RP:Night of the Living Dead Girls 2: This Time, It's Personal
Part of the You Must Have Been Human Arc
Part of the The God of Undeath Arc
Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc
Part of the On Stranger Tides Arc
Part of the Lies Within Us Arc
This is a Mage's Guild RP.
This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.
Summary: The Living Dead Girls return in this sequel to Night of the Living Dead Girls to attack the second of the three landmark Holy Trees. With knowledge of their misdeeds spreading like wildfire, a mismatched band of heroes take a stand at the Xalious Tree to hopefully prevent the spread of influence of The Great Insectoid Who Dwells Between Worlds. Trying to stave off the encroaching army, Orion and Kailani jump into the fray with the villagers of Xalious brave enough to defy the Mage Guild’s order to lockdown. Khitti recognizes the description of attacks from the attack on Kelay and tries to reason with the being behind the Harbinger of Tragedy persona, to little avail. Gevurah brings the might of Trist'oth in an attempt to stave off what she knows to be the work of Alithyk Caluss. Lanlan and Enelys find themselves pulled from their nightmares in the center of the battlefield, where they’re forced to watch their fellow apprentices become fodder for the undead.
Xalious Tree
Nestled at the edge the southern cliff is an enormous tree. It towers some three hundred feet into the air, stretching outward nearly as wide; the soft sapphire glow of its enchanted boughs filling the vicinity with a soothing aura of metamagical power. The leaves are a rich golden hue with each vein therein shining in brilliant silver contrast; each one having the striking resemblance to a large human hand. Each sun-kissed leaf seems to move of its own volition, slowly writhing and reaching in all different directions to get the best angle of the sun as the daylight passes, then to drink in any soft moonlight that shines down on the mountains. The bark is a rich charcoal black near the base, though taking on a deep brown hue as it extends upward into the canopy. The mighty Xalious Tree, which appeared when the Archmage Xalious died and ascended to assume the divine role as God of Magic, stands in majestic beauty as an eternal symbol of the mortal's ascension. As you look closer into the tree you see an inscription carved deep into the bark. There is nothing else here but a field of carefully kept grass and some of the late Archmage’s followers who have come to bask and worship in this sacred tree's presence. An old and faded note seems to have been posted on the tree's base.
Orion Dynjapsá just so happened to be sitting on the grass plucking at his lute close to the Xalious Tree as citizens started causing a commotion. Just after plucking a dandelion from the greenery surrounding him to put in his beard, "Oh, how pretty.." he looks up to his mount, "What the.." Jade green eyes look up and the finger picking came to a stand still. The closeby winter-griffon starts causing a fuss. Grimclaw flapped his black wings and bit in the air as he screeched in distress. "Alright, alright. Relax," called out the bardbarian as he stood and made his way towards his loyal companion. Orion resumed his playing as he walked towards the griffon. Soft finger plucking mixed in with a few strums on a few different chords made for some calm and relaxing music. With the bearded man throwing in some deep humming the song started transforming into a pre-battle hymn/prayer. The strumming stops to allow for two hard thuds to the man's chest with a tight fist. Thunder rolls in the distance almost instantaneously. Orion smirks and replaces the dragon skull helmet sat on Grimclaw's saddle with his lute which balances nicely right across the saddle for now. The helmet is pushed down onto his head. The wolf fur vest is adjusted after tilting his head side to side to pop and crack a few bones in his neck. The mini gris-gris is patted to make sure it's still within an inner pocket of his vest. A couple high jumps in place bring his knees towards his chest each time, every landing rumbles the ground beneath his feet. The double bladed battle axe hanging on his hip is grabbed and swung about a few times to stretch his arms. Grimclaw's orange eyes lock with Orion's as the man speaks to the griffon, "You ready?" The griffon replies with a slight bow and a wink. Orion lets out a loud and hearty chuckle that shakes the tree branches in the forest closeby followed by a thunderous, "Hoorah!"
Gasp! Shock! Awe! Who could’ve done such a thing to the druid tree?! Khitti knew, of course. It didn’t matter if these ecoterrorists looked like undead witches. Khitti was well aware of Quintessa Dragana’s dependency on disguises. How could she do this -now- of all times? The girl was damn lucky Lionel was literally non-existent because Khitti was not even entirely sure if she’d stop him right now from killing the changeling. Could -she- kill Quintessa though? That teen managed to worm her way into Khitti’s heart and the redhead was still not sure whether or not it was a good thing. Right now? It’s not a good thing. Quintessa betrayed Khitti the instant she decided to go about doing this without Khitti’s help. She literally could think of nothing else the entire sabrecat-ride to Xalious. Once she got close to the village, however, she sent the tikifhlee off on its way to go hunt for food briefly before finding a place nearby to lurk while Khitti went to the tree. She kept to the shadows, utilizing her shadow manipulation ability to draw them towards here in places where there was not as much cover. Khitti would reach a spot near the town’s well, still well within the shadows, the area close enough to give her a few minutes to watch and wait to see if she even needed to act at all.
Word had spread quickly of the undead attack on the Druid Eternal Tree. House D’Artes surface scouts snatched the rumor from the vine before it even reached the press. By the time ink dried on the Kelay and Xalious flyers, Matron Gevurah D’Artes was already mobilizing a small troop of 20 drow soldiers for an excursion to the surface to deal with the horde of zombies. The drow has no love for the surface, and no inclination to play hero, but the details of the attack were muddied with Caluss’s fingerprints. As a High Priestess to Vakmatharas, Gevurah vehemently opposes the God of Undeath and the proliferation of his aberrations. The Matron travels in black riding leathers, and an enchanted piwafwi, riding astride a burnished green giant lizard at the center of a lizardback drow cavalry. Two scouts on foot track the progress of the zombie horde and send missives via messenger stones back to their mistress. The lizards scale the steep slopes of the Xalious mountains with ease, arriving from the rocky southwest, their rides hanging onto their saddles at angles that defy gravity. The overcast sky is a good omen. Their eyes prefer the dark.
Lanlan was chasing around his pants when they started talking to him. They had an otherworldly and authoritative voice, and the pants claimed they were 'Xalious's Herald'. They had a message for him, from Xalious himself, and they needed him to wake up. Yes, it was a dream. Upon awaking, he found that many other apprentices faced a similar intrusion, and that they too had a destiny which they were about to discover. It was implied that this was all part of advancement in the Mage's Guild. Lanlan obviously knew that wasn't true, but was intrigued nontheless. A will-o-wisp appeared outside of the apprentices' dormitory and beckoned them. "Follow the light of Xalious," it said. And the apprentices did. A crowd of them, following a strange floating ball of light, arrive at the Xalious Tree at the same time.
"Oi, Hans, have you heard the news!" Turning the heads of the moderate crowds that have gathered around the Xalious tree, Fritz Lang, local mischief maker and general-up-to-no-good-body flounces into sight, waving a hand to his friend and often-times accomplice, Hans Ûnfiit. "Yeah, why the heck do you think I'm out here, mate?" The two Xalious natives clasp forearms briefly as they find eachother in the crowd. "So you heard about the Druid Tree, eh? Pooh, I was hoping I'd get to spill the news and see your reaction, ya stinky tree-hugger." Fritz, a human, punches Hans, a wood elf, in the arm, earning him a glower and a punch in return. "Trouble with the Druids tree is bad enough, but the feckin' Mages are telling people to stay indoors and isolate themselves, instead of being out here to keep a watch out for the same scum, what for if they're coming for our tree next." Hans wrings the haft of an aged looking halberd in his hands as he stares about the milling crowd warily. "Surely it makes sense, right? Stay home, stay safe, let the mages handle it?" Fritz glances northward, to where the glass-panes of the Mage Tower Observatory peep over the treetops. "Yeah, nope, I don't trust the mages as far as I could throw 'em right now, and you'd do well to think the same." A nonchalant shrug is Fritz's only response as he leans on his friends shoulder. "We'll see, mate, we'll see. Pints says you don't get to tickle a single behind with your big stick. Double if you don't see a single cranky lookin' blighter at all." Hans grumbles, but he slaps the offered palm nonetheless. The stakes are high today, ladies and gents.
The ominous red glow of Ahr’Nuk through the overcast night sky should have been the first sign that something was amiss tonight in the Xalious mountain range. The acrid smell of smoke in the air from the neighboring forest is still prevalent, despite the land’s best pyromancer being on the scene to control the damage done to the Eternal Tree just nights before. From the forests to the south, a march of some fifty or so robed figures appear from the south. They all appear to be either elven or dwarvish, all wearing robes that signify residence of a Delisha sister temple to the main chapel in Larket, and cleated boots. Beneath the hoods of their robes, alternating Comedy and Tragedy theatre masks with the occasional odd Orange mask strewn between seem to peer out at those gathering at the base of the tree. When asked later how it was that Kanna had re-amassed such a bounty of fresh corpses after tonight’s events, she would recall in perplexed awe how she had taken refuge in the Delishan compound out between the Burrows and Enchantment to treat her wounds when she came upon one of the rituals being held place. One bardic cantrip to make her appear human later, and she started her act to lure the cultists in. To her surprise when the first person turned, the others in the branch temple volunteered to follow suit. The cultists supposedly cited her ability to lure people into a hedonistic lull of a death in order to revive with dark magic as the singular best tribute to the Dark Mother they had ever heard of.
At Comedy’s side is an incandescently-furred russet wolf not seen in the Kelay attack. As if sensing the danger to its master, Amante had fled Vailkrin to accompany the woman with which it owed a life debt to. It wears blackened armor around its torso and abdomen, just light enough to allow its normal movement. An odd muzzle has also been affixed to the beast, nearly completely closed off as if to filter something. Though it seems to emit no visible malice, its emergence into the sapphire lights of the Xalious Tree reflect off of its fur to create the illusion of violet embers scattered throughout its mane. One member of the troupe steps forward and raises a finger to the smiling mask’s lips as if in thought. A cerulean camelia is fastened to the knot that ties her robe together, giving an aurora of ill intent. Beneath the mask for anyone with sharp enough ears, the figure is singing a song to herself. “Oh, I miss the kiss of treachery… The shameless kiss of vanity… The soft and the black and the velvety… Up tight against the side of me…” Blooming from the grass are not the floramancer’s usual vines and earthy roots, but a mass of fungi creeping forth at a rapid pace. Sickly colors of the decay and the toxic spores released into the air at full-bloom catch in the light of the Xalious Tree, giving off an eerie glow. A drizzle begins with a dull roar of thunder, making the ground treacherously slick. The leader of this troupe raises her voice so all can hear her song through the disguised voice that makes one think of the rare mountain seagull. “And mouth and eyes and heart all bleed, and run in thickening streams of greed. As bit by bit it starts the need to just let go of my party piece.” As if spurred by the song, the army lurches forward with guttural screams, revealing sharpened metal claws from beneath the long sleeves of the robes.
Odhranos ||As the first robed figures emerge from the forests to the south, a ripple of disquiet murmurs through the crowd, garnering the attention of the pair, who soon find themselves at the front of the gathered crowd, while those curious press forwards and those who suddenly remembered they left the hair-straightener on at home make their exits, despite no one really knowing exactly what a "hair-straightener" is. Fritz squints through the dim light that the Xalious tree casts and he can just about make out the robes, which cause his face to split into a gleeful grin. "Hey, hey Hans. Hey Hans, ever spent an evening in a Delishan temple? Eh, eh?" Each "hey" or "eh" is punctuated by a nudge from the man, who grins sidelong at his friend with a lecherous grin. "Buncha Delisha worshippers turning up out of the woods, pretty interesting eh? Know what I'm getting at? Eh? Eh?" Hans turns and thwacks Fritz upside the head with a face that shows that he clearly did know what Fritz was getting at and thought very strongly about how this was not the time for such hypothesis. "Will you shut up, for five minutes? Xalious fend, you're incessant." Fritz mopes, he was just tryna be funny. "Hey, they've got masks on. Some of them are even laughing. Guess that means you still owe me double. Oh look, a sparkly wolf. That's pretty cool. Y'know, I'm pretty sure there's nothing to worry about, they're just a buncha people, looking for a good time, and we come out here and greet them with pointy sticks like your one here, it's no wonder people call Xalious folks stuck up prudes. They just want to have a good- OH HOLY F*** THEY'VE GOT POINTIES!" Fritz shrieks as the first line of undead unveil their sharpened claws and charge and he scrabbles behind Hans, who lowers his halberd with a grim expression. "Get out your knives." He growls, and Fritz scrambles to tug the two dirks from his boots as the army pounds closer. "Awh, I didn't get to chat to Tina before I came to see you. That sucks." Fritz mutters in a final sober moment before he takes up position alongside his best friend, and watches as a shrieking Delishan impales itself on the end of the polearm, finally dispelling any remaining chances of a good time. "Awh…"
Kailani was late to arrive to the party, her face was one of the last to join the many faces that gathered around the tree in anticipation of battle...and this suited the hermitish druid just fine. Chances are she did not want to have a conversation with half those present anyway and it was not the chance to socialize that brought the blue-haired druid out of the wilds. The druid was pulled to the area for a number of reasons, starting with the desecration of the druid's tree. That was an instance that was felt deep within the druid's core. The ominous glow of Ahr'Nuk was another variable that prompted the druid to investigate. The current twisting of elemental magics was something that caused the druid's lips to twist into a grim smirk, the rain was not viewed as something treacherous to her footing in battle, but a welcome reminder of why she was here. And based on the chatter of Hanz and Fritz, it was a reminder that the overly serious half-elf was feeling like she sorely needed. Did those two have a death wish? The druid was about to hiss out a command that they shut it and focus, but she's not given a chance for the battle is underway before she manages to give the words out. She instead opts to follow the advice she had half a mind to give Fritz and Hans, she focuses. She focuses on the storm that is brewing above. It might have been summoned by another, but that is not going to stop the druid from manipulating the efforts of another to her own benefit in this moment. Her preferred weapon is taken into grasp, it's a pole-arm just like Hanz but her's is not a halbred. It's a ransuer. Said ransuer is pointed in the general direction of the of the army of undead. The sound of thunder has already made itself known, but it would be the army that is attempting to assault the tree that would soon feel the electric sting of lightning. Toxic spores are in the back of Kailani's mind, a threat that the druid will soon seek to deal with.
Orion wastes no time as the army races forward. The bardbarian reacts all the same while yelling, "Daedria, be with me!" As Orion sprints off, Grimclaw pushes off the ground and takes to the sky for now, managing to keep the lute balanced on the empty saddle. However the sudden spores and rain causes the half elf to slip immediately. Orion can totally work with this. He gets back to his feet and starts off into a careful sprint. As he gains speed, Orion drops to his knees, battle axe in hand, and power slides into the army. Just before first contact, the bardbarian twists his body one way and then the other to send himself into a spinning fury straight into the undead soldiers with his axe stretched out to level the playing field just a bit.
An unmasked Leralynn has been eating her feelings since the night of the attack on The Druid Eternal Tree. This is a tactic picked up from her father, although when he does it people die. In this case only breakfast foods perish. Kyla’s in Larket is the finer establishment for pancakes, but ‘The Orange Witch’ in The Hard City on her own probably isn’t the best idea, so The Mallard Bakery in Kelay has served the teenage necromancer well enough here. Fueled by confection, the inability to sleep, and an overwhelming compulsion to prove herself as the apprentice of the greatest necromancer to ever live, The Orange Mask did not so much replenish her portion of the zombie hoard, but retool it. The black tar put to use at The Druid Tree in an attempt to slow down an Enigma served a secondary purpose of allowing severed body parts to hitch a ride on the portion of the horde that managed to escape the infernal aftermath of the assault. It is with these scavenged materials that she has set to work. So when the hoard approaches the Xalious Tree there are far fewer undead in orange masks than either of the other types, but in their place, heralded by earthshaking footsteps, are massive monstrosities of flesh and tar. There are only four of these hideous amalgamations, but they each must be composed of the body parts of 15 to 20 corpses. Black, sticky ooze seeps out of every joint in the gigantic humanoid forms, gluing the rotting, charred limbs and faces and torsos together. The bodies of these golems are shaped like boulders, with their limbs long and lanky, and the composition of the abominations is uniform throughout; faces peppered everywhere, eager to bite, and scattered arms and hands protruding out of the tar that grab out and seek to add the living to the collections of bodies that are these monsters. Masks of Orange, Tragedy, and Comedy are speckled around like sprinkles on these giant sized cupcakes of flesh and black batter. The golems and the smaller horde flanking the Orange Witch move forward from behind the Comedy troupe, but quickly move out around the perimeter of the tree as if to create a pincer formation. The goal is clear: get the center to the heart of Xalious. The four behemoths swing out towards any who dare to get too close. Those who wind up struck by the beasts will find their equipment-- and hopefully not their bodies-- quickly encased in ice.
Lanlan finds it pretty difficult to read the expressions of a ball of light, but the way the thing bobbed hesitantly when it saw the crowd of Delisha worshippers emerge from the forest reminds him for a moment of fear. "A-A-Apprentices! Behold, your trial! These heathens are the scourge Xalious warned about. Defend yourselves, defend Xalious!" Then a quartet of giant abominations emerge and appear to designate the apprentices as their quarry. "At least I'm only two-faced," says Lanlan as he nonchalantly moves to the back of his crowd of apprentices. As they get closer, they get scarier, and many of the green, newby apprentices freeze. Luckily, Lanlan has some experience leading a crowd. "Apprentices! Hold your ground! Ready your firebolts!" Many of them didn't expect humble Doziros to command them, but they didn't have enough wits to argue. "I don't know how to do a fire bolt," one complains, "Can I do magic missile?" They had time enough for one volley before the hulks would be upon them. Lanlan waved his fingers, and one of the nasty amalgamations was lit up in glittery light, outlining the forerunner as the main target. "Shoot!" Lanlan shouted, and a massive volley of magic projectiles slammed into it, halting its movement and bringing it to a knee. Many eyes strewn all over its body shut forever. Meanwhile, a group of apprentices looking -exactly- like the one Lanlan was with, detached from the group and charged straight toward the four fatties. They were made of pure imagination, but they were quick! As quick as Lanlan could think. They bobbed and weaved, ducked and dodged, dipped and dove, anything to throw a wrench at Leralynn's plans of assault. Always getting close enough to them to tempt an attack, then sliding out of harm's way just in time.
Enelys is generally confused. “What?” As in, what was that sound? “What?!” As in, what am I doing here? “WHAT in MAGICS NAME is THAT?!” As in, are those zombies, and if so, why do they resemble the gum that would be stuck under a desk in a particularly gooey realm of torture? Enelys is woken up more by the Crack of Lightning and the Boom of Thunder, her hair instantly floating up with static as her eyes flutter wide. Several expletives are quickly loosened at the situation until she gathers relative control of her faculties. Holding her boom-stick, Enelys calls down the electricity and wields it forward on the metal rings surrounding her staff/broom/pole like a giant sparkly mace. Unbeknownst to herself, she is still screaming as things begin to collide, explode, and shatter all around her. Far too loud to hear commands. She swings her lightning rod-whacking stick at anything and everything that dares get too close to her. Just before this a vision of a man with rolls of sweet loaf for a wrinkly head and a sandwich mustache had spoken to her. Now it was time to battle the undead. What a strange dream this surely was.
A vast cloud of darkness serves as the harbinger of Tragedy’s arrival, enveloping the area surrounding the Xailous Tree in a low-hanging, eerie black mist. From this foreboding mist first comes her army of the death, torn cloaks, bodies stitched together, masks cracked and broken. There are far more of them than when she attacked the Druid’s Eternal Tree, the dark fae’s desperation growing as word spread throughout Lithrydel of their horrible act. As hundreds of zombies dressed to match Tragedy, Comedy, and Orange encircle the grim arena, behind them forms a thin line of skeletal archers, naked and twisted as they nock their arrows and aim them high into the air. Among the figures of masked undead, a lone silhouette stands taller than the rest, the dark fog emanating from her being to shroud her army in a delicate blanket of darkness. With a single hand held up in the air, a wispy, wraithlike voice whispers the incantation “Tân cysgodol,” and one at a time the jagged arrowheads all light aflame with shadow-fire until the entire legion was enhanced with the wicked inferno. From behind her sad looking masque, Tragedy spys upon the forces gathered to defend this sacred tree, a bit surprised so many were here to answer the call to arms. Surprise quickly shifts to rage when the necromancer spots Drow forces on the field, and the black mists swirling around her echoes her fury by fabricating a malifeint aura of dread and horror, bearing down passively on the resistance. “Loose!” Tragedy growls with a drop of her pale hand, a wave of flaming arrows arching into the sky to rain a wide circle of necrotic hell down upon the congregated forces before she fixes her attention on her disguised zombies. “Advance.” Comes her voice again, like the wind howling through the trees, “Tear them to pieces. Leave none alive.” All at once the reinforcements move in to crash upon them like a sea of death, the tall, wraithlike form of Tragedy melding with them to hide her own charge forward. The hoard of zombies were fast and tough, but they lacked the combat prowess to be truly threatening. Their main function was to act as the sacrificial first line of defence to protect their mistress and the levy of archers standing on their flank, clawed hands gripping and tearing at anything they could each in an attempt to follow Tragedy's orders while the necromancer herself snaked her way closer, emerging from her decaying vanguard only when the Drow retinue was within sight. The undead part to reveal Tragedy standing before them, her ashen-hued katana held lazily with a single hand. “I must thank you,” her zephyr voice says with a slight tilt of her masked face, “I took no joy in this task… Until now- ton dân!” With her magic words comes a swing of her sword, shadow-fire yet again manifesting, only this time as a massive arc that threatens to engulf Gevurah’s soldiers.
Tragedy’s fearsome aura spooks the lizards and the youngest drow in Gevurah’s troop, those whose nerves have not felt calloused into steel on the battlefield. Unconsciously they begin to backpedal on twitchy legs. The priestess counters the aura of dread with an incantation of her own. Gevurah’s fingers twist into esoteric shapes as she speaks the dead dialect of the Ancient Drow. Her prayer spreads like a balm on Tragedy’s shadowy mist, soothing her spooked allies and fortifying the drow’s nerve. “CHARGE!” The more experienced soldiers lead the charge at her command. A row of ten drow use a lizard-back phalanx formation, relying on spears to pick off the undead in the gaps between the shields that protect them and their mounts from sharpened claws. The lizards are also lightly armored in leather. Another five sharpshooting drow rely on arrows and crossbows and maintain a distance between themselves and the undead on lizardback. That final five drow are wizards. Three use long-distance blasting spells of fire, lightning, and black energy. The final two wizards hinder the undead force by sowing confusion and malaise among the undead. As Tragedy targets Gevurah’s forward phalanx, the Matron rushes in to protect her allies. From beneath her piwafwi, from the bottomless satchel tucked beneath her arm, she pulls out a fistful of brittle cathabraka granules and throws them at Quintessa’s shadow-fire arc as she utters a single-word word to transmute the granules into a woven, magical blanket that absorbs the magic. The anti-magic net absorbs the spell then bursts into nothingness shortly after impact, sparing the drow serious damage but no longer usable. Tragedy’s personal focus on Gevurah and the drow draws the matron’s suspicion. Does she know her? Determined to find out, Gevurah hangs back, away from the battleline, and calls upon Vakmatharas to guide her eyes. Unless stopped, she’ll try to read Tragedy’s aura to learn what she can about this foe.
Khitti pulled the hood of her soft, black leather catsuit up over her head, shrouding her face from sight much the Delishan cultists had, though bits of wine-red hair trickled out the side of the hood in the form of a braid. The crowd had gathered and the fight had begun and where did that leave Khitti? Trying to decide who the frak she was going to help. Well… it wouldn’t take long for her to make that decision as Tragedy showed up and the last of the “mysterious” person’s words echoed the same language Quintessa used for her spells. With a growl, she unsheathed Embershard, the dark steel blade erupting into her own purple shadowflames without a spell to be heard. You should’ve listened to your teacher, Quintessa. Fancy verbal incantations can frak you over massively! It had not been for this reason that Khitti had warned her, but alas… Quintessa always knew best, right? As Gevurah’s troops went after Tragedy, so too did Khitti join in with them, using her shadows to continue to shroud her somewhat as she made a beeline right for the girl she had started to call daughter. There would be no hiding Khitti’s identity from Quintessa once the girl saw the flames. Who else would it be? Instead, the sight of them would scream to Quintessa all those promises of death she’d made to the changeling upon their first meeting, as Khitti hacked and slashed her way through the horde of undead. She didn’t even bother with making sure the undead were really dead, instead shoving them to the side once Embershard and its flames had bitten into them, choosing to let Gevurah’s army deal with them. As her student’s shadowfire approached Khitti’s position, she couldn’t help but smirk. “Who taught you to fight like that? Sure as hell wasn’t me! I think you need to practice a bit more!” A heater shield-sized wall of shadow-ice manifested itself on Khitti’s free arm, taking the brunt of the fire for its wielder, but not enough as the sheer force of the attack pushed her back somewhat, areas of her clothes left singed and smoking as the ice shield melted away, allowing the fire to reach Khitti’s form. Her hood had been one of those parts and Khitti was forced to pull it away, lest the smoke from Quintessa’s magic creep into Khitti’s lungs. Still, Khitti pressed on and it was clear she was pissed. “How -dare- you use the Black Tides for this! You goddamned -traitor-!” All of her shouting, of course, was for Tragedy alone.
As the horde falls away, the apparent ringleader holds a hand out, focusing her energy into reclaiming a half dozen bodies to keep her flanked. With every step, the toxic fungi bloom around her spiked boots, seemingly only spurred on by the rain. The blooms extend outwards with a range of at least a halberd’s length. The wolf at her side, who wears adorable little wolf boots with spikes where claws would be to protect from the poison, lets out an exhale that releases a soft plume of fire through the ventilated muzzle. As she moves, her target remains locked. The Xalious Tree, and the return of her memories that she was promised. The zombie snaps and reaches out to Hans and Fritz uselessly, the frowning mask falling away to reveal a graying elvish corpse. The creature’s cries draw the attention of the horde, most of which begin to follow the cries of their comrade. The trap is seemingly set in Kailani’s favor, as the lightning connects with the horde, causing the muscles of the dozen at the front of the pack to seize up. While the army of those who laugh at the world are footed for slippery mushroom floors, the bodies of the fallen prove to be a more daunting task. Three of the walking corpses trip over the bodies that slump into the pile of mushrooms and rainwater, but the rest appear undaunted towards their advance on the druidic elf and her sudden charges that need protecting. The corpse at the end of the halberd suddenly shudders before erupting itself into the same wild array of blooming fungi. Clouds of toxic spores float upwards before being forcibly pulled back down in raindrops onto the encroaching army attempting to protect the Xalious Tree. From the center of the huddle, the acapella song continues to ring out over the rhythm of the thunder abovehead as she gets ever closer to the Tree itself. “Oh, I miss the kiss of treachery! The aching kiss before I feed, the stench of a love for a younger meat, and the sound that it makes when it cuts in deep.” The russet wolf at her side charges forward as a pair of daring members of the Mage’s Guild rushes to the congregation. It really is a tragic story, these unnamed and unknown apprentices; they had just put a down payment on a house in the Rynvalian countryside to work on a long-term thesis study. The armored beast stops just yards away and takes an offensive stance, drawing a deep breath that whistles ominously through the slats of its vents. Thick billows of nearly white-hot fire burst forth, unhindered by the muzzle. The pair of half-elves barely have time to recite an incantation before the flames engulf them completely. It seems anyone who gets too close to its owner is destined to meet the same fate. As the maleficent cloud pools, Comedy suddenly raises a hand, waving excitedly at her comrades in the fight for what is clearly such a good thing for all involved. Except for the dead people, of course, but they don’t count anymore. Gnashing teeth push forward, sinking their jaws into the flesh of those poor apprentices and villagers who otherwise never stood a chance. The army’s numbers quietly replenish themselves to Comedy’s amusement. “The holding up on bended knees… The addiction of duplicities, as bit by bit it starts the need… To just let go of my party piece.”
Hans grunts as the force of the charging zombie lifts him from his feet, only that he had the sense to plant the base of his halberd in the dirt kept the flailing sack of reanimated flesh from shoving him backwards into the amassed crowd. Beside him, Fritz cheers, they've made a contribution! One less enemy to fight! This elation is quickly dispelled as the impaled undead continues to flail, trying to draw itself further down the shaft of the poleaem, while it's mask falls away, revealing the putrefying face within. "HaaaaAAAAANS!!!" "WHAT!?" "I don't think these are real Delishans!" "What made you think that!?" "Well…" Fritz pauses to scratch his head with the point of his dagger as he crouches, while Hans thrusts the halberd forwards, tossing the disemboweled zombie to the ground, before following up with a downward swing that beheads the undead like an executioner's blade. "Delishans are usually kind of pretty, don't you think? Like, the ones who join the order are, right? Like, who'd want to go to an orgy with someone like *that*?" Hans swings again, wedging the blade of his halberd in an undead cranium, pulling it free with a horrid squelch, carrying a split Comedy mask with it on the upswing. In the brief pause that follows, Hans grabs Fritz by the collar and yanks him closer, all the better to scream in his face. "WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF A FIGHT HERE AND YOU ARE NOT HELPING!" Fritz is released just in time for another zombie to meet the pointy end of a halberd, the human stumbling backwards, reeling from the shout. When he raises his head, his face is streaked with tears and he roars back at his friend. "I KNOW, OKAY?! I'M FREAKING SCARED AND I'M TRYING MY BEST TO KEEP IT TOGETHER HERE, ALRIGHT!?" A gurgling growl to Fritz' left causes him to spin around and only a reflexive fling of a dirk as he falls to the ground saves him from ten blood-stained claws to the gut. The dirk hits the figure dead in the middle of the face, but bounces off, as it landed hilt first. However, the distraction gives enough time for Hans to dispatch the assailant that broke through the line with another downward swing. Turning his back on the battle, Hans reaches a hand to help Fritz to his feet. "Okay, Fritz, keep it together. Remember what you said earlier, 'kay? The mages'll be here soon, we just gotta hold out til then, right?" Hans does his best to sound comforting, but there is a scared edge to his voice, as not even twenty metres away, a pair of apprentices are flash-roasted to cinders. "The mages, yeah. Yeah, you're right!" Fritz rallies, the mages will be here soon! His dirk is retrieved from the ground and he squares up beside his friend, blades at the ready. "Let's do this!" A moment passes and no response from his friend. "Right, Hans?" Even in the midst of this chaos, Fritz can make out the silence where his best friend's voice should be. "...Hans?" Turning, Fritz sees a small line of crimson trickling from the corner of Hans' mouth, even as ten sharpened points burst out of his chest, and a set of gunk-stained teeth chew the back of his neck to bloody shreds. Fritz eyes grow wide and he opens his mouth to let loose a ragged scream. "HAAAAAAAAAAAANS!!!!!!"
Kailani obviously has an uncanny talent for bidding the nature to do her bidding, but she is only one druid. Her talents can only be extended so far before they are stretched too thin. Storms. Flora. Toxic Spores. Fire. Everything listed falls well within the realm of things that Kailani is prepared to deal with...She's just not prepared to deal with them mushed all together while also having to be mindful of the lives of those around her. It's really a lot, even for those seasoned in battle. It seems as though the druid is perhaps releasing a sigh of frustration, but as she expels that breath the wind picks up. It's not a gentle breeze, but the gusts are not strong enough that it would really hinder anyone in battle -- including the undead. It is strong enough however to blow the spores back in the direction of the army undead, something that Kailani realizes is not going to be effective against the dead. But. Still. It's better than the "good guys" breathing in a lungful of spores. It seems that the druid is still keen on latching onto this manifested storm. It becomes obvious to Kailani that perhaps it is not the best idea to engage this army in direct assault, the closer she is the more likely it is she will be forced to breath in those spores. Plus that armored wolf that seems to breath fire would prove rather troublesome when it comes to getting close enough to attack, even with a ranseur. Honestly, the druid feels a bit bad for not being a bit more of a team player when it comes to Hans and Fritz, but they may just be in over their heads and Kailani has her own skin to worry about first and foremost. Plus, Hans just died anyway? Poor Fritz. It is with a hard and annoyed roll of her eyes that Kailani commits to utilizing her ranseur for a ranged attack, the weapon is hoisted up and over her shoulder so that she can get enough leverage to hurtle it straight at the armored wolf. Look, Kailani is not normally keen on harming animals needlessly, but she was not the one who started this fight. Just because Kailani has rendered herself weaponless does not mean that she is now useless. The attack on the wolf was not the only one that comes, another flash of lightning streaks across the sky except this time it is not cast randomly into the army. This time it is targeting the singing Comedy. The druid has a sneaking suspicion that there was more to the song than a bit of battle flavor…
The Orange Witch smiles an innocent yet cruel smile beneath the glaringly reflective mask. Those who crowd in on her golems seem to hesitate, visibly disturbed by what can only be described as her greatest work to date. How delicious! As streaks of lightning and fire illuminate the battlefield, contrasting the neutral sapphire glow of the Xalious Tree, the remaining orange masks of the nightmarish troupe serve to reflect the light like mirrors. Some combatants nearby unaccustomed to sudden changes in light, like those accustomed to the pitch darkness of the Underdark, reflexively raise a hand or tilt their heads away to prevent the glare from fully blinding them. That little bit of time is all that is needed for the combined undead hordes of Comedy and Orange to descend on those poor warriors the way a goblin descends on a copper peice in the streets. The two golems nearest to the apprentices' assault give a guttural roar in reply, agitated by their inability to land a single swing. Even the leader of the Orange masks finds herself getting annoyed at the little progress made. She reaches out from the flank and utters a single word, each of the titans having their own trigger to destruct: "Syrup." The golem nearest to the apprentices suddenly shudders and seemingly folds in on itself before bursting outwards, spraying the apprentices and any other encroaching fighters in the sticky black undead tar and sending the gnashing heads of the zombies within flying. The arrows from Tragedy's army land on some of the body parts that fly up into the air, propelling the rotting flesh rapidly downwards. Another of the four breaks formation to move towards Comedy, lowering a monstrous hand as if inviting her to dance.
Orion eventually slides to a halt and keeps swinging his axe about to cut down a few undead until he's almost surrounded. However, due to his pocketed gris-gris, they seem to ignore him. "Hmm.." After Orion plunges his axe into the ground, he loudly claps his hands together to send a booming soundwave outwards to knock down a few undead. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the hulking figures in the distance, "Yes!!!" He exclaimed excitedly. After pulling his axe from the earth, Orion leaps into the air. Instead of landing in the middle of the undead, Grimclaw swoops under him. Orion lands standing on the griffon's saddle. He reaches down, grabs his lute and the two rush towards the monsters. "Get in close, Grim! Get close to the heads!" Orion assumes almost a 'surfing' position on the saddle. They target a golem..thing and get to work. While the monstrosities focus on Grimclaw as he swoops around, Orion leaps to the monster's heads to smack them with his lute. Each swoop and lap around has Grimclaw catching Orion on his back. The two change elevations and rotations as Orion leaps and attacks over and over again to hopefully dizzy, confuse, and fall the beast. Orion's lute won't be able to take too much more abuse. As the arrows are loosed from a distance, Orion and Grimclaw take to the skies. They aren't quick enough. Grim takes one to the wing and Orion gets one through his forearm. Grim lets out an angry screech and divebombs for an archer. "No, Grim!" Orion is quick to straddle the saddle. Grimclaw reaches a talon out and grabs the head of an archer and takes to the sky once more and back towards the large abomination. The winter griffon squeezes his talon closed, separating the archer's head from his body and let's both pieces fall back to the battlefield. Rest in Pieces. Meanwhile, Orion pushed the arrow through his arm and continues their assault on the original target.
Lanlan quickly finds that the massive horde of zombies has surrounded them. And who are they? A bunch of apprentices, villagers, and...drow soldiers? "Who's leading them..." he mutters as he attempts to discern the commander through the melee. A bloodcurdling scream calls his attention back to the matter at hand, as mere feet from him,a sloppy behemoth's long gangly arm hammers down over a row of apprentices. Tar and hands and bodies spread over the unfortunate souls and over the grass, before the entire goopy limb is lifted back off the ground with a sucking smack. Already, the frozen faces of about six apprentices, all worth much much more than Hans, join the ranks of those many nameless wretches in the tar monster's body. Lanlan will have to scout later. "Hit em from behind!" Lanlan says to one of the apprentices as Bob the Behemoth draws back his long arm. "Here!" A spot on Bob the Behemoth's head glows brightly with faeirie fire, and a particularly confident apprentice spins one hand around the other, and shoves his arm forward and up. A massive spire of earth bursts through the ground, arcs up, and smacks Bob the Behemoth in the back of the head. An extremely skillful maneuver Lanlan notes, one that an apprentice shouldn't have been able to do. Lanlan uses his magic to disguise Bob's friend, Mark the Monstrosity, as a rock monster. Now Bob thinks Mark whacked him! What does Bob do? Bob bops Mark, marking Mark with a giant goopy fist. Do you think Mark is about to tolerate this? Mark isn't. It makes it much easier for Orion to harass either one of them, when they have much bigger problems to deal with. By now Lanlan's other distraction, a group of illusive apprentices harrassing the other two monstrosities, has been realized for what it was. "We need to slow them down. Apprentices! Soak them! Drench them in water. NOW!" A few of them begin channeling what little they know of hydromancy into a single cohesive balloon of water. A massive sphere of water raises above the monsters' heads, almost looming over both. It falls early. A blast of sticky tar and...disembodied heads is sprayed into them before they could complete their task. Luckily, Lanlan was able to shield himself behind another apprentice who was headbutted several times by several different people. "You three!" Lanlan comands from behind his meatshield, "Freeze them in place!" Soon after, the other apprentices whip up a frigid wind that blows against them. "Now, THUNDER!" In the seconds it takes for the creatures to slow to a freezing stop, another group led by Enelys ready a giant magic missile. Enelys supplies the ammunition, a trio of shotputs. The trio of mages levitate the trio of iron balls, while Lanlan illuminates the target with more faerie fire. All of the apprentices line up and throw their arms forward like they were throwing baseballs, propelling the missile faster. In the blink of an eye, a sonic boom blasts the iron balls into the frozen abomination. The gluey tar, now cold and brittle, breaks. Its gangly limbs fall to the ground while its body rolls away behind it. One behemoth fell, two were being distracted, and one was roaming free, mollywhopping apprentices left and right. "We need a way out," Lanlan said mostly to himself.
Tragedy does nothing to hide the ripples of dark mana that emanate from her, giving Gevurah all the time she needed to identify the surging presence of the god that had gifted her with such dire power. The Drow Matron would surely recognize Alithyk Caluss’s tainted quintessence, the same she had felt when Quintessa deafed her in the Red Skull Arena. But was this the same girl? She spoke the same language and utilized the same magic, but her movements were less fluid than that of Quintessa of Black Pond. Her stance held none of the hesitant fear that motivated her to puff out her chest whenever she thought somebody was stronger than her. Not even when her opening wave or dark fire was counter does the necromancer lose her focus, the katana in her hands brought up midway to hang in a defensive posture between them, prepared to parry any oncoming attacks from her forces… until the screams of Khitti alerted her to the former-templar’s charge. Tragedy finds herself facing off against two women she did not want to see joining forces to defeat her, a person she loathed and a person she had grown to care about. The dark fae’s heart and mind tears in twain in an instant, the gravity of her mission winning out over the feelings of affection that begged to rise to the surface. ‘Weak emotions.’ The sinister side of the girl assured, returning Tragedy to her cold, emotionless state. ‘Either you do this or you die- there is no other recourse.’ The necromancer steps backwards into her hoard, letting them shield her as she attempts to blend with them again to give her time to formulate a proper means to deal with this new revelation. “You want to see what my true power looks like?” Tragedy’s voice asks, riding on the wind like winter’s howl. “The Dark Arts are a tool for me to use however pleases me- Bwytawr enaid!” As the utterance of this phrase passes the young spellcaster's lips, a vacuum saps all of the necrotic energy from her aura and pours it into the ground, the wicked magic carving a black sigil resembling a large eye with black sclera into the earth around them. The undead standing in this giant eye freeze up as Tragedy targets them, robbing them of the energies that kept them animated in preparation for her attack. One by one they stop and crumple, feeding into the necromancer’s reserve of mana before a pale hand rises to usher in her next commandment. “Dadlwytho.” Clenching her delicate fist and pulling downwards, the air becomes still and silent just before the spell erupts into a dangerous cataclysm, spikes of maleficent energy reaching out to everything within a thirty foot radius of the caster, massive lances of solidified mana that disintegrate her undead shields and anything else in their way. Teeth, viscera, and jagged bones expel outward with them as her zombies are ripped to shreds, sending a disgusting shower of gruesome shrapnel parallel with her sharpened pillars of darkness. Now out in the open, Tragedy brings both hands to her weapon once more. “You think I care at all what loyites she holds dear? This girl is a puppet- Nothing more. Loose!” At her command, another volley of arrows fly free from the necromancer’s archers, peppering the space around her, targeting what could not be annihilated by her necrotic explosion. Without her shield of undead, however, Tragedy is left exposed to the projectiles that rain down on her position, a pair of them lodging themselves in her unarmored flank as they sweep forward in the direction of Khitti and Gevurah. Stoically, the dark fae does not react to the pain it causes as her blood stains her robes, dripping down her back into the shallow crater she had dug herself into. There are no feelings anymore, only the task at hand.
“Pull back!” Gevurah shouts in drow as Tragedy empowers the sigil on the ground. She levitates out of her saddle, straight up in the air like a dart as she utters a spell to counter the sigil’s power. A massive, translucent gray scythe swings forth from the priestess’s body, passing harmlessly through the drow and undead alike on the ground, towards the sigil with the intent to slice the mark and rob it of its power. But the scythe disintegrates on impact with the sigil which is blessed by Caluss. Once again the God of Undeath nullifies the God of Death’s power, by some trick of the divine that Gevurah cannot yet comprehend nor circumvent. The cataclysm explodes on the ground several yards beneath her feet. 7 of her 10 phalanx soldiers and all their lizard mounts are impaled. Gevurah’s own lizard is stabbed through the chest, the spike tearing through the poor creature’s spine, clean through the saddle to where Gevurah sat seconds ago. Terror rattles Gevurah’s spine. So long as Caluss nullifies her, her handicap is too great to overcome. She still has her transmutation tricks and her pyromancy, but she knows those spells won’t amount to much against Tragedy whom she increasingly suspects to be a certain teenage wretch. Two drow mages cast spells at Tragedy’s feet, one to ensnare her legs in mithril spider webs, and another to sink the dirt beneath her feet into a sinkhole. The other mages and the ranged soldiers focus fire on Tragedy at the center of the crater, hoping to overwhelm her with arrows, bolts, and lightning bolts. Gevurah spies Khitti near Tragedy, having somehow survived (this writer assumes ;) ) the devastating spikes. The priestess pulls from her bottomless satchel a pair of broken bifocals. She crushes the cracked glass in her palm so that it cuts her own flesh as she whispers a spell not dependent on Vakmatharas for its success. She blows the broken, bloodied lenses towards Khitti from above. Then rain down on Gevurah’s on-again-off-again ally and make it so that anyone targeting Khitti suffers from near-blindness, their vision blurring whenever they try to pinpoint Khitti’s location.
“You were the chosen one! You swore you were going to destroy the Insect, not join him! You were my daughter and I was going to teach you -everything- about the Black Tides! I -loved- you!” At some point, far far far into the future, another teacher would copy Khitti and say something similar to their own student but Khitti couldn’t copyright it quickly enough and that bearded bastard would take what was hers and Khitti wouldn’t get the chance to use chronomancy to go to the future and sue his stupid robed ass. The undead and Quintessa’s attacks just kept coming and dark magic could only do so much against dark magic. At this point, Khitti was so angry and heartbroken that tears lined her eyes; it wasn’t just because of the fact that Quintessa betrayed her… it was because Khitti knew what she had to do. The former templar had yet to use her holy magic since yeeting Tenbatsu Kaji into the ocean. She had been so hesitant against it--would it even still be there? She truly did not want to kill Quintessa. She had even considered officially adopting her if the girl would have let her. As the ground quaked with Quintessa’s magic, the former templar was stirred into action again, realizing that the changeling had left herself open. Khitti shadowstepped her way around the area and resheathed Embershard along the way, doing her best to avoid arrows, but failing in between bouts of teleportation. An arrow found her left shoulder and another in her thigh, while others grazed Khitti’s body here and there tearing through her thin armor. Gevurah assistance, however, allowed Khitti a moment to gather herself before continuing on, aiming to shadowstep right behind Tragedy without further harm from the changeling’s attacks. “This is going to hurt me… more than you can imagine, Quintessa,” Khitti said to the girl as she summoned up Cyris’ strength, a ball of pure light forming in Khitti’s right palm. No longer under Tenbatsu Kaji’s influence, it would appear that Quintessa had been right all along about Khitti’s magic. While it was still tempered by the alchemical markings on Khitti’s hands, the holy magic had shifted form. She strengthened it as much as she could, hesitating only a moment before shoving the orb of light at Quintessa’s back. Quintessa could still get away. She could still turn around and kill Khitti finally. But, for once Khitti put faith in things that maybe she won’t. Then again… what had faith ever done for Khitti? It wouldn’t give Khitti too much help, because no sooner had she tried her attack on Quintessa did those alchemical symbols kick in and grace Khitti once more with the magical heartattack-like affliction that typically came with her using both magicks in such a in such a short span of time. Her chest ached and her vision blurred and Khitti just wanted this to be over. She just wanted things to be better again.
Comedy smiles widely beneath the bone white as her mask as she takes a moment to survey the field, lowering the hood from her head. From where nearly a year before her hair had been a dark grey-blue, barely any color remains in her pale hair. Perhaps this symbolized something. With the spores coating the necromantic bard, the shimmer gives the villain a glittering appearance. A multitude of Delisha-robed corpses descend on poor Hans, but the movement of Kailani quickly draws most of their attention back to her. Sharped claws and guttural screams refocus their efforts on the elf as the ranseur leaves her hand. As other villagers perhaps step in to try to save the druid, only to serve as offering themselves as free meals to the hungry beings, a pair of golden eyes fixates itself in Kailani’s direction and onto the incoming weapon. Amante begins to side-step to evade the sword, but not quick enough. The sword manages to find purchase on an exposed bit of flank above the beast’s front leg. The closeness of the attack severs the leather strap keeping the muzzle affixed to its face as well. Now Kailani’s done it. The leader of the Comedy masks snaps her head in her pet’s direction, seeming to lock onto her fully despite the multitude of arrows that have embedded themselves in her body at some point. No matter, it's not like she can feel them anyways. But, now Kailani has REALLY done it. The wolf faces the elf and charges forward out of the cloud of toxic spores. Its maw opens fully, where embers begin to spark at the back of its throat. As the wolf prepares its attack, Comedy prepares her own, withdrawing a rusted pan flute from beneath her robes. “How dare you!” The disguised voice hisses out, its song interrupted. True to her thoughts, the self-sustaining army slows down somewhat, but its numbers now seem even greater than before. An amalgamation of the Orange Witch lurches forward, intercepting the lightning attack with a scream, leaving only one golem at Orange’s side, and the one offering itself to the villain. The bone white mask jerks upwards to observe the titan’s flash frying before it crumples into the shroom-laden grass, then back at Kailani. No time to lose. She climbs into the outstretched hand of one of the titans. The amalgamation stands fully and rears its hand back, throwing the bard across the remainder of the way like a perfect pitch. As the woman sails through the air, the smiling mask is thrown like a frisbee directly at the elf’s head. Kanna has no aim, but that’s not the point, it's about sending a message. The ghoul lands and rolls to a stop just behind Tragedy at the base of the tree. “For my memories.” Kanna says, her paling blue eyes hardened with determination. Pressing both hands to the trunk of the tree, the tragedy of the Eternal Tree begins to repeat itself again as she unknowingly draws strength from Alithyk Caluss to peel away the bark of the tree to reveal the heartwood beneath. An unnervingly sweet smile graces the undead woman’s lips as she looks up at the back of the dark fae. “Honey, would you give me a hand? I need two hands to keep this one open.” Looking at the emergence of the tear-streaked woman from the shadows, she tilts her head. “Oh, she’s pretty. What a shame.”
Even as Hans feels his grip on life ebbing, his last concerns are exceedingly mundane. He never did get around to sending that letter to Aunt Zahi in Kelay. Oh, and Theron still owes him that gold from the bet last week. The noise around him starts reducing, almost like someone is placing wool in his ears, and his vision starts darkening in tandem. Hey, this is pretty funky, Fritz. Kind of like putting a blanket on your head. Hey Fritz. Hey, where are you, Fritz? You were just here a moment ago… Hans' eyes slowly begin to dim as he succumbs to his wounds, even as something tugs his body forwards, screaming loudly as it does so. Whoever that is, can you please just shut up for a moment? Gods, so noisy. Maybe he should check and see who it is, give them a telling off. Hans refocuses his eyes with a herculean effort and finds himself looking up at the tearstained face of his friend, who hiccups and coughs with every heaving breath. Gore splatters down Fritz top, and he holds his dagger, point downwards over Hans' head. That's kind of odd. Why would he, ohhhhhh, right. That makes sense. Zombie. Zooooombie. Funny sounding word. The point of the dagger trembles as Fritz sobs, while around them, the battle rages on, the line having closed where they had been a moment previously. Hans reaches up, and with a weak hand, he doesn't so much as slap, as weakly smush his friend's cheek. "The magesll be ere zoon, righ'?" Hans' voice slurs as he feels something else begin to take control of his body, even as his own grip loosens further. "They're not coming, Hans, they never were. They left us… they left you to die." Fritz sobs, gripping the dirk's hilt until his knuckles turn white, but the dagger doesn't descend. Not much time left, Fritz, you always were a dawdler. Just like back when we were kids, you always slept on way too late. Gotta get a move on, you old dumbass. With one final effort, Hans manages to gather a bloodstained grin, taking in one last look at his friend. "Doubles on me, right?" A weak hand rests on Fritz', and together, they let the dagger fall. || The frontline of the Xalious militia has been broken. Small pockets of defenders remain; in one such case, a pair of guards try valiantly to rally their fellow militia for one last push. "We need to hold out! The mages will be here to help us soon!" One guard cries, even as he cuts down another zombie. "No they won't." A cold raw growl from the back of the group causes many of the defenders to turn. In their midst, a bloodstained figure stalks like a crimson vision, soaked in so much gore they are nearly indistinguishable from the zombies themselves. Yet, what makes this figure unmistakably identifiable as human are the two blazing eyes that stare out from the bloodstained mess, searingly alive, and vengeful. "The mages have come and gone, and they didn't give two sh**s about the likes of us. They left us to die like fodder. We were a distraction, nothing more." A groaning shambler approaches the group, and the figure springs forward, slamming a dirk through the zombie's mask so hard that it shatters the laquered comedy mask, which clatters to the ground in pieces as the undead falls. Fritz turns and glares at the defenders, unholy rage in his eyes. "You can stay and die for whatever stupid ideal gets your rocks off, but if you have any brains at all, you'll fall back. The mages failed us, we're responsible for our own survival now!" Fritz rips the dirk from the dessicated skull, then stalks back through the crowd of defenders, many of whom fall back with him. The idealistic fools who remain are quickly overrun, and only add numbers to the undead horde.
As much as Kailani does not want to give up on this battle, she has lived long enough to know when the odds are just not in their favor. Gevurah would not be the only one issuing the command to pull back, the druid attempts to shout at Fritz to retreat. She was relieved to see that this was something that he was already doing. Kailani was forced to do the same, except for her the path was less clear as she had also caused some upset with her last assault, enough that the wolf was not attempting to attack her directly and someone was literally being thrown...at her head. Kailani is left with little choice but to dive toward the ground to her left, but she is not able to fully escape the assault of the wolf. She was not fully consumed by the flames and they do not burn any of her appendages to a total crisp, but she is sure to have suffered some serious burns beneath that armor of hers. While trying to find her footing, her blue eyes do a quick scan of her immediate surroundings to see if there is a weapon from a now deceased comrade that she could borrow. She finds one, a sword that is easily wielded with one hand. It's enough hopefully enough to help her keep that wolf at bay long enough to hatch an escape plan. During this search she also noticed a man riding a griffon. Her request is spoken, not shouted, but Orion would not have any trouble hearing it despite the noise of the battle. The wind was happy to carry this message to the griffon-ride, "A bit of help?" If it was not immediately clear where this request was coming from, she'd wave an arm at him...an arm that is left extended so that maybe this stranger will do her a solid. I mean they're more or less fighting on the same side, she's really hoping that Orion will just pluck her right up.
The Orange Mask watches as two of her amalgams get into a sloppy fist fight and huffs behind her disguise. She slaps her hands together, shuts her eyes and appears to be praying, but in reality she is barking insults at her golems through the connection they share of necromantic energies, “Stop hitting each other. It’s not rocks, you idiot. Hit the little guys!” The monstrosities snap out of the forced feud they were having and get back to work. The one Orion is swooping around sends dozens of stares through lifeless eyes littering its tar body and then reaches across its thick chest and rips off one of its arms with the other. Effectively this doubles the reach of the giant and it swings its new weapon in a wide arc that means to intercept the griffon and its on again, off again rider. The other titanic pile of tar and bodies, closer to the mass of mages that blasted the now completely destroyed golem, curls its arms and legs around itself, mushing all of the limbs into its body so that it becomes as spherelike as possible for something made of corpses and sticky gloop. Then the monstrous ball just starts rolling and picking up speed towards as many living bodies as possible, trying to roll over and collect them in the tar and grasping hands and gnashing mouths, like some kind of undead, dark katamari if you are familiar with the reference. Then… a strange wave of malice washes over the already tragic battlefield surrounding the Xalious Tree. Those making use of the Black Tides will feel a tug on their shadowy creations up towards the sky. Anyone looking up to the clouds might spot a humanoid figure, coasting on a black wingspan of at least 20 feet, high above. Titan of Winter fans, Orange, and some drow present will recognize this dark phenomena as a herald of The Blue Demon. He makes no move to descend yet, and with The Orange Mask’s identity yet to be revealed, many currently fighting might not be sure what side of this conflict the famous assassin would fall on. Behind her mask, the teenage necromancer puffs out her cheeks and looks away from her airborne father, making her way to meet up with the golem that threw Kanna towards the Tree. She too will be lifted by the monstrosity, but she doesn’t want to be thrown, half-elves are less durable than ghouls, probably. So instead she is carried, protected with both arms towards the great tree while the gigantic mass of tar and men plows through the crowd...
One final violent swing of his lute exploded the instrument into pieces, "Shyte.." One last swing puts the splintered neck of the instrument deep in one of heads. Orion reaches down for his axe once again. Good timing. He was almost swiped off of his mount by a freaky looking arm of the giant creature. In doing so he catches sight of Kailani and her call for help. Grimclaw circles the beast a few more times as Orion settles into the saddle. He leans forward and points towards the female, "There, Grim! Fast! Hoorah!" The two divebomb once more before landing between blue haired half elf and Amante. Grimclaw screeches at Amante as a fair warning to stay back. The bardbarian reaches out to her, "Orion. And you look like you need to get out of here too.." Should she take his hand, Orion would quickly pull her up to sit behind the saddle, "Hold on!" Grim leaps into the air without a second to lose and takes to the sky. Orion looks down at the battlefield, "Well..I wasn't expecting all of that.." He looks over his shoulder, "Orion Dynjapsá. This is Grimclaw." The winter-griffon calls out into the wind as they put some distance between them and poor Xalious.
Lanlan scans the battlefield again, "Apprentices!" They stand at attention and wait with baited breath while Lanlan's mind sputters. A giant zombie katamari ball coming at him. "HALFPIPE! Loop-dee-loop! Change its course!" Once again, these 'apprentices' outdo themselves. Or some do. The thing he asked for is almost exactly what he got. A group of apprentices take action, realizing his vision, and carve a massive slide of ice that ramps up, loops around, and sends the thingie in the other direction. Again he takes a look at his surroundings. "We can't win this! Here take cover against the loop!" Once what remains of the apprentices go toward the ice wall, Lanlan uses his illusions to blend them into it, gradually they change colors and textures like a chameleon, and begin to inch around it.
Enelys had quite enough of this. These were no conditions for apprentices to be out fighting in their underwear. The little light bobbles had gathered around whispering non stop about the man of her dreams and fulfilling her destiny and Enelys was frankly getting tired of them too. She approached the other apprentices, dodging and sprinting across the battlefield (those exercise regimens really had paid off!) and held up a cloak stained with blood that definitely didn’t fit her but blended in under an illusion regardless. “Listen to me!” She cried out over the din of war, “we have to retreat! They’re too ugly- I mean too many! We need to clear a trench and save our behinds!” Plus those damn fairy lights were dancing and shouting “listen!” like a bonfire sign. “We can use the storm as cover! Half of us draw in the clouds and moisture down low, the other half call down the lightning. It’ll have to be short, steady, and swift. This way!” Enelys points with her rod, beginning to call the storm down from the sky with the others. A trench it would appear to be, two banks of rolling fog charged with heavy static and lightning on either side, their own miniature storm-on-rails. It would take some leapfrogging and staggered steps, but the remaining mage guilds apprentices would make it out okay, wherever they were headed.
Already slowed by the injuries in her back, Tragedy begins to walk forward, methodically steps lifting her from the crater that still burned from the negative energy manifested by the dark fae. Her eyes peer at the destruction she had caused from behind the mask of her namesake, jerky movements of her head allowing her to keep track of the Drow that surround her. A hiss of disapproval escapes from the wraithlike woman when her legs are ensnared by mithril spiderwebs, tugging fruitlessly against them as Gevurah’s main force leveled their crossbows and positioned themselves to rain lightning down upon her. Tragedy becomes frantic, a lithe hand moving away from her sword to jut upwards into the air, the mystical intention of such a movement causing a pulse of mana force a large ridge of rock to block out one side of the assault as the fire upon her, another projectile piercing the flesh of her arm before she can react to the other. “Wal iâ.” Tragedy’s wispy voice rings out, the words giving her time to pull the bolt the rest of the way through as a wall of ice blocks her from the view of the other assailants. The arrows, bolts, and magic pummels her protective barriers, creating fractures in the rock or ice as Tragedy brings her sword down to cut herself from from the Drowish snares. The dark fae frees herself quickly, pulling herself from the sinkhole but only quick enough to catch the voice of Khitti as she shadow-steps behind her. When Tragedy tries to lock eyes with the woman, Gevurah’s curse takes hold, robbing her of her vision as near-sightness takes hold. This gives Khitti the opening she needs to land her spell, the light of the orb slamming into the changeling and igniting into a brilliant display as the maleficent nature of the girl is purified by the devine magics. A horrific scream screeches over the noise of battle as the necromancer is fried, sending shockwaves outward that shatters her barriers and forces the debris flying in the direction of the remaining resistance. Steam rises from Tragedy's body, as she collapses to her knees, her clothing torn, her mask cracking down the middle, blood pooling all around her. It looks as though this is the end for the strange girl, but as Khitti suffers from the debilitating effects of her own runic implements, Tragedy takes advantage, a single finger moving down to touch a single inscribed rune on her boot. “Nei...Neidio…” She says weakly, the mana stored in her shadow-stepping boots giving a single pulse before the darkness all around her converged to engulf her, pulling her into them and away from the danger of retribution. The wraithlike woman is tugged from the umbra right at Comedy’s feet, gazing up at the exposed hole the living dead girl had made for her. This was it! Her opportunity to end this battle in pyrrhic victory! Feeling a renewed surge of vigor, Tragedy draws out her mitral tipped syringe and jabs it into the exposed wood beneath the enchanted bark, her thumb moving to plunge the massive holy tree full of the unholy sap. “It’s done.” she says flatley, leaving the needle still in the trunk of the Xalious Tree as she rises to her feet in agony. “Party’s over girls- we have to leave. Now!”
Gevurah blasts Tragedy’s icewall with a relentless torrent of fire thrown right from her palm. The priestess is so focused on breaking down Tragedy’s barrier to expose the fae to attacks and finally kill her, that she briefly forgets her main objective: defending the tree. Her bloodlust comes at a high price whe Tragedy shadow-steps across the battlefield and impales the try with a needle before Gevurah has time to fire up a spell and protect the tree. The matron roars a high-pitched, spine-tingling scream. She zooms across the sky until she is right above Comedy and Tragedy and rains down a flamethrower of fire as large as a bull. If at first you don’t succeed, kill the bastards who got in your way.
As previously stated, a certain eight foot tall sabrecat was lurking in the outskirts of where this lovely get-together was going down. Much like its owner, it had watched and waited until it was needed and now, the semi-sentient Shadow Plane feline determined that it was indeed needed. “MOWROWR!” The great charcoal grey, violet-eyed beast leapt from the shadows and headed towards Khitti, ducking and dodging the ridiculous katamari ball of undeath and various other instruments of destruction. No sooner did Tragedy vacate the area did the tikifhlee find the former templar and lay down so that Khitti could climb up onto its back--which was really hard to do thanks to those arrows literally sticking out of her. The magical tightening on Khitti’s heart subsided, as did the much needed adrenaline that had fueled her up until now, and as unconsciousness threatened Khitti, she laid against her cat’s back, olive-green eyes watching as Quintessa and her accomplices achieved their goal. Oh there would be many more unhappy tears and lots of binge-drinking, but not until she got home and was patched up. Lennier, the Tranquility’s healer, had his work cut out for him tonight. “Again?”, he’d question her whenever she finally arrived at the ship, the bald elf’s displeasure at her unfortunate state made known as she flopped onto his cold, metal surgery table, awaiting the poking and prodding of surgical instruments. Tonight, she wouldn’t be seeing visions of the experimentations she went through in the past. Instead, all she could think about was avoiding Quintessa Dragana for the rest of their lives. Unfortunately for Khitti… that wasn’t going to work out very well.
The unmasked ghoul smiles widely as the tar sinks into the heart of the tree. The boughs of the tree seem to shudder, even despite the war and the storm picking up speed. With the deed complete, Kanna draws her splintered hands away, letting the magical tree snap its bark back into place. The charcoal bark lightens considerably where Kanna has rested her hands, and a singular white flower blooms forth, reeking of wildflowers and decay. A tug on her arm draws her attention back to the frowning mask. Behind the woman, she catches sight of the Matron in the air, and the imminent fireballs. With the pair joined by the Orange Witch, that makes them prime fireball material! The incandescently furred wolf lets out a howl as it steps between the trajectory of the girls and the magic. As if absorbing power, the fireballs divert course, engulfing the wolf. Amante lets out a ferocious howl, reinvigorated by the flames it craves. Its very fur seems to flicker as if made of flames as it becomes apparent that no fire would touch its owners. A crack of thunder strikes the Xalious Tree, weakened by whatever was injected into it. In a horrifying display, the topmost golden leaves that once shone like sunlight in contrast to the gorgeous blue light of Xalious himself catch fire. By the time the flames from beneath the tree recede, everyone will find that the trio have vanished into the night.
Epilogue
Hours pass as the Living Dead Girls flee the northern Xalious Mountain Range on foot. Despite the ghoul’s neverending stamina, the fae, the half-elf, and the wolf at her side occasionally pause to regain wind before moving again. There was no telling how long they had before any patrols caught up to them. At the peak of one of the mountains climbed, the group looks out for a moment at the carnage wrought by their actions. Surely, this had been worth it, right? “There should be a cabin up ahead where we can regroup until I have enough power to get us back to Vailkrin.” Quintessa growls through the pain wracking her frame as she takes Kanna’s icy hand as a sign to keep walking. Leralynn smiles at the pair, thinking idly of all the praise in store for her for how well she acted tonight. After a few minutes of walking, Kanna stops. The two witches and the wolf slow to a stop with her, looking back at her with a wordless question of why she was stopping. Kanna blinks slowly, tilting her head, silvery curls spilling over her shoulders as she does so. “I know… this is going to sound terribly rude but… have we met before?”