RP:Portal Hopping
Part of the Agitation Arc
Summary: Three portals have been found, and it is known by the Mage’s Guild, Gevurah, and Lanlan that the portals lead to a castle in the chaos realm where Alithyk Caluss keeps an undead army and cult of necromancers called The Order of the Shade. What they don’t know is how many portals exist in total.
The Mage’s Guild devises a plan. They will jump in through known portals, then from within the chaos realm, find all other portals and jump through them to see where they lead on the surface, thus reverse engineering the portal locations! They discover that there are 8 portals in total. They successfuly jump through an additional 4 portals, discovering the locations of 7 portals. The final one remains a mystery.
Meanwhile, Gevurah, informed of this mission, decides it’s a great time she and Lanlan use this operation as a cover while they infiltrate the chaos realm and kidnap a cultist for their own nefarious plot.
Everyone goes in with the intention to not get caught, then gets caught. Chaos!
Lotus Castle, Chaos Realm
Gevurah received word from Kovl, provost esoterica of the Mage’s Guild and secret limited-time ally of House D’Artes, that the mage’s guild was leading a bold expedition into the portals. It was a recon mission with two goals. First, take stock of Alithyk Caluss’s undead army and burgeoning religion. Second, locate all other portals and jump through them to see where they lead to on the surface, and in this way find the location of all the portals in existence (hopefully). Neither Gevurah nor Kovl know how many portals exist, but three portals are known: the portal in the dead caves, the portal in the swamp north of Gualon, and the portal in the dark forest east of Vailkrin. Gevurah paid Lanlan a personal visit to update him with the mage’s mission. As Gevurah saw it, for the two of them, there was a second opportunity in the mission: to kidnap a cultist, for whom Lanlan and Gevurah have big plans. Gevurah proposed the following: While the Mage’s Guild as a whole does not know that the drow are working with them, the mages’ mission is a stealthy one. Engaging the army in the chaos realm is suicide, and so is engaging each other. If not provoked, Gevurah mused, the mages won’t attack any non-enemy drow. Keeping a low profile was key to the mission’s success. However, if they are discovered and a battle does ensue, the guild will unwittingly provide cover for Gevurah and Lanlan to slip in and out of the chaos realm, ideally with their prize. Gevurah wants to enter the portal in the dead caves with Lanlan and take no one else. The fewer drow know about this, the better. On the day of the mission, Lanlan and Gevurah meet at the Black Gates to the Dead Caves and travel to the subterranean corpse chamber (where mindflayer through the bodies of creatures whose brains they’ve eaten!). Gevurah eschews fancy dress and robes with fitted leather pants and a top, and her heavily enchanted piwafwi. The portal is about the length of an elk, oblong in shape, and filled with inky black substance that looks viscous to the touch. Deep purple arcane current swirls in a whirl through its center. White and purple crackling energy lines the perimeter of the portal. The drow jump, and appear in the chaos realm in the exact same spot as last time: about 100 yards out from the castle. The estate’s grounds are teeming with undead beasts, and candlelight glows in the first floor windows. Occasionally a shadow flickers across a drawn curtain. Several portals, identical to the one in the dead caves, blot the grounds around the castle in a two hundred yard radius. Between the portals the undead army idles, unthinking obstructions to the Mage’s Guild’s mission. The drawbridge isn’t guarded in specific, but given the army and the cultists inside the castle, it doesn’t need to be. Immediately Gevurah suffers a mild headache, a fog and dulling of the senses, just like last time they two drow nobles were here. The chaos magic interferes with her ability to concentrate, though she can power through it at a push. An adrenaline spike would certainly help. Unthinkingly she turns her back to Lanlan, an unconscious sign of trust and something she would not have done the last time they haunted this place. It’s a sign of how close the nobles have grown (which in surfacer terms isn’t very close at all, but for drow is quite remarkable). She searches the dark horizon for signs of the mages but sees nothing. She signs to Lanlan in the hand language of the drow, ‘Do you detect them?’ She then points to a mound so they may benefit from high ground. Drow nobles can levitate, but they would be rather exposed. She jerks her head toward the hill and waits for Lanlan’s opinion.
The plan was clear, enter through a portal and exit out a different one, thus finding where on Hollow the horde might appear. It would be a matter of surviving long enough to do so most likely. Lanlan and Gevurah barely escaped last time, and he regarded each of them (especially the former) as extremely capable individuals. He appeared in the chaos realm next to Gevurah, and felt the same miasmic effect on his senses and thoughts. He was virtually unrecognizable, appearing in gray robes that almost exactly matched his skin and hair, scarlet eyes alive under the shadow of his hood. He thought he looked like a nerd and considered casting an illusion to make himself match the persona he shows to most people. It might be a waste of effort though. Lanlan's gloved hands appear out of his long sleeves and respond deftly to Gevurah. No he doesn't see them, but he agrees they should stay mobile when possible, and work towards either of their goals. He casts a magical shroud over them that helps their movements look like a rolling cluster of rocks and dirt, chaotically moving against gravity as they do sometimes in this place.
Pilar and a contingent of mages from the guild had traveled long and far to make it to the swamp near Gualon. She did not want to be here; she had to be in Frostmaw, for her friends, but the Mage's Guild had insisted that she join in the effort to close the portals through which Alithyk Caluss planned to unleash his army. There was another squad of mages somewhere in the Dark Forest, and Pilar almost wished she had been assigned to that one. Maybe she could have slipped away and hid in House Dragana while this whole mess was dealt with. She really didn't want to be here. She was out of her element, a girl in leather surrounded by old men and women in robes. The leader of their group, an aged elf whose name she'd forgotten, gave them a rundown of the mission as they stood gathered in front of the portal. "We are to go in, find the other portals, find where they lead, and close them. No not engage the enemy unless it's to defend yourself. Am I understood?" Pilar nodded, her eyes going to the ground as the mages around her voiced their agreement. "Very well. Onward!" The mages surged forward, bringing poor Pilar with them. She closed her eyes as they passed through the portal, her stomach churning. When she opened her eyes, she was on a hill, outside a castle, and below them, an army of undead. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the continued feeling of nausea. This place, it was just... WRONG.
The realm was abuzz with activity, alight with casted magic and the weaving of spells, and alive, though all of the occupants were most certainly undead, with the braying, gnashing, howling, moaning and groaning of legion upon legion of undead hosts. Elvish bodies, torn and rotted, with limbs of beasts and other races sewn on with necromantic energies; large beasts with many heads, many arms, and many slack jawed mouths; humans who where not humans, giants who were not giants, and drow, dragon, and all races brought together in sickening amalgamations by soldered, sutured, or melded together for the greater 'good' that was Alithyk's Dream. Luckily for the new arrivals, not one eye looked at the portals, not one head turned when order had thrown itself into the realm of chaos. All gazes, all attentions, all shows of concentration, reverence, or just plain awe were turned to the castle. You would not need to be sensitive magical energies to -feel- what surged from the stones in waves, that infected the air one breathed with fear and foreboding, and that sent the followers of Caluss into a reverential and spiritual mass hysteria. The Master worked…
Gevurah thinks Lanlan looks like a total nerd. Or at least, she thought so when she saw him, but now she thinks only of the mission. His cover is, as always, brilliant and zainy. He’s the most effective fool she’s ever suffered. From their perch atop the hill she spies the arrival of the mages and gestures to them to guide Lanlan’s sight, though surely he has seen them without her guidance. Those two portals must be the swamp and forest, she thinks. She doesn’t spell it out for Lanlan, he’ll know too. Instead she signals, “Do you feel that?” The powerful magic, Caluss’s unmistakable energy thrumming within the castle. There’s no chance she’ll suggest they enter the castle and try to pick off a lone straggler. Last time Lanlan and Gevurah entered that castle, they only very narrowly made it out alive. It certainly reaffirmed her faith in Vakmatharas for even luck was insufficient to save them that day, and only divine will saw them back home in one piece. She signs: We need to lure one out, but not betray the mage’s guild. If we must, fine, but we benefit from the success of their mission. She points at an overhanging boulder some yards away from the duo. She suggests: rockslide. The mage’s guild are further away and any eyes turning to the rockslide should not fall on the mages. She crouches as she sprints over to the boulder. Her piwafwi lends her the appearance of nothing more than a shadow. She reaches into the satchel tucked beneath her piwafwi, then smears a fistful of iron dust over the boulder and sprinkles the surrounding area and chants a quick spell to loosen the earth and cause a rockslide. The rocks crack then roar as they slide with mud and surprising velocity and noise right for the army, bowling over undead goblins closest to the disaster. Some mud jumps, rocks spiral upwards, and one even turns into a diamond and another into a bird who flaps its black wings and sqwaks as it flies away. Good enough for a distraction. The hope is that the cultists send someone to investigate and deem it no more than a chaotic disaster.
Pilar had her eyes on the castle. Whatever was going on in there must have been powerful stuff. She hugged herself as the mage in charge gave them their marching orders. They were going to head to each portal, one at a time, and send a small team through. Once on the other side, the team was to set a magical beacon nearby, and then attempt to mark the location on a map before sending it to the Guild headquarters. A two-fold process to ensure the portal could be found again. They were not to attempt to close them yet, as that might draw attention. The elf had barely finished speaking when a rockslide caused Pilar to jump. She watched the display with wonder and not a bit of anxiety. Anything could happen here, it seemed. "Let us go, quickly," the leader said, and the mages were off. Pilar concentrated her magic to make them invisible and inaudible, what would have been a herculean task for a novice like her had she been doing it alone. There were other, more skilled illusionists there, and part of her wondered why she had been assigned this mission at all. The mages moved in unison to the next nearest portal, down the hill and away from the rockslide.
Lanlan spies the other mages from fairly far away, two crews appearing soon after he did. He shines a tiny little light in front of the portal he came from, looking exactly like a twinkling star. They wouldn't see the drow, and this would be the signal to understand they arrived. Though he couldn't see just who came through on their side, he was briefed about who would be leading. He could imagine, that stale, aged elf giving orders and then just expecting people to listen. And then people obeying! That was the worst part. The best part was all the leadership positions that might be vacant after today. He couldn't trouble himself with that now however, and signaled to Gevurah, that of course he saw them, and could feel the magic coagulating down there. He followed her to the boulder, being unable to assist in the actual causation, but efficient in setting an ambush. Soundlessly he moved down the hill near the path of the biggest rock, levitating slightly over mostly-dead-but-still-perhaps-deadly creatures. His robes were enchanted to conceal most of what would reveal him to others; his smell, sounds, and shape of his figure beneath them. The closer he got to the castle, the more oppressive the voices seemed to whisper in his head, and he thought if he concentrated more he might be able to understand them. He also thought this is probably an invitation to join the cultists. So he decided to practice his mindfulness techniques, and started attaching visions to the zombies eyes. Eye by eye, he cursed, and they glowed with magical blueness. When and if they did see one of the cultists, they would think it was food.
The landslide had a jarring effect on those near it. Beasts turned to look at it with eyes that did not see; the orbs were soaked through with blackness, and endlessly roiling mass that connected what the creatures saw to the minds that were set the task of overseeing them. They barked hellish barks and howled hellish howls, but the affect that Gevurah wanted was achieved. Three robbed figures, skeletal in frame but more traditional in build, pushed through the wave upon wave of praising horde. Only one seemed to traverse the rockslide with any sort of strength; while the figure climbed without aid and with much gusto, arriving first at the top of the slide, the others were on their hands and knees earning every centimeter with heavy breathes and burning muscles. The lone figure swept his veiled gaze across the area. // Even coming as close as Lanlan was like Sisyphus, the call for duty and mission the impetus for him to fly closer to the castle. He was the first to feel the effects of the castle; he was the first to –see- what was being dredged up by the cultists, summoners, and Caltuss. Reality. A reality. One of the many that seemed to ebb and flow into this horrendous realm. Lanlan did not stand, nor did he kneel. He was bound to a floor covered in his own excrement with chains that were already soaked in his own blood and fouler things. Eyeless. Teethless. Tongueless. The only memory he had within his mind, within the broken shell of his body in the deepest, darkest, foulest cells in the Underdark was loss. Loss of power. Loss of prestige. Loss of station. Lesser than slaves who felt even they were better than the blind and mute prisoner. He had one sense left in this reality, and it flooded his mind in the world he now resided. ‘It need not be this way. You need not to fall. Worship…and be saved.’ // Other sentries, the outer creatures far away from the castle, turned the same abysmal black eyes to the outer reaches in twos, threes, and fours. They did not bark their alarms yet, but they were searching for anything normal, as anything odd would just be par for the chaos realm course. For now it seemed Pilar and her mage company went unnoticed.
Ernest was one of those people who was pretty good at being in the right place at the right time. In addition to the strange and almost undeniable calling that he felt from the portal, he'd also witnessed a whole troupe of mages storm into it. Sorta like watching clowns walk into a stagecoach, only with sillier hats and slightly more sensible shoes. This was enough to give him a bit of pause as he slowly edged closer to the thing--pause enough to button back the quick-draw flap on his longcoat and have a hand ready to pull just in case. Hat tilted low, fingers of his other hand lightly gripping a particular crossbow bolt which glinted with an eerie blue, he slowly stepped through the portal--and into a realm of howling noise and insanity. The black fabric of his longcoat lit up around the edges with a faint blue glow, perhaps distorting his outline just enough to make him appear rather more wraith-like than human--and the ghoulish stretching of his skin that the desiccation of being buried for ten years in sand probably didn't help either. The mummy just sort of stood there by the entrance for a moment, taking in the bizarre skyscape of twinkling and shifting reality, kaleidoscope-like images of worlds within worlds within worlds and other things which defied even being written down in letters--it was enough to make him just sort of stop everything and... watch. It was really kind of beautiful, if you ignored the horrors and stuck to the things that were beautiful about it. The problem lay in the comprehension--he could feel this place wasn't meant to house life--or anything at all, for that matter. He glanced down for a moment at the crossbow bolt in his hand--was there energy enough in this universe to cause its curse to be useful? And what of the magicians, a half-inch give or take three miles yonder? What about this space would at all allow him to function as he should? It was paralyzing to even try to think about moving through it…
Gevurah hisses as Lanlan levitates and glides forward. He didn’t share his plan, and Gevurah sticks to hers. As the agile cultist summits the topmost boulder, she pulls enchanted spider silk from her satchel. She is enchanted to appear as no more than a shadow. In Trist’oth, this meant that when she moved, so too did her shadow move despite natural law, and thus she risked detection. But in the chaos realm, shadows don’t follow a set of rules of behavior, and thus, unexpectedly, she is better camouflaged in the chaos realm than outside of it. She tosses the spider silk as she mutters an incantation. The silk spreads like web large enough to catch a cow, and render it paralyzed through a contact-venom that’s neurological and thus may work on the undead, albeit not as effectively as it would on the living. The silk is visible but seems to emanate from nothing. As for the mages, three groups reach portals rather quickly, the two portals closest to the swamp entry (and Ernest) and another quite close to the dark forest entry. The mages find themselves in a musty place (a cavern full of beard-like fungi in Kregus), a frozen place (the haunted ruins in the wilds of Frostmaw), and a place that reeks of human rot and spices (cannibal’s hovel in Cenril). With these three portals, 6 in total have been found. The leader in Pilar’s group floats upwards and invisibly (with some difficulty, due to the chaos magic’s interference) and counts the portals. By her count, there’s only more two to go.
Lanlan froze in place, the magic that crippled his mind crippling his body as well. Nothing about him moved other than his ever-billowing robes and his eyes under tightly shut lids. Why was he here, wherever he was, being tortured? He remembered asking himself this before, but couldn't remember anything other than being ripped apart and chained. So he asked himself again. Sometimes he thought of escaping and inflicting this pain on whoever did this to him, but ten times worse. But mostly he just thought of the pain. Once, he was afforded the chance to think about something else, and his eyebrow trembled in his nightmare and on his body. He felt it. One of the mangled zombies clambered up the rock and started annoying the cultist who was channeling agony into his brain. It afforded him precious seconds to cast a spell that might let him escape, and he used his prehensile eyebrows, the only thing he believed he could move, for the somatic component. He cast a spell to dispel curses. One by one his senses return to him, and when he opens his eyes, he sees his tormentor flattened against the rock, paralyzed by Gevurah and being munched on by a two-toothed zombie goblin. He understood exactly what transpired now, and picked a rock up off the ground. The magic used against him might not last forever, but Lanlan needed this guy to stay put, so he smashed him in the head with the rock. He would live. He pushed the goblin off the rock and trudged back up the hill towards Gevurah. He signalled to her that their target was incapacitated and all they needed was to get out with it.
Pilar felt her magic wavering, and the mages flickered in and out of view. One of the mages picked up her slack, and if it wasn't for the spell she would have heard her mumbling about incompetence. The mages regrouped, and shared what they're found, and split again into two. As Pilar's group neared the seventh portal, she looked to the sentries nervously. The group surrounded it, and the spells protecting them from detection were lessened. They could see and speak to each other, but they would be blurry and muffled to distant onlookers. "Asig, Nemi, Solana-Mendez, go through," the leader ordered. It seemed her turn had come. Nervously, Pilar stepped forward with her two compatriots. The spells on them were dropped entirely, so as not to cause any magical disruption to the portal. Who knew what would happen if the streams were crossed? Asig and Nemi went through, and Pilar was going to follow, when she felt a burning sensation at her hip. She looked down and her eyes widened. Regalo, her magic-stealing knife, was smoldering in its scabbard. Had it been absorbing the chaos magic all this time?! Pilar drew her knife, only to find the curved blade glowing plaid. She knew she had to discharge the mana that had been collected, but how? Panicking, Pilar took the magic within the knife into her body, through the hilt. This had the intended effect of returning the blade to normal, for now, but had the unintended effect of making Pilar violently ill. She fell to her knees and out came the blood she'd had to drink before the mission, dyed a vibrant purple from the errant magic. The mages watched on with a mixture of disgust and horror. "Incompetent," was mumbled again.
Gevurah’s attack was quick and successful; the robed figure had little time to react and even less to move before the enchanted spider silk enveloped him. But the figure did not fight; he did not struggle. His body remained still…until his chest jerked forward. The tip of a sword pierced through the ratty leather robe he wore; any follower of the Death god would feel the immense necromantic energies within it. The sword was not a blade, it was bone, a fusion of basilisk remains and an elvish spinal column. More and more pierced the robe, shredded the fabric, the meat of it falling down in a slow arc that sliced through the enchanted spider silk. The figure fell, too, and it took a moment before it slid the torn robes off of his body to expose what had happened. The sword had been summoned from his back, tore through his chest, and sliced through his chest and abdomen as it had sliced through the silk. But he lived nonetheless with what organs had putrefied sloshing down his waist and puddling on the ground at his knees. When he rose back to his full height, he brought the basilisk blade with him, and empty sockets stared at the Drowess. His friend hand rose, and his free hand taunted, his skeletal thin fingers wrapped tight with his dead flesh beckoning for her next move…only to have his attention turned away from the old drow to the much younger male drow who had one of the cultist captured. His smoldering arrogance burst into a fury, and it was at Lanlan that he lunged. Propelled by the powers that emanated from the realm, that was freely funneled by the Shade into his loyal servant, the Death Knight threw himself into the air with his basilisk blade held high. It came down in a stroke, one that was aimed turning the singular male into dead bilateral halves. // Magic. Natural magic. Something born from order and not from chaos. It was hurled from some unfortunate traveler and now sizzled purple on the ground at her feet. It was enough for the castle, the chaos, the Master, to take notice, and as whatever was within searched the grounds and found Pilar, she, too, would have her mind opened to a different reality. Smoke. Fires. Tents. A joyous celebration that hid the undercurrent of apprehension for an oncoming battle. Warriors donning their armors and cleaning their weapons, workers going about their tasks, perhaps even a mage or two discussing the finer points of their craft. But, then, there were shadows. But, then, there was the beginning of rain. Dark and viscous, what fell on Pilar and the others was not water---and what started to fall from the sky, mutilated corpses hurled from some far off distance, most certainly were not droplets of rain.//The plan was to be sneaky, and those who knew the plan before entering were performing this task admirably. But there was one figure who did not know the plan, and he wandered into a very, very bad situation. His eyes were to the sky when they should’ve been level, for he would see the hundreds of hundreds, hordes upon hordes, legions upon legions of undead monstrosities---and he would have been able to see hundreds of eyes looking directly at him. The pickets turned their heads to the sky and let out their loud, piercing barks. More beings turned, more eyes turned, and more creatures were pulled from their mass hysteria to look at the single, solitary figure standing at one of the many portal entrances. It was a pair of undead who first charged him, part humanoid, part woodland beast, and the other part leather armor stitched directly into the body. But two became four, four became eight, and soon too many to count would be charging for Ernest with claw, maw, and pincers all aimed at him.
Ernest heard a peculiar new sound. That was his first clue that moving might actually be easier in this place than he'd previously considered, but not necessarily the first clue that everything had gone entirely, entirely wrong. As he turned his eyes downward to the countless hordes which were now charging straight for him, he realized very quickly that his being an undead meant nothing to this swarm and as such it was time to take action. Glimpsing, just for a second, off in the distance, a flare of magic, he realized that his curses probably would work here and immediately jammed the crossbow bolt into his own throat. There was a brief flash of blue sparks and a tongue of flame which flowed into his body--which then rapidly expanded into an invisible bubble of silence and antimagic as The Curse of the Tyrant's Dissent took hold. This particular curse of his was an odd one for multiple reasons. Ordinarily, one used it on a mage. Fire the crossbow bolt so it just nicks their throat, and you've fulfilled the requirements of bestowing the curse: their throat must bleed. Said mage was then prevented from speaking or casting until the curse was broken. It also made healing magic all but ineffective on the victim. But it also caused the victim to take vastly reduced magical damage and be near-immune to the application of spells. Given that the only spellcasting Ernest knew how to do had to be done outside of combat anyhow, and that he wouldn't really have much to say to these people, it seemed to him to make far more sense to protect himself from harm using the one beneficial effect of the curse than to fire it at a caster someplace. And it was within that bubble of antimagic that he finally got it. The strange magic of the realm had caught him up and enveloped him in its majesty, but from here he could watch it passively and observe it as if from the outside. The shifting and boiling of realities themselves became something that could, despite still being chaotic and rather unpredictable, something that could be measured. Perhaps used to his advantage. But of course one can't do that if one is being torn apart by undead hellbeasts. So, knowing that he didn't have at all the ammunition he needed to put the horde down... he started running. Somewhere. Anywhere. As long as it wasn't here. If he was lucky--and he hoped sincerely that he was--he could spot a reality unfolding and dive into it before it returned to its own plane, perhaps escape there.
Kovl peers across the chaos realm toward the castle, toward the scattered undead corpses wandering aimlessly as what appeared to be unaware sentries peppered across castle yards. The pixie had been with the group which entered through the portal in the forest and has, until this point, been assisting in protective illusionary spells to mask the Guild's explorers' from sight and sound. Not all were masked from detection; those who entered the newly discovered portals were routinely voided of illusionary and protective spells as to not cause unintended consequences. The pixie regrets failing to test his magic as it interacted with the portals. Kovl unmasks the three chosen to discover where this next portal leads, glances toward the courtyard of the castle, and hears a body hit the ground and a loud retching. Kovl's attention snaps back to Pilar, and so does the unwanted attention of the undead scattered around the portals. The pixie curses under his breath, still focusing the magic, in conjunction with others, on keeping the party undetected from the chaos realm dwellers. The Provost Esoterica's mind is cloudy, and he knows too much concentration elsewhere may compromise all of the party. Zipping quickly to an elvish understudy, Lorelsiel, who the pixie knew has high aspirations to emulate his spell mastery, Kovl whispers, "Concentrate. Keep them hidden." As the pixie transfers the responsibility for party concealment to the inexperienced mage, the illusion of empty scenery flickers, and the Guild party's sounds are unmasked. Lorelsiel never was good at concealing sound. The pixie dives now to Pilar, fires a pulse of natural magic through his arm and into a pouch of his pixie dust which he promptly throws over the puking mage and the other two who were assigned to be sent out. The effects of the magic would render them invisible to the naked eye. Kovl prays to Xalious the undead creatures will lose their scent of the party and that as the mindless beings they are, perhaps forget the mages ever existed. 'Out of sight, out of mind' are his aspirations in a nutshell.
Gevurah sends Lanlan a curious look as they together move the body behind better cover. What just happened to him? He can tell her later, or never. The drow are prideful and typically don’t share experiences without good reason. Just as they lift the paralyzed corpse (Trajek, apparently), a bone sword moves and slices of its own accord, right through their hostage himself! Needless to say, she drops that mess immediately and jumps back to put distance between it and herself. Trajek attacks Lanlan, but turns his back to Gevurah in the process. She grabs the slack spider silk from the ground and her touch alone repossesses it with mana. She flips the silk like a jump rope, swinging it forward to catch Trajek around the throat, then jerks back the silk like a garotte, the length of it shortening to hasten the speed with which she jerks him back. Of course, she cannot outplay him on strength, and her goal is not to drag him back to her. All she hopes for is to knock him off balance and put him on the backfoot. Whether or not she succeeds, she drops the silk. One hand draws into the palm of the other a quick, primal symbol of fear. She thrusts the hand forward and the ghostly image of a black hand bearing the symbol flies forward, growing to the size of a man as it shoots across the distance between drow and undead. It moves in a straight line at twice the topspeed of a race horse, looking to smack into Trajek. If it hits her target, he’ll suffer a debilitating panic attack. No hallucinations, no visions, simply irrational and intense fear. // Although Trajek outpaced the other two cultists, they are still there. One is now sounding the alarm, releasing what should be a magical flare, but due to the chaotic forces of this realm (which affects arcane magic more than divine), the flare turns into a cloud of tiny raining red and gray marbles, like hardened fireworks. He try again, this time releasing a snaking firework across the sky. Close enough! The undead army’s attention are now split between the mages (who have totally been caught, and an undead naga looks to coil its tail around where Pilar just puked), and the fighting drow and undead. “Forget the cultists!” Gevuah shouts in drow to Lanlan. They need to bolt. The third cultist works on a lengthier spell, his fingers weaving in knuckle-bending shapes. // From the castle, more necromancers begin to pour out. They seek to dispel the mages’ illusions first, then kill them and add them to the undead army second.
While Lanlan walked away, he heard the goopy metamorphosis taking place. His enemy returned, and with more than just the will to fight. While he lept, Lanlan cast a quick spell to further disguise his already dubious profile. The billowing folds of his robes multiplied seamlessly, and soon the robes were enough to be an entire laundry facility's daily load, and Lanlan moved within it. The sword slammed down on a section that separated from the rest and began to writhe and envelop the dead swordsman, trying desperately to accomplish its goal: to be worn. Mysterious gray fabric flops over face and wraps around arm and leg, trying to blind, restrain, and trip. Just an illusion, but hopefully a sufficiently incapacitating one that will hinder him and allow Gevurah to administer the spank of fear. The only way to get any drow child to listen to its mother might also work on undeads. Meanwhile Lanlan activates his insignia and levitates quickly up above the horde. He sees the alarm go off, and considers it lost, but the other cultist he might be able to affect. He combines his hands and fingers in various shapes and whispers quickly, and the cultist sees his fingers sag, as if they suddenly became boneless. Enough to interrupt his spellcasting. From there Lanlan floats back to the portal he came from behind Gevurah. It's a shame they won't be getting what they came for. But they will be leaving with their lives.
Pilar stayed on her hands and knees and groaned as her mind was pulled away, pulled back in time. The blood, the blood, there was so much blood... A corpse landed before her and she screamed. Why, why was she here, what was happening? She could feel magic at work, but she had no idea of the cause of the visions or how to make them stop. Instead, she curled into a pathetic little ball and cried. Kovl's arrival hid her and her fellows from sight, and the other mages tried to figure out what was wrong. "There is evil magic invading her mind," one of the mages announced, "but I know not how to remove it." "No time for that!" another mage cried as the undead swarmed them. Pilar was left a sobbing, broken, invisible mess on the ground as the mages prepared to fight. One of them threw a firebolt at the encroaching naga, saving the helpless Pilar. Another mage began murmuring an incantation, and a lightning surged through the field of undead. It wasn't fatal, but it did cause muscles to seize up and paralysis to take hold. As focus was put on fighting over hiding, the illusions began to fall apart under the necromancers' assault. Pilar and her fellows were now fully visible. One of them, a burly dwarf (yes, really), grabbed her by the shoulders and started dragging her useless form towards the portal. "Come on, lass, get your act together!"
Gevurah’s garrote worked more successful than it should, the sharp silk tearing through undead flesh nearly to his spine. There was not too much of his throat to stop it, and the wound only made the gaping, suppurating wound where his throat should be seep out black ichor all the more. He was caught, and he was thrown on his back foot, but his blade was propelled forward and its reach was just enough to drag the very tip against Lanlan’s arm. It was a fool’s errand with the illusions and the nigh decapitation, but it was an attempt before…He had no defense against the primal fear, and when it connected against him it threw him a few feet away. He fell to a knee, the basilisk blade slammed into the ground more as an aid to keep him from falling on his face, and his other hand pawed at his throat. His fear was his first death, the crunch of his throat beneath Hildegarde’s boot, the crushed windpipe that brooked no air to pass. // One heard the footsteps of the quickly unmuted mage guild team, and if one heard then all heard. They were defilers attempting to use order when disorder reigned, to use something that was natural in an unnatural world. The host did not need to see exactly where the mage guild members where; in the surge of hundreds of bodies moving in that general direction, every bit of earth would come under foot sooner or later. The way to the portal was open, though the undead horde was fast closing in.// Where Ernest ran, Ernest was chased. The undead horde, the small sliver that had torn off from the nigh innumerable host, followed him from realm to reality. The magic within the castle surged, its waves beginning to swivel and loop, until the realities the mummy leapt through solidified into the one his unlikely compatriots suffered. The beasts that hounded him slowed as though the leashes that bound their throats had all been pulled. Some skidded, some fell forward, and some were trampled while the others backpedaled to a full stop. Those who still stood looked at him with eyes that bled their color for the preternatural black substance. It was a beast with the head of a human upon an ungainly body that stepped forward; words bubbled from the throat stitched onto a sternum. “He-he-he will-will-will come-come-come for-for-for you-you-you.” Three voices spoke, and three voices promised. With his back to the portal, Ernest had been given a chance to escape…but the cost of that escape is not yet known. The mass of beasts turned to a nearer sound…
Kovl turns his attention to the chaos unfolding before him. The mages have been compromised. Mutilated body parts of corpses are flying through the air, whizzing past him. Necromancers and undead have turned their attention to the party. The Guild needs to run. They have been discovered. The only way, the fastest way out is through the violet tendrils of the newly discovered portal before them. "Run! Through the portal!" The pixie watches as those who can jump through the portal, swiftly exit. To Lorelsiel, who was staying behind to mask the party, he yells, "Forget it. Get out of here!" She glances back at Kovl, quickly dispels her illusions and runs toward the portal. The Provost Esoterica now turns his attention to Pilar, whose invisible body is the target of the undead naga. The pixie flinches as the naga is engulfed in fire. Well then, at least other mages are on their toes. The Guild's counterattack fills the pixie with a brief moment of pride. "Go, now! Retreat." Kovl nods at the dwarf which carries Pilar toward the portal. The illusionist takes a deep breath and summons all of his power to assist escape. An illusion crystal clear in the pixie's mind begins to form: the ground begins to break apart to separate hordes of undead and the Guild members. A wall erupts from the ground where the cracks form, shooting toward the sky, quickly from left to right. The Provost hopes to block vision and access of the undead to the Guild members who are lagging behind. The wall, as it erects segment by segment, encloses the Guild and the portal in a large arena. The pixie, unable to concentrate on much else, hopes any undead which forced themselves into the arena with the Guild are quickly vanquished. The pixie hopes above all hopes that the illusion works and that undead after undead do not pour through his illusionary wall.
Ernest saw a lot of weird stuff while he was running. It was a shame he hadn't had more time to investigate more of it; he made a mental note to see if he could try to come back here and avoid being the subject of a Hannah-Barbera-esque chase scene next time. Suddenly, however, he found himself right back where he'd started--the huge undead horde sprawled out in front of him, the castle, the sky... and with the same suddenness, the chase had stopped. And a peculiar promise was being made. Somebody--he wasn't told who--would come for him? Maybe it was the Blue Demon, at long last! Friggin' finally, about time he had some revenge. Sadly, Ernest was still entirely under the effects of his Tyrant's Dissent, and as such was unable to say anything in return. He did, after that look of confusion crossed his face, light up with a grin and offer a grateful nod and respectful tip of his hat. And if the weird magic of the castle--or whatever it was--was preventing him from exploring reality anyhow, seemed like now was a good time to make an exit--and find out exactly what the heck had just happened. After getting his curse broken by someone, that is. If he could find someone willing to do it. Huh. Maybe he hadn't quite thought this through all the way. Regardless, since he didn't want to wade into the horde of monsters, the only way out was back through the portal. So, with a very stylish turn on his heel, longcoat flowing behind him, he stepped through the oily portal-thing and into the light of the swamp.
Gevurah is about to go for the kill with Trajek when the second cultist, let’s call him Fireworks Freddy, fires a chain link of electric energy right at Gevurah’s face. She narrowly avoids head on collision, so narrowly the chain whips past her cheek and scalds it. Her flesh instantly blisters red and raw, oozing blood and melted tissue. She whips around, arm extended, and shoots a cone of white hot fire at the human mage, her other hand blasting a fire wall towards the army to hold them back just a little longer (it seems the pyromancy tutor Lanlan gifted to Gevurah has been put to good use). In this moment of rage she forgets herself and her goals and doesn’t relent. Hell’s broken loose, so screw it. She wants this man dead, charred alive. But the chaos magic turns the fire to water just before the man dies and this unexpected twist pierces Gevurah’s mind to remind her of where she is and why. Suddenly she has an idea for capture that she’s never tried before. It could work, or not, but it’s worth a try. She runs to the charred corpse and lifts his black boot and forces it into the satchel under her piwafwi. Suddenly her entire body gets sucked into the bag and, zip!, it disappears. She jumps up and levitates as an undead crocodile snaps at her heels (this army has anything and everything). She signals to Lanlan to cover her as she glides over to him (as drow levitation isn’t very fast at all). There’s no telling yet if the man survived her magic hat trick, but if she survives this, she can soon find out.
Lanlan has a portion of his wrist sliced and bleeds, but it doesn't show through his robes. Instantly a wave of nausea passes over him and if he wasn't already gray, he would have turned a slight shade of gray. Certainly disconcerting but he can't worry about it right now. Following Gevurah's instructions he pulls two flasks out from his robes, bites the corks out, and empties them onto the ground. A luminescent cerulean liquid carves enormous glyphs onto the ground like they were Nazca lines, and Lanlan shouts incomprehensible nonsense at it until a change happens, and an enormous dragon with dark purple scales bursts out of the ground. It behaves realistically according to its anatomy and abilities, barfing up extremely caustic acid, scratching, and flailing its tail at its enemies. But more importantly, screening the drow from view of the cultists who would want them killed. As he and Gevurah float on through the portal, he takes a breath, and wonders when was the last time he's done that.
Pilar was still trapped in that hellish mindscape as the mages worked to save her. And themselves. One by one they jumped through the portal, the dwarf dragging Pilar now red-faced and sweaty. Once they passed through to the normal, natural world of Hollow, the visions that tormented Pilar ceased. She laid on the ground, still sobbing, gasping as the blood and bodies melted away. Shaking, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. She was still getting her bearings when a mage stomped up to her. "What in the hell was that?! You almost got us all killed!" he shrieked. Pilar looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks. "I-I..." "You're a disgrace to the Mage's Guild!" Another mage walked up and put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, that's not fair, she is young and inexperienced, she shouldn't have been sent on this mission." "On that, we agree," the first mage snarled, brushing the hand off his shoulder. If Kovl was with them by this point, the mage would begin demanding disciplinary action for Pilar while the girl hung her head and cried.
Trajek was wounded and fighting through a panic attack. The undead horde that was chasing the mage guild squadron was stopped by the master illusionists wall. But what was happening in the castle took precedent, and the undead horde that peeled off before begins to patrol the portal openings for further surprise attacks.
Kovl, maintaining the illusionary barrier between the undead and the Guild members, glances down to be sure his plan is working. Yes! The horde stopped and the mages made their way to safety, jumping one by one into the portal. Kovl dips through the portal to Enchantment, and the wall in the chaos realm disappears. As a mage complains to him around Pilar's involvement in the mission, the pixie inwardly agrees but makes no expression or motion to indicate his agreement. "Keep moving," he grunts, as best as a high pitched pixie can grunt. A rare appearance of anger shows in the pixie's face. Anger at his failure and at the failure of the mission. At least they found where the 7 portals lead. Are there more? "They can follow from the chaos realm and rip our limbs apart." Kovl nods to the Guild. "Close it then." The mages begin to channel their magic, using the knowledge from a scroll that fell on their laps through the efforts of others. Necromancy is far from Kovl's specialty, and that's why he advised mages intimate with knowledge of the Chaos Realm into his party. Kovl grits his teeth, knowing that success was important to this mission, but now they must take a team back in if they are to find the destination of other portals. The deemed 'experts' began their ritual to close the portal, and the pixie watches in wonder as the purple substance between the portal walls vanish. It is closed. Kovl turns to head toward the Guild's tower, plotting their next move.