RP:Hooked!

From HollowWiki

Background

This is part 2 of the Sojourn in the Underdark story arc.


Jolie is led deeper into the Dead Caves by Patron Kuzial Stavret -- and there be monsters...




Beady eyes stare from behind the elongated beaks as the unwelcome creatures pass beneath. Barely audible clicks pass primitive signals between the creatures as they prepare the deathly descent upon the curious intruders below. Dropping down upon the group, the ambushed develops within the pitch darkness in a matter of seconds. Their movements fluid and rapid, cold blooded in nature they nearly blend in with the background temperatures of the cavern walls. What seems to be four of the beastly creatures spring immediately into action, two descending into the middle of the group, both reaching out with extended hook-like limbs in attempt to trip up their adversaries. The remaining two creatures fall directly into combat, slicing downward with their razor sharp hooks toward the leading creature, a twisted desire within their hearts to see the warm blood of the Drow pour upon the cool stone, the infrared appearance of such a sight like a kaleidoscope in their eyes.


Jolie returned Kuzial’s look with something of a droll glance – he had indeed told her, quite often, of the dangers here and so she felt prepared to face what came, her body tensile now, sword poised. The revived corpses shuffling behind stirred dry bones with their feet, revenant senses and synapses dulled, and their minds unattuned to caring about self-preservation - understandably. Jolie had only time to cast a single, irritated glance back toward them for the noise when she caught a clicking sound, looked up and found a shadowy shape suddenly mid-descent and almost immediately after, another. The lilac-scarved elf tripped, falling heavily, as he would never have done when alive, one foot severed bloodlessly, his flesh twisting to attempt a return blow to the cause, of course not feeling the agony of such a wound as anyone living would. Jolie barely managed to scoot out of the way of the fall, her sword a black slice of shadow, even in this darkness, and she sprang over the struggling undead with a low-throated cry that set the other warriors swinging and slashing at anything solid that was neither Joliette nor her drow companion. Infrared gifted by the Stavret insignia faintly revealed thin greenish shapes that were living limbs, and these slender, hooked protrusions were the target of the duergar blade as she sliced toward them, almost hacking them such was the rush of adrenaline coursing through her, a death-wish thrill and terror blended to the perfect cocktail of chill, electric impulse driving her every blow. Her eyes turned wildly for Kuzial – without the Patron, she was lost here, and truly had no wish to see him dead.


Kuzial was turning back from Jolie when the whisper of sound caught his attention. He reacts without conscious thought: Leaping forward beneath one of the descending creatures, landing on his shoulder, before coming up quickly. During his roll he discarded his axe, for such a weapon is as good as useless in such close confines, and during the motion of standing he had drawn his ebon sabre in one hand and one of his fine daggers in the other. He snarls at the beasts, a gesture as feral as any they could make, before working his fine weapons through some basic strikes and stabs, while his feet dance over the remains of the many warriors who have fallen for their ambush. His balance is always perfect as he strikes out, trying not to kill the beast but to wound it in such a way that it dissuades others to join the fray. He tries to keep the back of the first beast in line with the second one, to stop him having to fight two at once. Which works well until he stumbles on an out-stretched hand made of nothing but bone. This opens him up to the other beast, who if charged would find himself impaled on the drow's ebon blade, for the trip was a ruse designed to force the beast into slamming its own weight against the strike, even though it did leave Kuzial open to attack from the second, if it were still in a position to do so...


Chaos ensues rapidly as the various action within the cramped tunnel take place simultaneously. Heavy grunting, footsteps upon the rock, clanking blades and the Drow's feral grunt fill the air. The two creatures attempting to flank Kuzial with untrained savage movements rush in with a complete lack of forethought and skill, swiping at the Drow in the darkness. The patron's superior blind fighting skill and technique prove valuable as the first of the creatures takes a solid blow upon its fleshy belly from the swordsman. The second charges with little regard for the blow dealt upon the other creature, either he had not noticed or did not care; the instinctive action served poorly for the Hook Horror as it indeed falls victim to the Drow's ploy, skewered upon Kuzial's blade. With all of the beastly creatures weight, it collapses toward the patron, hooks outstretched as if to catch its weight upon the Drow's shoulders. The two more successful creatures continue their onslaught upon the undead minions, apparently oblivious to their companions fate at the Drow's hands. Jolie's wild blows catch the armored backs of one of the creatures, and it responds with a sudden 360 spin with its hooks extended to their fullest, swinging with astounding speed at neck height.


The fallen elf was quickly dispatched, or at least rendered into useless, twitching parts, and the orc in the green scarf had already lost an arm, which dangled half-flensed and useless from shattered, exposed bone. The others bore various deep cuts that did not affect them so badly, and hooked limbs were crushed under a slammed-down mattock wielded by “Mister Pink,” the orc impassive in its obedience to the task it was magically animated to achieve. Jolie was distracted, both by the ongoing attack on Kuzial and the extra effort required to make her troop do more than shamble behind her, and so she did not see those hooks flailing the darkness toward her, barely visible and swift. Thus it was to her great fortune that the sundered elf’ left leg found the back of her heels when she shifted away from the latter fray to try to gain Kuzial’s side, and the necromancer toppled – those hooks whistling in the cold air as they passed overhead to catch the one-armed orc in the back of its head. Behind it, its vile companion was being assaulted heavily by a hammer-weilding ogre corpse and two hefty human slaves, a duo of brothers purchased from the pits of Gualon arena, both with a heavy mace and bastard sword in either hand. Jolie’s frame bounced upward, impelled by a thrust of hand and heel off stone, her thighs unbending as she swivelled toward that second beast hunting the Patron. The sword was useless at this distance. A dagger-hilt slid into her gloved palm from its armour-borne sheath, released with a quick tap of her sword-hand on the mechanism’s trigger, the deadly scorpion poison tipping it guaranteed to fell a drow with a whisper of a nick to skin, and she prayed that this one would find some life-fluid bearing flesh to carry the toxin on a swift and deadly path through the beast.


Kuzial releases his blade the moment it was driven into the hook horror's flesh, and spins to the side, catching a devilish hook in his shoulder as he does. His finely crafted chainmail stops his flesh from tearing, but the heavy blow has the contradictory effects of both numbing his arm and sending waves of agony throughout his body. His wickedly sharp dagger is dropped from numb fingers, but Kuzial doesn't have the time to dwell on such things. He bends down to pick up a rusted sword from the ground before leaping at the wounded hook horror. He strikes a perfect slash across it's upper chest, which only causes his new-found weapon to snap inches above the hilt. The disciplined patron of House Stavret is far too learned to swear in rage, the sounds of battle would attract enough beasts as it is, without letting them know for sure sweet warm-blooded flesh was on the menu. As he takes a step back, preparing to drive the shattered hilt into the hook horror's face he notices it begin to sway. It seems Jolie's concealed weapon had found its mark, and before the large beast's system could seek to control the insidious poison, Kuzial was upon it. Driving the jagged end of his broken sword repeatedly into its face until it falls flat on its back, finally still. The drow eyes Jolie for a moment within the surrounding chaos, before bending down to pick up Nuial'Ashier with his one good arm. He hopes she is wise enough not to move, for he retracts the weapon over his right shoulder before hurling it with all his strength at the back of the final hook horror's head. It would fly close to Jolie on its chosen path, dangerously close, but it would not strike her unless she was foolish enough to get in its way...


Slick are the smooth stone floors as the growing volume of slimy blood collects from the hook limbed creatures. With two felled by the Drow, one rather disarmed and in shock by the destruction of its primary weapon, and another being mobbed by the band of undead guards, the ranks of hook horrors were growing more dire with each passing moment. The orc and human slaves finally beat with poor undead grace upon the creature until its bloody body lay helplessly upon the ground. As the final, one armed horror attempts to fend for itself, a blade meets solidly with it's chest, the chaos and rapid movement of people about the crowded cavern make it difficult to discern who even struck the final blow. Silence fills the musty air for a moment, heavy breathing the only audible signals through the darkness. Moments pass before a sudden rise in soft clicking noises can be heard once again, these clicks are much unlike the others, though far more numerous. Some two dozen baby hook horrors pour out of tiny crevices in the cavern walls and attempt to revenge their parent's death. Only 1 foot in height, though rapid moving the tiny half cockroach, half vulture creatures peck and scratch at the Drow, lycan and undead. Climbing up their clothing with tiny claws as they attempt to gain access to scratch and peck at the murderous intruders.


WHOOSH. Jolie’s ebon hair fluttered, strands wafted by the gust of air displaced by the drow-axe’s aerial passage – indeed she had caught that warning crimson glance from Kuzial and fortunately steeled herself to the task of not moving. She didn’t turn to see the result. The cave was solid mayhem, now. Undead warriors crushed and smashed the smaller hook-fiend’s progeny, their cold flesh unmindful of those lesser wounds, though the sheer number of the foe could prove a burden to them, were they not dealt with quickly. She bounded through the swarm, kicking and prodding the things away from her path on approach to the Patron, though a couple of beaky horrors managed to clamber up and hold on, their sharp mouths pecking deep divots in leather armour where it was not supported by steel, one even managing to find soft flesh between buckled-on plate, ripping through clothing to taste lycan blood. It was then that Jolie groped for her belt, recalling the bulbs of leather appended there. A shout rose over the clicking, a dire and foul three-worded order for the undead to retreat toward her, away from the mass of weirdling infants. One of the bulbs had its pin removed by now, and the glass vial released to her hand was filled with a thin, red liquid. Jolie said to Kuzial, “Run!” The vial was thrown, smashing on stone or creature, its contents splashing. This was followed by another, at a slight distance from the first, leaving the mass of oncoming creatures spotted with seemingly harmless droplets. Then Jolie spoke the terrible phrase that would ignite the alchemical naphtha she’d hurled, and took to her heels into the dark, regardless of who did or did not have the nous to follow. Flames erupted. Naphtha, as its happens, sticks to everything – including infant Hook-Horrors. Not counting the ones still appended to the necromancer, still trying to tear her apart.


Kuzial gives in to the demands his rage makes and lets off a string of euphoniously lyrical curses, damning anything from dragons to dwarfs and everything in between. He is without his sword, his axe and minus one dagger... and these little hooker bastards want to come turn him into their whore. It will not happen! He is about to leap into a rage induced frenzy and start impaling the little children with his make-shift weapon, before he hears Jolie cry out. For just a moment he stands puzzled, before he figures if the mad woman wanted to fight them all, well damn her, she can. He turns on his heel and sprints away from the cave, effortlessly avoiding the mutilated corpses that cover the floor. He does not stop until he is hidden in the shadows of the adjacent cavern, and there he turns to stare back into the room, just as her fires burst into life. A driving agony erupts in his head as his heat sensitive eyes catch the glow. He snarls at the surprising woman as he turns his back on the blast, letting his gaze shift back to the normal spectrum of light. Even in this state his eyes burn, but at least now he can look back to see the fate of his... ally of sorts. He sees her charging at him with a few of the bastards doggedly clawing to her body. In silence Kuzial waits until the last moment, before he leaps out and boots one of the children back into the bubbling mass of its brothers and sisters. The last one Kuzial bends down and picks up by its head, tearing it off the necromancer's armour. His wounded arm struggles to control the flailing little bugger, but hold it does, and he manages a wicked smile at Joliette. "I think click, click clack means mummy." He offers it to her.


A few of the juvenile creatures go flying though the air by means of Jolie's foot as she sprints toward Kuzial, smacking against the wall before they attempt to shuffle back into the fray. A moment later, following the sudden cry from the necromancer, a shock to all of the underdark creatures' senses bursts forth with the flash of fiery tumult. Flame spreads from baby to baby as they cry out in tortured agony. The few remaining children hanging on to the lycan's armor release as soon as the flash fills the venue, attempting to shield their sensitive eyes unsuccessfully with their hooked appendages. Running about blindly, the unfortunate hatchlings wander straight into the flaming death which is their clutch mates. Smoke fills the cramped cavern as the fire quickly consumes the bulk of oxygen and the air grows thick and choking amidst the smell of charred hook horror flesh.


Jolie plucked up a couple of nestlings that had stumbled out of the cave, lobbing them into the conflagration behind while Kuzial picked up his ‘gift’. She eyed the creature. Then Kuzial. Then the hook-horror again. “Thanks…” She did not take it, and left Kuzial to act as chief babysitter and the creature struggling in the drow’s grip, while she tugged her undershirt’s collar up and over her nose, dodging the shambling frames of the humans and ogre that spilled out of the acrid smoke-filled cave – accompanied, amazingly, by a one-armed orc with half its head missing and patches of smouldering, slow-burning skin, still carrying that large bag she’d tasked it with - as the necromancer dived back into the morass. Which was something of a mistake – sight and scent were all choked by the thick fumes, and the whereabouts of Kuzial’s weapons remained unknown; she simply had no means of locating them, she realised a few feet in. So out she came, shaking her head, coughing. “We’ll have to wait for it to clear,” she managed between hacks. As for that hook-horror.. “And that thing? Hold on…” The bag held by the unfortunate ‘Mister Pink’ – who was swaying, and clearly in bad shape, his brain dribbling loose from a wedge of missing skull and one end of his flamingo-hued scarf ablaze – was ransacked for a soporific drug, a powder she would sprinkle on the monster once she returned to the drow. “Sing it a goddamn lullaby, if you like,” she muttered, chagrined at losing half her guard, and the deep cuts on her own flesh that were puddling in armour and on stone below now that she was standing still.


Kuzial shakes his head as the woman returns to the hellacious room, and is not at all surprised when she stumbles back out. "My weapons will be fine, though whether we are safe without them, I do not know." As she sprinkles the powder over the struggling hook horror, the patron drow holds it out before him. He feels its struggles grow weaker and weaker, until, with a shudder, it fades into unconsciousness. With scant regard for the disgusting little child, Kuzial drops it at Jolie's feet. With his hands free he rubs his stinging eyes, before letting them shift back to their infrared spectrum. "I will ensure we are safe for the moment." Without waiting for reply the drow spins on his heel and stalks silently from the cave; utilizing all of his stealth to ensure there are no surprises lurking close enough to cause immediate danger. Satisfied, he returns to where Joliette is and speaks, his rage held in check, "We will have to rest here until the fires die down, or until our scouts come back." The drow lifts a hand to rub his bruised shoulder, before making his way over to Jolie. "Let me check your wounds. Some beasts down here plant eggs in their victim's flesh with their bites, which grow into maggot like creatures which consume the unfortunate person from the inside out. Slowly." He smiles then, faintly comforting, "Let's hope those ones were too young."


Jolie had already bent to pick up the hook-horror youngling, and was dangling it by one hook between forefinger and thumb, wondering where to put it when Kuzial returned. “Eggs…?” The hapless horror was dropped again, landing with a soft thud beside her boot. “In my….?” She was ripping her armour off then, fingers tearing at the buckles until the bulk of it lay on the floor in a heap by the little monster. Pale limbs were offered out to the drow as she turned this way and that, clearly in a panic, her arms and legs sliced here and there where hooks had sliced through bits of leather not reinforced with metal bands, patches of skin torn in places where tiny beaks had poked through gaps in her armours. The necromancer’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Can you see any? Get them off me. Now. Nownownow.”


Kuzial takes a certain sadistic joy in her panic; he watches her flail for a few moments, before grabbing her shoulder in one hand and her wrist in the other. He lifts her arm and stares intently at the scratches, then moves other to the other arm. The wounds are scrutinized carefully, before he kneels down in front of her. Strong hands grab her leg and he traces the outline of one of the deeper wounds. He lets out an ominous 'hmmm' before squeezing it between his thumbs. A thin trickle of blood becomes a gush that runs down the length of her pale leg, which causes Kuzial to nod. He stands again and locks his crimson eyes on Joliette's own. "You are fine. You were lucky this time, Lady Darkness." He remains there, staring at her. "Just be wary of that one." He indicated the baby with a flick of his head. "They are not to be tamed." A hint of a grin tugged on his ebon lips as he finished speaking. "Not even by you."


Jolie submitted to his inspection with the intrepid resignation of one who recalls the necessities of a battlefield all too well, and did her best not to wince when he squeezed that wound, gritting her teeth against the pain. When he met her eyes and announced the verdict, her relief was tangible, colour returning visibly to her cheeks. There was no question as whether he was sure, though it did swell in her throat. This was his land, and he understood better than just about anyone, and certainly a thousand times better than she did, so she would take him on his word and hold a dear and secret wish that he wasn’t just messing with her and looking forward to seeing her eaten from the inside out. With a bone-deep shiver, Jolie too glanced at the hook-horror, nudging it with the toe of her boot. “It’ll have its uses,” she said, and then, “I need to get this blood cleaned up. The scent…” Her gaze fell on Kuzial’s shoulder then, “And you? Are you blood-wounded? I have some gauze and things, in the pack.” Mister Pink, as though he understood her with his half a brain, swayed silently and dropped the bag before keeling over onto the rocky tunnel floor with a loud thud.


Kuzial winced as Mr Pink placed the bag on the ground, before introducing the remnants of his splattered face to it. He may be a callous, cruel drow who revels in torture. But that is just disgusting. He lifts his hand to his shoulder then bends down a touch so Jolie can see it. His fine chainmail stopped the blow from slicing into his flesh, and with a satisfied nod he speaks, "I do not dress in this without reason." He stands up straight and rotates the shoulder. "It will be fine soon. I heal fast." His eyes roam over her wounds, "Clean yourself up and rearmour yourself. I am going to get my weapons." With that he leaves Joliette alone in the cave and returns to the scene of their past battle. Waves of heat dance before his sensitive vision, but with a warrior's instinct he moves through the charred, foul-smelling flesh until he stands over the smouldering remains of the first hook horror he slew. With a disgusted grunt he pushes it onto its side, exposing the protuding hilt of his ebon sabre. He curls his hand around the weapon and draws it clear. Without bothering to clean it he returns it to the intricate sheate on his belt, before hunting around through the charred flesh for his dagger. He looks for a few moments, before giving up. The foul stench is too much for him and at least he has his sword. With his piwifwi pulled up to his nose, he returns back to where he left Jolie.


As much as she might have come to loathe the lycanthropine virus that her once-lover had introduced to her system – merely another in her long list of regrets – she was glad for its regenerative properties. Kuzial would find the necromancer seated on that flat rock again, in her in her under-armour, dabbing at wounds with a clean cloth and some sort of alcohol dabbed on it from a small flask that sat beside her. While they’d take time to heal without a full shift, the cuts were at least no longer bleeding freely. A roll of gauze bandage had been cut into lengths, and her legs already sported careful wrappings. Her gaze canted up at him as he strode out of the cave, a genuine relief washing over her face to see him hale, and with sword intact. “Would you help me with my arms?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at a waft of pungent smoke that seemed to trail the drow.


Kuzial speaks in a quiet voice, "In a moment, Joliette." He pulls from a pouch on his belt a square of fabric and spends some time cleaning the length of his ebon blade. When done he discards the sticky fabric and makes his way to where the necromancer sits. He lays his sword beside him, before taking up a length of the bandage Jolie had cut. A little roughly, ah yes, he doesn't forget the hair tugging incident, he wraps the worst of her wounds, before tucking the end of the bandage back into itself, securing it. He spends a while ensuring the wounds are covered, before picking up his blade and standing up. He speaks quietly, "We will wait for our scouts to return before we move on." The drow, giving in to his streak of vanity, dusts off the ash that clings to his armor and piwifwi, trying his best to ignore the stench that flows from his body, put there by the thick smoke in the smouldering cavern.


Jolie spoke a soft thanks for his care to her wounds – rough or otherwise – and stood to begin restrapping her armour. She was loath to ask him for help again, and so employed her teeth to tug her bracers’ buckle-straps into their notches. Her own weapons were taken up, the black sword resheathed and daggers replaced to their hidden slots in her leathers. It was as she did so – and in casting a slyly envious glance toward those stunningly-made sister blades – that she noted an empty sheath. “Kuzial?’ she spoke his name almost gently, a questioning look imparted to the lack, which clearly did not require an reply. She stepped over to him, unsheathing one of her own weapons, a smooth-hilted throwing knife, certainly not the equal to his own lost dagger but of roughly the same size and, she hoped, weight. It was handed over carefully, and without a word or look of any sorrow for his loss, the sineater mindful of his pride. “It’s a spare,” she said, in a casual way.


Kuzial eyed the woman for a long time as she passed him the dagger, his face unreadable. Casually he hefts it in his well-learned arm, getting a feeling almost instantly for its weight and balance. He offers her a quick nod of thanks, before placing the weapon into his empty sheath. He casually rests his hand on its hilt and he speaks in equally light tones, "Poisoned, I assume?" Before he has even finished he fluidly draws the weapon and stabs it out to the left. It comes out easy as his own weapon did, and with another nod he returns it to his belt. If he is at all annoyed by the loss of his fine dagger, he does not show it.


“Don’t cut yourself with it. Desert poison.” If Jolie happened to test that toxin on one or two ‘surface drow’, she wouldn’t feel the need to inform him of such details – her warning look ought to be enough. She turned then, to check on the state of her undead. A sorry mess, she frowned to herself, poking a flap of meat that hung from the ogre’s bicep. Three down.. and they’d hardly begun… And, as though somehow having cued his entrance to that very thought, a hunched and darkly rubbery figure loped into the cavern, its blind and mouthless face turning this and way and that, in some obvious and yet unidentifiable way inspecting the space and its occupants.

Jolie said to Maladroit, "Oh. You do show up."


Kuzial scoffs at her warning, though he does move his hand up on the hilt a little more, to ensure he doesn't touch the blade. He is about to flippantly reply, when he hears a sound behind him. Before Jolie had spoken he'd spun on his heel and pulled out his ebon sabre, ready to destroy whatever menace came hunting. But no, it is the hideous Maladroit, and remembering their encounter at the sanguine fountain, he quickly returns his sword to its sheathe. In the wake of familiar comes the drow scout, his face as pale as a dark-skinned elf can be. He makes his quick way to where Kuzial stands and goes about frantically speaking in the silent hand-code of the drow. His story about Maladroit is cut short by a fist connecting with his face, sending him sprawling to the cavern floor. Kuzial steps closer and speaks in a voice colder than ice, "There were hook horrors..." His fine dagger is in his hand in the blink of an eye, "You, scout, did not warn me... Why should I not cut your eyes out and leave you to wander down here?" Nalyr shifts his gaze to Jolie's disgusting creation and blabbers, "With one eye on my back, I must have.. missed them. Forgive me, Patron." Kuzial snarls and tenses for the strike, before slamming his dagger back into his belt. "Were you not needed, you spirit would be now haunting these caves. This will not be forgotten, Nalyr of House Stavret. Walk warily."


Jolie felt no pity at all for the scout who’d failed in his duty and thus cost her three undead and.. another shiver.. potential maggot infestation. Ignoring the ensuing reprimand, she stalked toward her own ‘scout’, which would shrink back a little from her furious gaze, ice green, shot with shattered black pupils made smaller by the level of her ire. “And you….” She gave the gaunt a vicious poke with her forefinger, “… bloody well knew they were there, didn’t you. By the gods, it’s back to crow carcasses for you, when we home, see if I don’t.” The oddment creation curled it wings about its whippet-like body. Her frown only deepened, “I don’t –care- if there were… “ She stopped there, blinking. “.. giant squid?” A doubtful glance was cast to Kuzial. How in the nine hells was it possible for there to be giant squid here? “Patron, tell me, are there pools down here? Briny ones?” That daggerish gaze snapped back to Maladroit, narrow with green spite. “Because I am, somehow, finding it hard to believe that there are –squid- in the Underdark.”


Kuzial keeps his icy glare on Nalyr for a long, long time, before stepping back and speaking to Jolie, without taking his eyes off the scout. "Squid? What in the blue hell is a squid?" He shakes his head, driving the rage from his mind, before replying in calmer tones, "I do not know of what you speak. Describe it to me."


Jolie took a few seconds to reply, savouring the oddity of the statement. “A squid… well. It’s a sea creature, a kind of octopus thing.” She amended, quickly, “Swims about in groups, mostly, though the rare type grows very large indeed. The body is one big head, you might say, and they have many arms, which they use to catch their food.” Another dark look was shot toward the gaunt, “My familiar has quite an obsession with the creatures. I have yet to understand why.”


Kuzial knows about octopus, for there is a rare drow poison made from their flesh, though he has never seen one himself. Many arms, swimming... He shakes his head, "I think your familiar is mistaken. There are few stagnant pools of water in the Underdark, and most are highly defended." The dark elf shrugs. "I have heard things from the surface often suffer within the radiating energy of the Underdark. Perhaps your familiar is prone to this."


Jolie looked vastly unhappy at that prospect, and would give the gaunt a kick to its rubbery rump as she stalked away from it, ignoring the fact that her boot merely bounced off. “Or he’s just deranged.” Seemed more likely, to her. She blinked. “Radiating…” as concerned as she was, the necromancer broke into laughter. “Is there anything down here which is not entirely fatal, Kuzial?” The flask she’d used for wounds was scooped up and sipped from, deeply. Restoratively medicinal, as it was... She’d offer the brandy to Kuzial, next. “Perhaps your females have stingers in their…” It was probably fortunate that the fallen, half-brained orc picked that moment to do his best not be un-undead and flailed a bit. “Oh dear,” Jolie sighed. “I suppose I’d better put him down.”


Kuzial finally tore his gaze away from the scout, who wisely remained prone on the ground. He waves away the offer of brandy with a smirk, "I did warn you, Lady Darkness." He taps the stone wall of the cavern, "It's why we are strong. The weak die. As it should be..." As she speaks of the female drow's thorny situation he cannot help but chuckle. Before he can make his salacious reply the half-dead, brain leaking undead makes his pathetic, though admirable, attempts to get up. "Do as you will, Joliette Thorne." Without wanting to see its death, the bastard thing is disgusting enough, Kuzial makes his way to the opening that leads deeper into the Underdark. "Be quick about it, though. We have been here too long... we will begin to attract every manner of foul beast. I can smell them..."