it. Palming the steel rod, he struggled to his knees once more and when the ogre turned his back to him, he leaned forward and drove it through the ogre's foot with a sickening squish and a garbled moan of pain from the less than jolly green giant. He didn't possess enough power to push the rod through the equally hard steel of the cage floor, which prevented him from nailing the ogre in place, and with another roar, he stumbled back and pulled the thing from his foot and let it fly across the crowd. "If I get another one," the imprisoned man muttered, though the crowd had grown quiet enough so that he could be heard. "I'm going to jam it through that rock you call a head."


Helich :: The ogre's reaction was swift after the roar of pain. Helich tensed up - which caused a recoil of pain to surge through his entire torso. The Ogre's huge hand gripped Tristram's neck - a tight hold, but not enough to really harm the male. A scratchy voice left that throat, but the accent used suggested that it was in fact not the undead greenskin that was speaking. "Isn't it adorable how I roar? As if I am still alive. You poor man. If another of your little friends tries to help you, I will have all of their throats slit yes? Do you want to see that? Maybe I shall throw them in the arena and let a few of my brothers have their way with them hmm?"


Tristram had no answer, but despite the green hand wrapped around his throat, his eyes sought out the source of the voice -- the true source. He could scent draconic blood through any illusion, but the scent of his own dripping down his body was so strong he could barely smell anything at all, not his sweat, not the garbage that had been hurled into the cage, not the sweet, lingering scent of the gardens that wafted through the plaza with any breeze at all. Eventually an answer was forthcoming, in the form of a defeated, "F--- you." An orphan was sent scuttling through the crowd once more after a particular glare from the saurian; the warning was taken, and passed on accordingly. The orcs were taking up another chant, and Tristram couldn't help but wonder if Greux was among them. He rocked back on his heels and jerked his head away from the ogre. Someone had reported news on the board to him, secretly, and in passing, and his eyes roamed the crowd once more. Two weeks until his execution? Bloodied lips dipped downward in troubled thought, and he tried to drown out the chants of the orcs.


Helich :: The male untensed after a moment. His mind was far more troubled than Tristrams own. What to do with all these people? How to feed them while on the move? Raiding - of course, certainly, but would there be enough? Thousands of Orc, ogre, goblin - thousand of green-skinned citizens occupied this city and now considered them their ruler. A voice would whisper in Tristram's ear - the ogre had gone stiff as a statue, still in that exact post sif he were holding the male. Course, only Tristram would hear it. Even over the chanting, "Do you know what I am going to do with your pretties? They are going to set the world afire. So easy they are yes? Fickle and idiotic. It takes very little for me to overwhelm them mentally, very very little. Though numbers do stack no? You agree?" The Ogre now shifted into motion, smacked the leader in exile across the face. The sort of smack that did more than sting, the male may be seeing stars for a few minutes. "And all of your pretties who fell - they rose again yes? How odd really, my sister hadn't told me the curse carries over. Necromancers and their secrets, oh my."


Tristram tensed the same moment Helich's illusionary self untensed. His words caused the blood in his veins to boil, and the muscles along his jaw to grow taut. The slap was merciful this time because it robbed him of consciousness for a few blissful minutes. His head swam, and he could only see one face in the crowd, and he knew before darkness took over his vision, and then his senses - a darkness that was not of magical means, but natural. The human body can only stand so much. It was a bucket of dirty water thrown over him that roused him back to consciousness, and then the pail hurled after the water, which he deflected with his arm. It was becoming progressively harder to pull himself upright, to stay defiant and strong, like any leader would under the present circumstances. His eyes sought out the infiltrator once more, and his words were meant for Helich as he spoke them, and not the ogre that stood dumbly by and smiled at the orcs jeering and cheering him on. "They are smarter than you give them credit for." No they weren't. His lie was so transparent. He backtracked. "But they are easily turned. Perhaps tomorrow they learn the truth of the situation and kill you while you sleep in my bed." The ogre lumbered forward and jerked his head back by his hair, perhaps for talking, because Tristram doubted he understood the implication of his words. "Easy there," he cooed, licking dry lips. "I'm far too pretty for you to keep shoving around like this. No one is going to want to see some ugly, unrecognizable sob executed in a week's time, are they?"

Diyuir moved silently through Gualon. The Elven blood was well disguised from the legion of living and dead green skins alike. For the male was wearing only ragged cloths yet his own flesh was covered by that of an undead orcs. Diyuir had taken one of the defeated corpses with him from last nights battle and skinned the fiend making its own flesh into a leathery suit that was stitched into Diyuirs own body. He took his movements cautiously and slow as to keep away from any suspicion which was far easier against an army of morons. The Wood Elf had come back to the forsaken city and infiltrated it hoping for a multiple number of things. One he had hoped to find sight of his berserker friend and even Uviour. He also hoped to find Helich and end the beings life but above that he wished to find sir Tristram. Word of the mans execution had spread quickly through the lawless city of Kelay and Diyuir had spoken with his blood Lirithen about finding the man. Diyuir search had been futile and he was ready to get out of the swamped city until he came forward to the plaza. The sight before him made Diyuir grit his teeth in anger. His soulless eyes were cast upon his Berserker companion, Tristram and Helich all at once. He felt his blood begin to boil as he saw that his second guardian had been turned into a damned abomination. Though now was not the time for sickly emotions. Diyuir hadn't really thought about what to do if he had found Tristram during his infiltration and honestly had no idea where to go from here. So for now the man played along, offering only a slight moan every now and then as he advanced upon the prisoner slowly. He dragged his heavy set iron sword through the dirt to blend in with the rest of the undead minions through the eyes of Helich and his the other intellectuals that would surround him.

Helich chose not to respond to Tristram with words, but action. This time the Ogre sought his hair, gripped it, and smashed it against the steel bottom of the cage. The creature held him there, cheek against steel. The guise the dragon had chosen was contrasting with the bandages around his face and torso, but he spoke with a steady tone. "You have a point Darkheart. Perhaps we should leave you to be recognizable."


Tristram might have lost another tooth. He had stopped counting, in all honesty. His head slammed against the bottom of the cage, but it was almost a welcome respite. The coolness eased the pain radiating throughout his face, which was taking the brunt of the ogre's abuse. He didn't struggle against the ogre's grip; what was the point? "Speaking of your sister," he shifted his head under the ogre's meaty paw and fixed his eyes on the bandaged form of Helich. "You should have heard the things she asked me to do to her when we were alone. Shocking."

Helich growled. Coming from a drow it would sound odd - for it was a dragon's growl. Keeping his face recognizable be damned. The saurian waved a hand - the crowd of Orcs began to chant louder - the black winced at the gesture - but soon the Ogre was picking Tristram up off the ground and holding him upside down by a leg. "You would be wise to watch your tongue, look at all the good it has gotten you thus far!" The Ogre shouted loud enough for the crowd to hear. They cheered even harder now, waiting, anticipating something entertaining was about to occur.

Helich apologizes to Diyir and throws in the fact that he has no idea Diyuir is there at all.

Diyuir continued to advance through the horde of orcs and ogres towards the large cage. It took everything the man had to hold back a flinch as Tristram was smashed into the cage. The Elven man resisted the urge to simply grip his blade and start lobbing off heads. As much as he wished to set Tristram free and liberate Gualon, he knew he couldn't. Not without a plan. Diyuir was no hero. Finally the man made his way to the front of the pack and without knowing it stood directly beside Helich. He stared into the cage at the Ogre that held Tristram and tried his best to find something decent left in the beast. He turned up empty and his Tree Born abilites would be of no use here. At the furious calls of death and cheers for Tristrams pain Diyuir realized he wasn't exactly fitting in. But then again, not all of the undead were able to speak due to their vocal chords being ripped out. So he held his ground firmly as his mind raced for a tactic to get Tristram out of the cage and to safety. His eyes looked wildly around and acknowledged everything yet there was nothing to be found so the Wood Elf simply waited patiently as Helich continued to taunt his prey.

Tristram found himself hoisted in the air by one set of four arms and hung there. It became some sort of bizarre rack, with his hands chained to a set of bolts on the floor of the cage, and his body hoisted to the top. It was impossible to conceal the grimace, or stifle the urge to pass out again as his ribs popped and snapped. "F---," he couldn't help but groan, and send a wild gaze around those gathered closest. Bleeding orcs. Someone new had appeared next to the illusionist, and he tried to focus on the form of Diyuir while getting spun around by an over-eager ogre. He swallowed a mouthful of blood and saliva and wisely kept his mouth shut - for now.

Helich didn't note Diyuir's presence, and wouldn't unless the male got so close that he could empathically detect him. At any rate - the four armed ogre pulled just that much harder, slowly stretching the male. "Scream."

Tristram didn't scream. Instead, he set his jaw and willed the blood to flow to his brain ... faster.