Part of the Do You Believe In Magic? Arc

Summary: It's all come down to this. DomiBrand leads an expedition to return to Raiez's cave, there to rescue mages. There to rescue Khitti. Joining him are Pilar, Lionel, Beldur, and several of Lionel's close colleagues -- including the enigmatic Esche and stalwart Briar. When the dragon roars, everything hits the fan. Hope and heroism collide with sacrifice and despair in a gripping climax a long time coming.

Raiez's Cave (Dead End)

Raiez's cave was much as it had been; expansive, secluded, and filled with magical treasures. Well, not all of the magical treasures. The living ones had escaped, and all the dragon had left of the mages were the pair of undead ones. Raiez never left the cave, these days. Always was she settled by her lake entrance, on the watch for any possible signs of intrusion. Most of the time, anyways. There were times she slept, because what else was a solitary dragon supposed to do with her time? This was one such occasion, the dragon curled against the wall of her cave. It was, perhaps, unconciously that she had positioned herself in a direct line of sight to the entrance to the expanse that held her treasures, as though the magical aura that radiated from the room comforted her. It would be such a shame if someone were to come in that side passage not too far from it and, ya know, -steal- any of it. After all, she knew the vampires wouldn't be running off any time soon, not with the one in that shadow cocoon and the other having been left in a somewhat stupefied state due to...whatever it was that happened between the two redheads.

The winds of winter make a harsh mistress as the eclectic band of adventurers soar across the Frostmaw region by the first lights of dawn. Their wyverns and griffons are primed for such journeys, well-accustomed to inclement weather. Dwarves like Sundance and Shanks and Tratt don't seem especially bothered, either, all three to a single wyvern despite Sundance's considerable size. Dwarven size, after all, is a relative thing. Briar and her lord Lionel are hoisted to another wyvern, scales of crimson and swooping vertically in unnecessary display of might. This one's a little young, after all. Esche and Varka ride together atop a powerful griffon, the elf's eyes narrowed and his coat up to wrap around his shaven head. He appears less than comfortable. Stroud mounts his own griffon solo and he's bundled in four layers of clothing and shaking his head at the chilly conditions. Words are not spoken between these companions, although perhaps something might be said by the remaining members. Still, with gusts like these, it might not be easy to hear them. Raeiz's cave is not yet visible, but forward scouts estimated fifteen more minutes until their approach. Varka sends a single thought to Esche's mind: "be safe." Yet Esche, for his part, is fixated on something else altogether. Something curious. Something Brand.

If Brand was aware of his audience, that elf playing peeping tom on his mind, he wasn’t providing any obvious clues of it. Any internal conversation between Brand and his brain roommate (so to speak) had long ceased, leaving the blonde one alone with himself. And he seemed only focused on the immediate, with no quarter given to the anxieties of looming combat. Truthfully, it was taxing enough just to keep his wyvern in formation with the others. He had plenty of experience with horses, but nothing had quite prepared him for a flying mount, much less one that perpetually seemed to want to spiral down and to the left unless he continually nudged it and adjusted the reins. Brand briefly wondered if Pilar had given him this one on purpose, as some kind of ‘payback’ for having left Khitti behind in the first place. Or maybe all the wyverns and griffons were this bad and he was the only one not used to it. He kind of doubted it, though. His wyvern was also the only one crowing obnoxiously every time it twisted its head back and caught Brand scowling.

Beldur was relaxing for the most part. Holding his fishing pole with a piece of meat from one of the deer that roamed the mountians before departure. His hatchling drake had learned to fly and was keeping up with the wyverns that they rode on. His mind on the other hand was focused on what to do about a dragon if they saw one. Would it be a kind dragon, willing to give aid? Or will it be hostile and eager to roast the party in their armor rather than trade words? As the closest dragon he has faught up to now was sparing practice with Hildegarde in human form, Beldur didn't know what to expect. The person he shared the Wyvern with would find him quiet company at best. Happily restringing a new piece of flesh on the string before letting the hatchling try and catch it. "Ugh. So many questions about what we'll face. Guess we'll see what happens when we get there." Would be the most he gripe about midway through the flight.

Pilar, as a member of the Eyrie, was riding her own personal mount into the fight, a couatl named Emielle. It had taken some doing to convince them to part with half a dozen of their mounts for this excursion, but her good standing in the clan meant they trusted her. She couldn't help but worry about whether that trust was misplaced. She was dressed in her armor, the suit Kreekitaka had made that had a texture like sandpaper turned up to eleven. It could tear up wood like it was nothing. Would it match up to dragonscale? As they flew down from the City of War, she found herself less focused than she should have been. Out of the corner of her eye, she would see something falling, something red, but when she looked, there was nothing. And the whistling of something launched through the air, muffled thuds, she heard them non-stop. "Emielle," she said, "I... I don't know if I can do this." ~You must,~ the couatl replied, ~your friend needs you. You can do this. You saved me, after all.~ Pilar patted Emielle's side and smiled. This was different, she thought, this was a dragon, not a giant with a pair of mammoths. But she appreciated Emielle's words nonetheless.

After having been gone adventuring from Hollow for a number of years, Gallad returned and went to Frostmaw to visit the Elvish refugees from Sage - he is half-elf after all. He wanted to know what had become of his people. While visiting he discovered that his mother was killed in the war for Frostmaw, a victim of Balgruuf the Bloody Beard. He went to the tavern to drown his sorrows. While there, he overheard talk about adventurers that were on a quest to rescue missing mages. He pulled himself together, sort of – he may be a little drunk – and went over to ask for details. He would be told that the band had left on the backs of Eyrie mounts heading south. He asked them where to in the south but they said they didn’t know. He then asked them the fastest way of traveling, they pointed out the door. Gallad then went outside and found a Wyvern and paid its handler for a lift. “Where to?” the handler asked. Gallad replied “South, take me south. If you spot a band of travelers also flying, follow them.”

Whilst everyone else was flying about majestically on their various flying mounts, or in Brand's case very angrily, Khitti was...well...doing Khitti things, which is to say not a whole lot of anything at all. The magical oven she'd been given no longer held her interest given her state of mind and the only other thing that might help, her sister's violin, was left outside the jar after the vampires' recapture, just on the other side of the glass as a punishment for Khitti. The younger redhead stared at it longingly from her spot on the jar's floor, a hand pressed against the see-through wall, and a sigh accompanying the action. A brief glance was sent towards the other vampire who lay dormant in that shadowy cocoon of hers, and then a frown as well before she curls up against the wall, closes her eyes and returns to those various dreams and memories that plagued her mind.

For perhaps the first time since the escape, Raiez...well...got up. She removed herself from the spot where she watched the mages escape, relieved herself, temporarily, from her guard duty of the rest of her treasures. The Blue went to give the vampires a little visit, peering down into the jar. Khitti, naturally, was staring at the violin. That was the purpose of the thing sitting where it was, to reinforce that bad behavior would be punished. And then there was...the other one. What sort of magic was it that was surrounding it? Had she had it all the time? But it felt so much like the magic that had prompted the dragon to kidnap Khitti! Whatever it was, Raiez's claws went to the jar, tapping lightly - although surely deafeningly to the jar's sole conscious occupant - on it to try to make the one-armed vampire wake. What Raiez didn't see was that there was twitching going on beneath that mass of swirling shadows. Khitti might have seen it, if she weren't so busy staring at her sister's instrument.

Dawn's first light crests frozen peaks and paints the quiet waves of an upcoming lake in vivid fuchsias and oranges. Lionel, nearer to the forward edge of the party and their mounts, is among the first to notice. It is Sundance, however, who bellows a cry of recognition. "There we be," he calls, and his booming dwarven voice carries well enough to be overheard by the majority of the quest's participants. Even so, the wind dulls it to little more than a whisper, and so it carries an almost melancholy tone despite the dwarf's intended jolly. Thirty seconds pass. In that time, Esche closes his eyes and concentrates on the "soul-feel" of his surroundings, detecting faint magical strands in the cave before it can be seen through streams of fog left behind by the hour of the wolf. Briar taps Lionel on his shoulder, although when he cants his head questioningly, she remains silent. Lionel is left to wonder. Stroud raises the Frostmawian flag, as is his assigned job for ensuring the team is given ample awareness that it's time to set down near the lake. Many of the mounts are thus steered lower, and then lower still, and closer and closer do they come to touchdown. There's a bone-biting chill in the air and a stifling humidity at that. It's going to be a hell of a time.

Brand’s mount took that raised flag as if it were the starting signal of a race. With a joyful squeal, it plummeted at an angle so sharp Brand had to cling to the saddle to not fall off. It righted itself only -just- in time to not pierce the lake’s surface. Instead, its talons glided across the water for a time and then Brand was unceremoniously dumped off his seat right at the lake’s edge. The wyvern cooed gleefully and slurped Brand’s face; Brand just grumbled curses and begrudgingly pet the thing’s head.

Beldur would raise a brow at Brand's mount. Seeing it zip by him, causing his Frost hatchling to cling to the knight. Thinking that it was some preditor trying to get the smaller drake. Beldur would pet the hatchling comfortingly till they reached the ground. Dismounting quickly he would hussle to join with the main party. The drake hatchling finding a home within his helm that rested on his belt. Peeking it's eyes out as if fearful for the time being. He would point at Brand's mount lazily. "He went by and Shela thought it was hungry. I'll have to keep my helm with our ride when we go in. She won't come out any time soon." He explained, heafting the tower shield onto his shoulder. Trying to get it more comfortable on it's strap with little luck.

Pilar didn't even notice the flag when it went up. Luckily, Emielle did, and began her descent gracefully. Pilar shook her head, as it that would clear away the odd sounds and shadowy shapes, but no luck. This was... worrying, to say the least. As Emielle touched down, she spoke to Pilar. ~Be calm. Your visions are not so bad yet that you can't function. You will be able to save Khitti, and this other prisoner.~ Pilar dismounted and patted Emielle's snout. "Thank you, Emielle..." She walked over to where Brand was sitting in the snow. She patted the wyvern's head as well, then looked to Brand. "Sorry. He's excitable." Yeah, thanks for that, Pilar. She held out a hand to help him up. her gloves, at least, were safe to touch, and they went up to her elbow. Unlikely for him to touch the rough leather and injure himself.

Gallad finally sees the party on the horizon and shouts to the beast handler, "There they are!" As the party descended, dismounted and continued on their quest, Gallad was at least 10 minutes behind them. He decides he's not going to follow them inside, but rather, he is going to scout out the area surrounding this place. He figures he'll either join them in a few moments, or go inside after they've left to see what he can find (still being a bit drunk, he hasn't made his mind up just yet).

Were this any other day, Khitti would've made fun of Brand. She would've teased him incessantly about his wyvern, playfully laughed at his misfortune. Even with all the problems the redhead and the blonde have, she would've given him the biggest grin, and would've told him to quit being a baby. Khitti would've noticed that Pilar was a bit off. She would've interrogated her in the nicest, most sisterly way possible to find out what was wrong, and would've helped her bear whatever burden it was that was on her shoulders. And Lionel? Well, there'd be no ending to the snark. She'd point out how distant he seemed. How horrible it was that he couldn't even remember Briar's actual name. How she was still totally planning on beating him up one day. Wanting to punch Catalians was a thing with her, apparently. They should stop being so infuriating. (Except Dominic. He's an angel.) None of this happened, however. There was an emptiness of sorts felt by the three that personally knew Khitti, even if they didn't realize it or didn't acknowledge it. The void where the vampiress' presence usually resided was deafening; it was as if she'd ceased to be. Little did she know that they were actually on their way to save her. In fact, she was quite convinced they were not and only sank further into her silent, catatonic state. There was no point in fighting it anymore, was there? With the bitey one out of commission, she didn't even have the elder redhead's own sarcastic attitude to cling to. Everything truly was just going to a most disappointing end for Khitti.

Raiez just stared at the two in the jar. The shadow cocoon held much of her attention, but Khitti's less than active state made the dragon sigh. "And to think, you two were the most entertaining of the lot," she grumbled. In her dragon form, it was deep enough to make the glass jar vibrate, so close was her snout by that point. What happened next might just surprise Khitti: The dragon's claw went to the top of the jar, and the top was removed. What new atrocity was the Blue going to commit, what new tormet was she about to dump into the jar to punish the redheads for the escape? Well...nothing, this time. Instead, the jar was up-ended, spilling the two vampires out onto the table their jar resided on. It was, perhaps, a good thing that it was a natural table made of stone and earth, for the gods only know how well a wooden one would support the sudden weight of two full-sized women atop it, even if one was enshrouded and missing bits. With slit-pupiled eyes trained on Khitti, a claw motioned towards the violin. "Play," she dictated. Maybe letting the woman use the thing would liven her up enough to be entertaining again.

Neither Lionel nor his companions have any way of knowing the dragon they seek to distract is presently distracted by the prisoners one team seek to abscond with. Not even Esche can tell. His telepathic abilities are considerable, but he lacks a link to Raeiz's prisoners. Then again, he doesn't seem to need one. An intimate, intimidated emotional abyss threatens to overwhelm him; he pauses, grimaces, and accepts Varka's concerned hand. "There is a great emptiness within one of the women, if not both," the elf muses. His tone is distant but considerate. "I know," Lionel replies. The Catalian glances across the near-freezing lake, "Somehow, I do." He shrugs. "Esche, do your thing." The elf perks a brow. "To which thing do you refer?" Lionel perks one back. "What?" Esche repeats the inquiry. "For the love of Keane," Briar swears her flustered oath, "we're on the clock here. Esche, you said you could adjust this lake so that --" "--Ah," Esche interrupts, "so that its temperature is ill-suited to the dragon's ranging should she think to move through waves. Yes. Quite so. A moment." He closes his eyes, holding his oaken staff outright. For a moment, nothing seems to transpire. Those attuned to magical arts will sense a growing distillation of air and a clean feeling, the scent of ozone wafting across all those with noses worth sniffing about. Dwarves like Sundance stir impatiently. Shanks, however, is captivated, and he adjusts his glasses to obtain a better look. Heat begins to rise from the surface of the lake. Heat and just a hint of steam. It's not quite a hot spring, or even anything close to it. In fact, many in the party might find it swell. But Esche knos there's a chance -- not a confirmation, but a chance -- that the enemy will respond poorly to such alteration. The elf leans heavily on a now-downcast staff as his human female companion places a soft hand to his shoulder, whispers words likely not native to her tongue, and heals him of his fatigue. Esche offers Varka the briefest appreciative glance, which Varka seems to take as gospel. Her smile is far greater than his own. "Alright." It's Lionel's turn to interrupt. "We split up. Infiltration team, on me. Distraction team, move fast. There's no telling whether Esche's little bathhouse trick will go unnoticed." Tratt, Shanks, and Sundance move toward Esche, although they keep a comfortable, pseudo-casual distance from the mage. Stroud, bulky as Sundance and half again as tall, joins alongside them. "Right, then," Esche notes. "We'll move with haste. Varka, should anything unsavory transpire, you've my permission to use the artifact." No time for queries on that front; the five-man troupe hurries toward the cave's main entryway.

Brand accepted Pilar’s assistance to his feet, though not without a look that asked, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Though once he’d dusted himself off, all he actually said was simple thanks. The wyvern was tied up with the others and Brand made his way to Lionel’s side, but Pilar was given another glance when the elf spoke of Khitti. Guilt? No. Okay, maybe a little. Apprehension, more like. What if they got in there and Khitti was… not herself? A husk, of some variant or another? He’d had dreams of it. Dominic, too. It could happen. “She’ll be fine,” he said to Pilar, as if she was the only one who needed the reassurance.

Beldur would join Lionel. His shield resting over his shoulder as he sighs. Looking to Pilar as he rubbed his now freed neck. He didn't know her well enough to help out with her emotional state, however he knew she needed to focus at the task at hand. Else they'll all be in danger. Looking up to Lionel again, he sighs. "Where do you need me?" A simple question, rather blunt, too, considering he didn't, and should've, talken with the man before the mission. The hatchling drake would look rather funny with Bel's helmet on her back. She waddling as quickly as she could to keep up with her master. Bel would sigh as he picked up the frost drake. Looking to Pilar a moment before taking his helm back from the hatchling. "Everything okay, miss?" He would kick his helm back to the wyverns. Leaving a yellow trail in the snow, perhaps from the hatchling earlier. With the soaked helm with their mounts, the knight focused on getting Pilar to focus while he waited for Lionel to giveh im his direction. The hatchling trying to look adorable, to try and cheer Pilar up in Bel's arm.

Pilar nodded curtly to Brand. "Fine. Yeah." She then looked at Beldur and his hatchling, and, smiling lightly, she rubbed the hatchling's head. Another thud in the back of her mind, another shadow in the corner of her eyes. She shuddered and pulled her hand away. She adjusted the knife on her hip and was ready to join Lionel and company when the wind shifted, and brought an unfamiliar scent to her nose. "Someone else is here." Pilar looked around for the source, part of her wondering if this was another hallucination, when she spotted Gallad, seemingly spaced out. She pointed him out to the group. "Who is that?"

As Gallad is surveying the area, he notices a young woman with the group – short, wearing leather armor. He sees clearly that she is pointing at him. Gallad thinks to himself, “Bollocks, now I have to go down there…” Gallad tells the Wyvern handler to land him near the group. As he jumps down from the wyvern, still being a tad bit drunk, he trips and quickly gets up shouting, “I’M OKAY! NOBODY WORRY ABOUT ME! (Hic).”

The first thing Khitti had noticed as Raiez popped off that lid was the smells that came from the cave. It was quite the change in scenery for the vampiress' nose that had become quite accustomed to the stale air that had filled her glass cage. And then...she was out? She was out. She. Was. Out. Out...and laying in a heap on top of the table and half on top of the elder redhead. She lets out a groan, pushes herself up, and was met with the instructions of the Blue, a cringe given in response. Khitti looks towards the violin, brows furrowed, and the faintest of sighs uttered. She didn't feel like it. Her reasons to play at all were now gone and her light almost snuffed out. But...she did as she was told. What else was there for her now but to be Raiez's little magic puppet? The book of music that had been amongst her stacks that Raiez had given her was found and a song sought out. The first one she turned to was...about portals? And science? What the hell. Ah, well. The lyrics were pretty wonderful, it mentioned cake. After inhaling a much unneeded breath and letting it out in a sigh, the music started. She'd done her best to skim over the lyrics, singing along with the violin. "I'm not even angry. I'm being so sincere right now. Even zhough you broke my heart and killed me. And tore me to pieces. And zhrew every piece into a fire. As zhey burned it hurt because I was so happy for you!" She'd play and sing and as the song reached it's end, she'd stare Raiez right in the eye, almost defiantly as she sang the last of the lyrics, "...I feel fantastic and I'm still alive. Vhile you're dying, I'll be still alive. And vhen you're dead, I will be still alive. Still alive. Still alive." It would seem that Khitti's penchant for pissing people off wasn't gone just yet, and she wondered just what Raiez would do now. Meanwhile, to those on the outside, as the music and Khitti's voice echoed throughout Raiez's cave, they'd make their way out into the world through cracks in the mountain, as well as the hole Odhranos had made for the mages to escape through. She was, in fact, -still alive-.

Raiez growled as that song finished. This vampire! Such an insolent little whelp! She had half a mind to burn her where she stood. But, if she did that, she'd only have the cocoon-wrapped vampire left, and that just wouldn't be any fun. "Remember your place, girl," the dragon snarled as she lowered her snout so very close to Khitti. "Do not think that such attitudes will garner further presents, nor continued life. You will play again. This time, without snark."

Lionel ponders Beldur's inquiry. "That's a good question," he says, as Briar stifles a mirthless chuckle. "I think it might be best if we left one man on point. Would you be willing to stay behind here and keep tabs on the operation? We seem to have an abundance of..." His words are cut sharply by the arrival of Gallad. "Nine hells," the man mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. He composes himself, wincing as Gallad shouts. "You have got to wonder," Lionel begins. "You have just absolutely -got- to wonder. Of all the places in so desolate a land as Frostmaw, why the blazes has a drunkard chosen our military operation as his rest area? Why us?" He pauses. "Why me?" There's nothing for it, then. "We really must be off." Briar's grimace is reminder enough of that. "Hello, there, friend," he calls out to Gallad. "You've chanced upon something all kinds of dangerous. Y'see, ah, we here merry band of misfits have intentions to fight a dragon. You ever seen a dragon?" He gestures to Gallad's wyvern and handler. "Yeah, they're like that, only bigger." Briar taps him on the shoulder impatiently; he holds out a finger soothingly in response. She breathes another curse. "Well, anyway, I don't rightly know what -your- plans are for the day, but I strongly recommend they don't cross over with ours. Can't be good for your health. Good day, then, partner." Lionel would tilt his hat, were he wearing one. He trots into a strafe and surrounds his party jovially. "Let's go rescue mages." Without waiting for an answer from either Beldur or this drunk interloper, he and Briar lead the way to a hidden entrance. Music can be heard. "Wait, what?" The Catalian is puzzled. "Anyone here order a live performance?" He eyes Gallad suspiciously. Then, some ways away, something explodes . . .

. . . Esche blinks. "A song most curious," he mutters to himself, "and yet timeless in its own right." Sundance barks a laugh as the five-man distraction team round a cliff face, then seeks suitable footing for ascent up the rock wall. "Didn't figure ye for a purveyor of arts," Shanks says, although his last word is stilted as icy footing is almost the end of him. Tratt and Sundance each lend him a hand, although the elf is well ahead of them, quick and nimble. "Appearances and other deceits," Esche responds, letting the words hang in the air. It's a quote of some kind, but not one the dwarven triumvirate has ever encountered. Stroud has taken the rear, keeping watch for predators along the way. In this midwinter morning, even the wolves have gone to their dens, their howls unheard for the wind is too strong for the listening. When the odd song within the cave has concluded, the men are left to their thoughts. There's a silence here, too; no doubt they're all tense for the looming dragon's dance. Several minutes pass before Esche whispers the words they'd all been waiting to hear. "I've found it," he says. "The optimal point of impact. Finish your climb and be ready to plunge through the opening I'll create. There's enough matter on the other side that a path downward shall remain. Raeiz will, needless to say, know where we are." Tratt plucks his brow. "Needless to say," he repeats, gruffly. The men reach the mountain's first crested valley, that which serves as roof to the dragon's cave, and they take their steps wayward of Esche and draw their blades at the ready. "Ha'ly cah'nos, be one with me," Esche chants a prayer. His elven tongue is so slick, so charming. The edge of his staff ignites -- it happens so fast -- and a green flame snakes off the tip and blasts straight into the target area. That same green flame seems to increase exponentially in size upon point of impact, melting layers away and presenting a clear-cut route into the abyss. Esche's staff remains aglow, a beacon now rather than a weapon, and with a triumphant cheer from the dwarves and their human warrior companion, the five rush in to meet their foe head-on.

“-Nine- hells?” Brand had inquired, a hair above a mutter, but it seemed no one had heard him between the arrival of the drunken newcomer and Lionel’s response. That was just as well. However many hells there were, Brand had no intention of seeing any of them. One day he’d find himself there and have all the time in the universe to count them, most likely, but certainly death was not on the itinerary for today. Today… “Khitti. That’s her violin. Like as not that’s her playin’, too, ‘less Raiez suddenly took an interest in the arts.” Yeah, he actually used her real name. Nobody tell her. Nobody tell her about the flight that something in Brand’s chest took to hear her music, either. Brand certainly wouldn’t. He wouldn’t tell anyone.

Beldur's action might've been a bit overboard. Showing just how tence he was. His hand went to his sword first thing, but when he saw the others were more angry than hostle, he relaxed a bit. A bit. His hand removed from his swords hilt, though his drake tried to use her breath weapon. It was an adorable attempt. All that came out for her efforts however was a puff of white steam. The drake would give the party pitiful eyes at the failed attempt at using her kinds signature attack. Though, Beldur petted her. "It's okay. Can still bite his anckles. Though I wouldn't recommend it. I think you're still underaged." He would wave the smell of alcohol away from him, but he was holding the drake as he nods to Lionel. "Basicly I'm guarding the ride home, unless something goes awry?" He asked to conferm. Partly because the man's surpise arrival. "Who is that man, anyways? He reeks of alcohol," he thought as he took a look at Gallad. He doesn't even bother to hide his obvious question. His eyes looking back to him as if to ensure he wasn't a threat to the mission or the party.

Pilar barely paid the drunkard or her companions a second thought when she heard Khitti's violin and her singing. Brand was right. She was in there. Alive. Tears came to her eyes and she stepped towards the cave. "We have to hurry. We have to save her."

Though he was told to stay away, Gallad follows the group inside the cave. He didn’t mention it to anyone but Gallad was able to hear the Violin far before anyone else. He has special ears. Even being tipsy, his ears function fine. Gallad knows that he may be of some use and can possibly hear the danger before it gets anyone.

Sigh. "Fine." There was obvious attitude there despite Raiez's threats, the vampiress sounding like an angsty teen after getting scolded by her mother. The book was no longer needed, kicked to the side and forgotten. "I'll be dead soon anyway, I'm sure." Or...double dead. Something. Yes. The violin is taken up again, this time with a frown firmly planted on her face. Bow touched string, the song played completely by memory. It was the first song she'd taught herself, all those years ago. It was the very song that had bound her dear sister to this world after her death. It had called to Lydia, drawing her soul from the deepest, darkest parts of the void. It didn't do that now, however, as Lydia's ghostly energy had been spent in trying to keep her sister's mind afloat and the vampiress' magic was no more. Khitti performed the song as if she were using the very strings of her heart; so many times before it'd been played with great sadness and now was no different. If there was one thing the redhead could do well, it was play this particular song. Not a note was missed and nor was one too sharp or too flat. Pilar, out of everyone in the rescue party, was well acquainted with it. It was a symbol of pain, of loneliness, of giving up. Thanks to Raiez, a light, a spark within the redhead, had all but gone out and would certainly do so the longer she stayed, which to Khitti's knowledge...that was to be forever.

Though Khitti acquiesced, the dragon was far from pleased with the continued attitude levied her way. She would not, however, interrupt the song. Though melancholy, it was beautiful, and Raiez did love beautiful things. But then, out of no where, an explosion! An explosion in her cave! With a roar, the Blue's eyes shot towards its direction, a direction she was not pleased to hear such intrusion from. Her treasures! Leave it to dwarves to find their way directly to shinies. And so, with Khitti forgotten for the moment, the dragon rushed from one room to the next until she reached her trove of magical trinkets. This, of course, meant that the Blue did not see the pulsing from the shadow cacoon, the rippling and surging as though something were about to be given life. Khitti might, though.

Lionel is caught between Briar and Gallad in the space of a single second. Briar, serving faithfully as his unofficial retainer, will not chance to allow the tipsy interloper near to her lord. For all his theatrics, Lionel is her leader, and for Briar Ku Risu, there is nothing more to be asked. Varka edges her way closer to the rest of the group, although she is clearly distracted by the far-off explosion. For Varka, Esche's safety is of the utmost concern, and from the look on her face, it wouldn't be a stretch to presume that the safety of the mage prisoners is trivial by comparison. The group -- Lionel, Brand, Pilar, and the aforementioned women -- is now moving at good pace toward the hidden entryway, trekking over ice too slick to be crossed lightly. Gallad, of course, has stubbornly joined them. "Keep an eye on him, and be ready to incapacitate him the moment he steps out of line or compromises our mission in any way," Lionel -strongly- suggests to Brand, loudly enough for all to overhear. Somewhere increasingly close by, the faint sounds of swooshing steel and further fire resounds in the quiet air. It's probable that battle has begun in earnest for the distraction team. And what of Beldur, left with his feisty young drake? Beldur's willingness to adhere to command protocol is a very good thing; from behind a scattering of frozen trees, a pair of piercing yellow eyes seems to scan him with dark intent. That single pair soon becomes two, and then two becomes three. All told, four creatures shift, their features and identities disguised by darkness and distance, but they eye Beldur hungrily, and it's quite possible he is now the lone bulwark between the infiltration team and a bloody ambush . . .

Esche, Stroud, and the dwarven triumvirate have mere heartbeats to take in the splendor of Raeiz's horde before the dragon herself has come before them in blanket rage. She towers above, and it's all they can do to take up defensive positions at once. Stroud steps forward ahead of the pack, his greatsword held in both chiseled arms, while Sundance appears just a step to his right, armed similarly and just as bold. Shanks and Tratt are nearer to Esche, both of them trembling and Tratt's eyes somehow stealing a second glance at all these trinkets despite death's fangs having come to greet them. Of Esche, there is a practiced grace -- he spins his staff forward and blasts another flame, this one arced for looser hanging rock and ice in the hopes that it might collapse down upon Raeiz, slowing her rampage.

“How is it that I always get put on gorram babysittin’ duty?” sighed Brand, eyeing Gallad with a scowl. When they’d made their initial escape, Khitti had saddled him with some mewling orphan child too young to make it safely out on her own -- and as far as Brand was concerned, that child was the reason he’d not been able to stop Khitti from getting recaptured in the first place. Being stuck with another -liability- was not Brand’s first choice. “You endanger anyone,” Brand warned the drunk, “or try any kind of funny business in any way, an’ it won’t be the dragon you have to worry about. I’ll set you aflame my frakkin’ self.” Brand’s fingers itched to both demonstrate and speed along their passage by melting the remaining ice ahead of them, but ultimately the risk that Raiez might detect such magic and head back their way was too great. Verbal threats alone would have to do. Shame.

With Bel left behind, he sighs as he would play with his drake till he felt the hungry eyes. Ushering the hatchling to the full grown wyverns. The knight would stand up tall. His eyes glancing to the gaze of the hungry eyes as he frowns. "One warning: leave." He looks to the eyes as he frowns. Drawing his sword as he rests it on his shoulder. Moving towards the eyes till he was certian that he could rush back to the mounts if he needed to. His heavy plate polished and ready to defend their wearer. His shield poised to attack rather than defend. His eyes getting full view of the field of the soon to be battle. He obviously didn't want to fight. He knew his companions were going to need a fast escape. But what point is the escape if their mounts get killed?

Pilar did indeed know that song. If she hadn't already been in tears, she would have been the moment it started. She was at the head of the pack in moments, outpacing even Lionel. Briar reached forward and grabbed the young vampire by the shoulder, her gauntlet saving her from flayed fingers. Pilar slowed and looked at the woman, who gave her stern look. "Don't go rushing in there, it won't end well." Pilar, chastened, looked down and murmured, "Sorry..." her voice breaking. Briar sighed and patted her shoulder. "It'll all be alright. We'll get them out."

Gallad makes note to Brand that he’s not as drunk as he appears. He explains that on his travels as a bard, he had learned many magical ballads or tunes or notes or whatever you want to call them. Anyhow, he has one that he will be able to use to distract the dragon. This melody in particular will make the dragon unable to take its mind off of Gallad. He explains that he is expendable. Gallad may die so the group can rescue their friends. He even demands it as he loves all sorts of people, being accustomed to entertaining them. He doesn’t want this foul beast harming anyone, even if he does not know them. He tells all who care to listen that while he was away on his journeying, he had already dealt with some type of dragon before (what kind, he doesn’t recall). His ending note before devising his plan, is that he is not just some drunken fool.

Khitti had been so lost in that song of hers that she hadn't noticed the explosion. But...she did notice Raiez run off towards her treasure room. And then, the bitey one's cocoon started pulsing? What in the actual hell was going on? With Raiez now gone for the moment, Khitti takes the opportunity to check on the elder redhead, setting the violin in a safe place so that it wouldn't get trampled on by a possibly very angry Blue. Cautiously, the vampiress edges closer and closer to the table that the lightning elf rested upon in that shroud of dark magic. "If you can hear me...ve have to go. I'm sure ve can. You're stronger zhan me, even now. Y-you have her in zhere, don't you? Amarrah? Please...I vant to go home. But, I'm not going to leave vithout you... I can't. I'm so useless. I just..." Her words seemed pointless, a frown surfacing at this realization. The elder female had been in that bubble for so long...why would she come out now? Could she even do it? Maybe she'd finally reached the point of true death and this was some sort of after effect from Amarrah's magic. Khitti glanced back towards the way Raiez had left. Whoever these intruders were, the dragon would take care of them...right? The vampiress would wait to see how things progressed before making a final decision on whether or not she should try to leave. Last time, things had gone so badly. With a heavy sigh, she heads to where she'd seen Raiez put the elder redhead's weapons, taking up two rather ancient-looking shortswords before returning to stand watch over the cocoon. Nevermind that she probably couldn't dual-wield to save her life, Khitti told herself. She'd manage, thanks to those memories that'd been shoved into her head from the elf on the table behind her. She'd protect her for as long as she could. The elder redhead deserved that much, at least. Nevermind the ominous pulsating that came from the cocoon, she told herself. Things couldn't possibly get any worse.

A roar tore from the dragon’s throat as rock and ice began to fall on Raiez’s head. How dare these miniscule nuisances tear apart her home! It had been there longer than they had walked the planet! Fine, if the elf wanted to play with magic, the elf could play with magic. Ancient, draconic syllables rumble from the Blue’s maw. The air rippled before the dragon, heat boiling the moisture in the air from the falling ice particles before a flame like a tidal wave swept forward from before her towards those that dared to invade her cavern. Back in the other room, however, that shadow cocoon rippled more before it eventually burst open to reveal…well…nothing. There was no vampire woman within its confines, just a shadowy shape. It turned, its empty features settled on Khitti. Even though there were no eyes to see, it was clear it was looking at the vampire. Forward it flowed, right towards Khitti, until the shadow-thing stood just before her. “Your friend is safe,” it said with a voice that was the redhead’s but not, a voice that was both heard and not, as though it were projected directly into the mind. “Or, she will be, as long as she continues to fight.”

Esche's first impulse is not to break formation or otherwise erect some defensive barrier but rather to study Raeiz's syllables with scrutiny. Elven eyes which know too much squint in evaluation, even in the rippling air, even in the rising heat, even in the wake of flame. Fortunately for Esche, his companions are not so scholarly. Stroud grabs the lithe mage by the shoulder and thrusts him aside, out of harm's way, his considerable bulk half again enough to ensure his target is replaced without delay. Once Esche's squinted eyes widen, he consciously awakens to the chaos Raeiz has wrought. The three proud dwarves are screaming various obscenities -- studious Shanks is suddenly quite sassy! -- and scrambling from their spots to flank the dragon from multiple angles. Each of them reaches a corner of the cavern with nary a meter to spare, evading Raeiz's fire... for now. Esche, with Stroud ahead of him protectively, speaks another Ishaarite chant as he twists his rod and spins it like some kind of fan. "Ou, rou, bouroz, drasveldt aerynel. Demondaea." The woman of perpetuity. Ever-reborn, like the wind. A whirlwind snaps into life directly between the dragon and her prey, snapping up currents from who-knows-where, all its focus on Raeiz and Raeiz alone. It seeks to buffet her, to blind her, but it's only two or three meters in width -- but it's pursuing. Seeing opportunity to strike, Sundance rears his blade and hopes to plant steel into tough ankle. Tratt and Shanks move swiftly to back him up, but cannot yet get sturdy aim . . .

. . . It's very well for Briar to be reminding Pilar of life's value, Lionel briefly ponders. He hasn't known Pilar long, but he's always had the sense a great sadness is upon her. Lionel is too afraid to illustrate himself in the similar light he knows too well, so he jests, and when he isn't jesting, he's fighting, or preparing -to- fight. So it holds, then, that Brand's thick Catalian speech and profane Catalian declarations and Gallad's ballad of meaningful self-sacrifice all sort of folds into one in his racing mind as the infiltration team reaches hidden entryway, descends. Wait, what? Rewind that back. Gallad's ballad of... what? Is he talking about dying so the party can rescue the mages? That won't do! Whoever this fellow is, that just won't do. He takes a deep breath, ready and willing to whisper away a long passionate remark about not dying, but Briar has taken a single step back from conversing with Pilar. Her glare to Lionel says all. 'Let me handle this.' She does not need to verbalize it; he knows. "Ser," she will implore Gallad, "your skills are now well-noted, and much appreciated. Your assistance could aid us greatly. But we will not have your death on our hands. Would it not be wiser to use your bardic arts once we have saved the prisoners and help buy us time, but then double back alongside us? I am sure Lionel will be glad to stand beside you at that time." Lionel is nodding along until that last bit, but then he blinks, but then he sighs. But then he shakes his head. But then he nods. Yep, Briar's got Lionel by the ballistics-and-retrieval tactical analysis. There's nothing else to be said just this moment, though, because suddenly they're upon a certain redheaded woman wielding short swords with an eyeless shape of pure obsidian finishing up cryptic wordage. Lionel O'Connor tenses and takes on his best attempt to appear dashing -- one knee bent forward very slightly, a cool gaze cast toward Khitti. Whatever nonsense he is about to speak, however, the time it takes him to choose it will doubtless have him interrupted by Brand or Pilar or Khitti herself . . .

. . . the shapes Beldur has spotted do not seem interested in departure. The knight-errant's stature, sword drawn at the ready, ought to daunt them -- and daunt them it does, because they split into separate pairs of eyes as they move through the treeline. But departure? No, that is not their plan. As the shapes come closer, they're revealed to be humanoid, but those ugly piercing eyes still speak of something foul. Closer, still, do they lurk, and with each step they separate themselves one more beat from the rest of the pack. Make no mistake, it is a pack mentality what drives them. Finally, they must step into the light, although the light seems to bother them, because they bring one furry arm to scratch over their foreheads in protest. Their other arms each withdraw a crude and rusty sickle from their sides. Now, Beldur can see them clearly -- the creatures are goblins of some sort, a hairy lot, with snouts like pigs and sharp jowls. They snarl, each and every one of them, and all at once they begin to bolt. Their legs carry them at only middling speed, but one of them is making for the mounts with deadly intent. The other three are moving to encircle Beldur, although he should note their combat stances are subpar and their snouts seem to guide them better than eyes which keep shutting and opening. They must be nocturnal. If he is careful in his posture, they shouldn't prove too difficult an encounter, but their number -- and that damned lone goblin moving for the group's rides -- could prove problematic . . .

Brand had something snarky on his tongue. This wasn’t really any different from normal, mind, but usually no one else was so quick to interject. Briar spoke, and the words died on his lips, and his mouth was clamped shut again. He was… skeptical, at best, of Gallad’s declarations. Brand knew a thing or two about being drunk, and of course the rule of thumb was that anyone insisting they’re not really -that- drunk, is, in fact, probably even -more- drunk than they appear. But Briar spoke and all of Brand’s biting sarcasm was left unsaid. Such a shame. They were gonna be good words. Very, very, very good words. The best words; ‘uge words. It was gonna be amazing, believe it. Alas. Brand instead marched forward to the head of the group -- determined to let no one see how utterly confounded he was to have his word bomb so thoroughly defused -- and instead laid eyes on Khitti. Alive. And what’s more, armed. And standing before some strange shadowy figure. Brand had half a mind (heh) to pick her up right then, throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and carry her out without another word. Mission accomplished, aye? But no. There was still a dragon to kill -- or else she might just one day be kidnapped again. “Peach,” he grunted to Khitti, with a grim nod. As if they were compatriots on the field of battle and not -- well, whatever they were. He called over his shoulder to Pilar. “You get her outta here, yeah?” And he charged forward towards the noise and the danger, the distraction team and the dragon.

For how far Beldur was from the mount's it would be easy to intercept the speeding goblin. Trying to take down the goblin as if he was fighting a professional assassin, and not some mindless pack animal. His hatchling drake would chirp at the sight. Knowing it ment a fresh meal rather than Bel's rations, though it seemed like she was stealing Lionel's dried meats this time for who's pack she was in. A bit of jerky hanging from her mouth as the growing drake watched. His shield coming first, trying to bash the goblin, and if that failed, his sword was quick to impale it. His focus on the one for now while trying to keep the other three in his field of view. Without his helm, it was much easier and his countless hours fighting wolves for training, fight pack creatures became somewhat his specialty. His shield hand pulling a dagger to try and throw at any that was braving the oppertunity to try and rush the wyverns. He can't have that, would mean complications in the long run if he was going to be a knight of Frostmaw and their escape. Though either was the last thing on his mind at the moment. Just the battle at hand and protecting their mounts. If the goblin somehow survived the onslaught of attacks or even if he didn't, his drake would finally use her breath weapon correctly. A stream of dence steam and ice shards flying towards the goblin. Giving Beldur a surprising advantage in his height, and causing his drake to cough after the attack. Noticably surprised before ducking back into Lionel's pack to steal more of his rations. "I need to remember to replace his rations later."

"Khitti..." Pilar whispered. She barely heard Brand's order, hardly noticed him run off. She ran towards Khitti, tears still streaming down her face. "Khitti!" Briar smacked her forehead. Stupid girl. Pilar threw her arms around Khitti. "You're alive... you're really alive..."

As the group progresses further, Gallad is preparing his lute, tuning the strings. But he is also preparing his lute for more than a distraction. He pulls something out of his pack – his lute is also a crossbow which he constructed himself. Some may notice that it is shaped rather oddly for a lute. Quickly, the part attaches to the backside. He loads a bolt and fires at the Goblin to aid in combat, if not to kill, to weaken the foe. Gallad is aware that he should not take the glory from another warrior, but aid in that glory. He acknowledged that the group does not want his death but rather join them in escape. Gallad readies himself for the distraction when called upon.

The younger redhead just stared at the shadow thing before her, her head tilted to the side somewhat in confusion. "Vell, you tell her she better damn vell keep fighting! I've got a bone or two to pick vith her! She...S-she..." But, Khitti's not able to finish her train of thought because she just so happens to look past the odd creature and sets her line of sight on Brand as he ever so casually walked past towards where the dragon was, "B-Brand?" Not long after the name left her throat, the swords left her hands, clattering to the cave's floor. And then her dear sister was upon her, arms wrapped around her, Khitti's confusion ever worsening. "Pilar?!" And then, her attention shifted towards the direction that the two had come from, dark emerald eyes settling on Lionel. There's immediate recognition. Of course there would be. It's not easy to forget those encounters with him, especially the spiders. Gods damned spiders. These Catalians, man, I tell ya. If they're not getting her into trouble, they always somehow manage to get her out. Hopefully. That remains to be seen in this case. "YOU?!" She grabs Pilar by the shoulders, pushing her back at arm's length so she can better look at her, "HIM?!" Nope. Khitti didn't forget the spiders. Never, ever forget. With a heavy sigh, she drags the younger female back in for a hug, then directs her attention to Brand once more, steps taken towards him and away from Pilar, the odd shadow creature that she'd suddenly forgotten, and place where the bitey one had been, "Brand! Vhat are you freaking doing?! Don't go in zhere, you idiot! I vill never forgive you if you go in zhere and die!"

Raiez was oblivious to the others that have entered her cave from another direction, so focused on this mage and the others that blew a hole in her home! There was disappointment that the smell of burning flesh did not meet her nostrils, but such disappointment gave way to annoyance as suddenly there was a whirlwind buffetting her face. How dare?! "Impudent little creatures!" she roared, stomping and smashing about herself as her tail flailed about. The smell of ozone suddenly pervaded the room, and anyone in proximity of the dragon was sure to have the hairs on their body stand on end. Within the Blue's mouth, crackles of energy sparked to life, built and built, until finally they were released in a torrent of angry, hissing lightning. She could not see any of her targets clearly, so she just swayed her head back and forth, pouring forth her breath weapon indiscriminately. Back in the room where Khitti had been greeted with the sight of her friends, the shadow-figure was wasting no time. "I will not," was all it said in reply to Khitti's demand before it swept forward and stepped -into- Khitti. Amarrah had returned home. Complete with the Redhead's sass. And memories. Poor Khitti.

The goblin on Beldur’s bashful impalation list is suitably bashed before impalation is necessary. A swift and deadly blow to the head does it in for good and all; truly, these aren’t the most intelligent creatures, nor are they especially thick-skinned. Two of the fallen goblin’s companions are indeed rushing straight for the wyverns, and they both arc wayward of the swung knife, only for it to strike true upon the only foe not so immediately interested in prey. The poor fool slumps to the ground, a victim of his or her companions’ hasty natures. Now, there are but two goblins on the field, and as that knife has redirected them, they’re in two very different places. One of them is notably closer to Beldur, and it snarls and leaps toward the knight-errant with renewed scorn, its crude hooked blade seeking to slash wherever crude hooked blades might slash. Alas, shards of ice pepper its cheeks and neck, leaving it disfigured and collapsing right in front of the man. The fourth goblin has had enough of Beldur’s chivalry. The fourth goblin retreats. But even in retreat, it has a thought for fresh blood -- it wanders into Raeiz’s cave, only to be shot by Gallad’s well-timed crossbow. Today is a very bad day to be a goblin…

...Lionel, the figurative ‘him’, part three of Khitti’s disbelief and undoubtedly the man she is least enthusiastic to look up, waves a hand and steps gingerly past the strange and otherworldly assortment at play here in this little cave of horrors. “This place is weird,” he mutters an observation, whilst Briar -- still close to Pilar -- expresses far greater trepidation. She gasps at the living conditions, gasps again at the shadowy apparition, and she’s on the verge of gasping once more when she’s interrupted by the realization that her lord Lionel is trotting along beside Brand toward the dragon’s den. With an unspoken frustration, the woman bolts forward to catch up to them, three warriors undaunted. Or at least, they’re all quite good at pretending to be dauntless. The sickly screams of the distraction team ahead prompts Varka to separate from the others as well, and she mumbles a curse at herself for taking this long. Esche is back there, beyond this sparse safety, fighting for his life. Her beloved Esche. Indeed, Esche is fighting hard. No sooner has me thrust forth that whirlwind than he’s spinning his staff to conjure anew, but the toll of all this magic is a high one. A fourth spell won’t come easy; his shaven head is covered in beads of sweat and his breaths are ragged and Stroud has taken notice. The human tank lifts the elf to a distant corner, only narrowly escape Raeiz’s latest blast in so doing. Lightning strikes in baleful surges, lifting dirt from the land and shoveling it to and fro. The dwarves with their weapons at the dragon’s legs are all in for such the rude awakening; so close to the strike, their armor’s crisped and their hair is charred and their faces are far redder than they ought to be. Neither Tratt nor Sundance seems totally out of commission, but the lightning continues no matter their physical state, so they’re so busy hopping back and forth now in attempted evasion that it’s all Sundance can do to lift a heavy cleave at Raiez’s belly as he leaps. Nor do they notice Shanks’ electrified corpse just meters away.

Brand showed no recognition of Khitti’s words. He only barely acknowledged the presence of Briar and Lionel and Varka. He raced forward, conjuring great orbs of fire that flickered and writhed in his hands until they took shape as twin twisted whips of flame. And there… there was Raiez, a dragonform terror. There was the elf, the dwarves, and a dead companion barely known to him. To a forward paw he flew -- best to avoid getting hammered into the ground by that tail -- and both whips shot forward, seeking to ensnare her, burn her, and pull her off balance. At the very least, he could provide some relief to those who had been fighting her from the start. He sought to be a distraction from the distraction team, so that they might regroup and strike all the truer with their next blows. And he sought to be a distraction, perhaps more importantly, from that fiery greatsword and the fellow Catalian who wielded it. He’d seen the damage it could do. If anyone here was landing the killing blow on Raiez, Brand had his bets on that one.

Just throwing the corpse of the goblin down, he sighs at the loss of life. Shaking his head before moving over to their wyvern mounts, his knife not very high on his list of priorities at the moment. Checking on them for any injury that may have gotten past. Once the inspection was done, and any injury was tended to the best of his ability, which wasn't much, he would fish Shela from Lionel's saddle pack. "Get out of there, you silly thing." He would say as he pulled her out. A large grin on her face as she nommed on a large piece of his rations. The knight shook his head as he sighs. "How you eat so much and stay so small is beyond me. Doesn't matter, they've been in there a while. And we need to be ready." Moving to where they tied their mounts, he kept his sword out. Ready to cut the reigns if need be for their quick escape.

Brand left her again. So too did the others. Off to fight. Off to rescue her. But, she was right here, and even with Pilar nearby, Khitti desperately needed saving again. In that moment, as Amarrah returned once more to that body that had been her home for seventeen years, everything fell into slow motion; in that moment, a series of very unfortunate events began to occur. First, there was a gasp, one of horror and of surprise; the magic, the darkness had returned. Then, she reached out for Brand over Pilar's shoulder, emerald eyes wide with terror, but he'd never see her. He'd not see those eyes pleading with him to come back. ~No. Don't leave me again.~ was all she could think. Next, the tears came and a shriek that barely left her throat. The realization that everything was going to go black. The first and last time Amarrah entered her body, she almost died. This time, it was different. This time, her entire form felt aflame. Now, blood began to trickle from her nose and eyes, replacing the tears that had been there with the thick, red liquid that she'd stolen from another some time ago. This was new. This didn't happen before. Something had changed. Amarrah felt free, unchained from those mental blocks that had bound her for so long. In the same motion it took to reach for Brand, it soon shifted and she then began to slump forward against her dear sister, the outstretched hand falling to her shoulder, sliding down Pilar's front as Khitti collapsed to the ground at the armor-clad girl's feet. It'd be naught but a matter of seconds to Pilar, but gods, it was a lifetime to Khitti. Was this it? This had to be it. She'd never set her sights on her beloved Dominic again. Never argue or spar with Brand. Never bake and tell stories with Pilar. Never yell at Lionel for being so damned infuriating. Never play Lydia's violin. She'd never dance, or laugh, or have fun again. She was never getting out of this cave alive. There was never to be a 'happily ever after' for her. So very, very slowly the light went out...and the memories came flooding back again. The fire. The pain. The blood. The drow. And then there were her own; the necromancers had started their cutting, and prodding, and slicing anew. The two entwined and became what she knew to be her own personal purgatory. This was it. Her true death was coming. But there was no bright light, there was no Lydia to guide her. There were whispers in her mind...and then there was nothing. The void had come to take her.

"Khitti!" Pilar screamed. She lowered her sister to the ground as she lost consciousness, tears running down her cheeks. "No, Khitti... Khitti..." She looked around, scared, confused... and angry. Her eyes settled on Raiez. Her. She had done this. It had to be her fault, it only made sense! Pilar looked to Gallad. "Watch over her," she said. She kissed Khitti's forehead and laid her down before getting to her feet. She pulled her dagger from its sheath and rushed in towards Raiez, dodging lightning and dashing past fighters. Her vampiric speed put more force behind her thrust than even she had anticipated, and if she struck true, she would bury her dagger to the hilt in Raiez's leg. The enchantment on the dagger would then get to work, sapping the dragon of her magic.

Gallad drags Khitti away from the violence and plays a magical tune which creates a shield. He awaits for the companions to rally together for escape.

Why were there so many vermin in her cave?! First the dwarves and that accursed mage, but now others came rushing in. And from behind, no less! No! They were here for her two remaining mages! She sought to turn, to level her magic at the newcomers, but even as she opened her maw to speak the arcane syllables a whip wrapped around her forepaw. Oh, how it burned! A roar tore from her, but it was more a roar of anger than pain. Her eyes were alight with fire...just in time for Pilar to stick that dagger of hers between some scales and into the flesh beneath. Now that...that put fear in the dragon's eyes. She felt it the moment her magic started to slip away. No! Not her magic! With another roar, she began to flail about, tail and limbs stomping and smashing anything they could reach.

In Lionel's forward charge, his shins seem to burst into sparks of flame -- by any other set of circumstances, a very bad thing, indeed. But Lionel O'Connor is no ordinary man. His soul is bound to Halycanos, ancient Ishaarite spirit that it is, and the sparks at his shins are just the beginning of a fiery trail as his speed picks up to unnatural degree. Here in a cave, such purpose may seem lost; why move so swiftly when he must soon stop, anyway? Yet in this mad volt rush, the fallen hero draws his sword. Hellfire has not found blood since the mysterious ambush further south. It craves. The steel remains sheathed even as the legendary claymore is brought forth -- sheathed in wicked galvanized magma. It is as if the man brings a pyre wherever he goes. Today, the dragon might be his funeral victim. Raeiz is desperate; Lionel's allies have opened her for his attack run, whether they knew it or not. And now, Brand is striking, and Pilar is striking, and even when Tratt and Sundance are shields-up to deflect and switch to a defensive posture, and even when Stroud is standing guard beside Varka as her healing hands cure Esche of what ails him, Lionel is fire made flesh. He stops just short of his prey -- truly, a madman, to describe a dragon as prey -- with such a swoosh that the streak of blue-hot fire behind him passes him safely and moves to rip through Raeiz's flailing legs. Of Lionel himself, he is already behind her; dangerously close by her wrathful tail, the Catalian descends from above, Hellfire held steady in both grips, trajectory for the thickest part of her back to rip through muscle and send a shimmering shockwave of pent-up magic into her at lethal arc. If he is successful, it could immobilize her for good; if he falters, he'll undoubtedly be swept aside by the tail. Outside, Beldur will hear no further creatures stirring, but, awkwardly enough, an unsuspecting man will move down the nearby trail with a caravan of... are those camels? They seem like camels.

It all happened so fast. “What the gorram hell, woman?!” Brand yelled when he caught sight of Pilar. “D’you not listen when I tell you to take your sister and run?” It was just enough distraction to make him vulnerable. Raiez’s feet flailed about, and Brand’s fiery whips were still maintaining their grip. Brand hardly considered himself weak, but he was certainly no match for a thrashing dragon several times his size. There was no way for him to stand his ground, and he certainly wasn’t fast enough to disengage and roll to safety. Towards a wall he was swung, scraped along it like not enough butter on too much toast before he could finally react and release the whips taking him along on Raiez’s wild ride. Brand retreated out of range as quick as he was able, meaning to assess his newly bloodied arm and the fresh cave painting he’d left behind -- but only just had he managed to remove himself from immediate danger when Lionel arrived, decisively one-upping Brand’s claim to flame. “Remind me never to get on Lionel’s bad side,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Seeing the camal caravan, he rose a brow as he patted the side of one of the wyverns. Walking towards the caravan to wave their attention. "You'll need to find an alternate route, sir. My companions are facing a dragon at the moment. If it's not killed, I don't doubt she'll be out for blood." He said his warning loud enough for whoever was leading it to hear. Pointing in a direction that was away from the cave that his companions was in. The noise from the cave did certainly help prove his point. Though his voice was stoic, his eyes glanced towards the cave. Ensuring that his companions haven't came out yet in a rush. His hatchling poking her head out of his saddle bag this time. Jumping down to start nomming on one of the dead goblins arms.

Pilar didn't have the time to respond to Brand, nor did she care to. She was seeing red. Quite literally, as there was now dragon blood oozing from the wound before her. Raiez's leg slammed into the vampire and sent her flying into the cave wall, near Brand. Stars burst before her eyes as her head hit stone. If not for her vampiric toughness, she would probably have had a concussion, at the least. She landed in a heap at the base of the wall, groaning. It took her a few moments to get up, so that she missed Lionel's strike, but she did hear Brand's muttering. "Yeah..." the dizzy vampire replied.

Gallad continued to play his song of shielding, his eyes darting back and forth, trying to take in all the action at once. It was a fair bit more than the bard could follow, so he focused on protecting Khitti.

Raiez was a tough beast. She may have felt pain, but she could have shrugged off most of the damage being levied her way, even if one little pinprick had drained her of her magical abilities. But that damned man and his fiery sword, now -that- was a pain she had never felt. It felt as though a Red were breathing its flaming breath right into her spine. Oh, how she roared, the agony clear in her voice. Her head whipped around, her maw gnashing wildly, but there was no strength to it. Sure, if Lionel were dumb enough to get caught in that maw, those razor sharp teeth would have surely eviscerated him, but if he even stepped aside she hardly had the concentration at that moment to have given chase at the right moments. Her legs trembled, and her eyes had already started to grow dim. It was only a few mere moments later that she collapsed, her breathing labored, and deadly amounts of blood seeping from her body. The sound that came from her next would sound familiar to anyone who had spent time with animals; it was a death cry. For sentient races, it may have even sounded like a plea to go on living, at least just a little longer. There was no fight left in the great Blue. "My mages," she whimpered in a whisper, the loss of her living, magical hoard clearly her last lament. "I could have taught them so much..."

Lionel has never been the wisest of heroes, but he has wisdom enough to avoid Raeiz's maw. His feat, however, is purely acrobatic: with Hellfire shattering clear through the dying dragon's spine, the man at sword's helm swirls his body horizontally keeping both grips taut on the hilt. It's an evasive maneuver designed to confound -- why would anyone swing their body around like a circus performer at a time like this? More to the point, how is it humanly possible? Indeed, one false twist of his agile body and it could all be over. One miscalculated hip toss to carry on this absurdist twirl and he could fall into her mouth and never again know Briar's scolding or Brand's swearing or Hildegarde's passionate decree. For a single stitch in time, losing all these things doesn't sound so bad. The nightmares would fade. The ache in his heart would disappear. He'd die nobly enough -- mission accomplished, more or less, one last hurrah for the history books he so detests. The memories of shadow could finally fall away. Lionel continues swirling, his feet slamming into Raeiz's death-rattling face and missing those razor-sharp fangs by mere inches. But everything changes when his azure gaze brings all his allies into steady focus. Pilar by the wall, wounded. Brand recovering but mumbling. Esche and Varka and Stroud, all watching with eyes wide. Is there a hint of hunger in Esche's own stare? No, it must just be the angle. Tratt and Sundance, their attentions now turned to the sizzled corpse of their fallen ally. This world isn't through with Lionel O'Connor. These are his companions now and even today one more has been lost. He will not go quietly into the night. The former prince of Catal pulls his thighs up close to his abdomen and kicks into the air, hoisting Hellfire from Raeiz's backside as he lands some meters wayward of her thrash. In retrieving the sword from the dragon, a further burst of flame billows into her body, there to charge through and further implode. Lionel's combat boots skid across the ground but not enough; he crashes into the wall beside Pilar with only enough time to cough up dust and return to standing. His right foot shakes from impact and there's a cut on his left cheek. "Frakking heck," he catches between breaths, and then he sheathes the blade.

Over in Beldur's corner of the mission, the merchant chuckles mirthlessly to the tune of a dragon's cry. "You don't mince words, nor do your friends in there seem to mince swords." The tone is heavily accented -- is that a hint of Rynvalian? But the man himself, covered nearly head to toe though he is, seems to have been born elsewhere. "I take this path, I think, but I do so with full protection." He gestures to the camels. Does he seriously think they'd save him in a scuffle? "If in need of potions or poultices, friend, I have them in full." He hops down and unveils his wares; it's a motley assortment of greens, reds, and blues, all stored in fabulously crystalline bottles. There's even a five-pound haul of meat jerky, although it's difficult to ascertain just what exactly the animal was that gave its life for the drying. "I have good wares, yes, and your boon friends inside that cave will be needing them, I think. Fate has brought us together, Ser Knight, and now we must barter so." The merchant waves his hand mystically into the frigid air. "The gods alone have willed it."

Brand had just gathered his senses enough for a final assault on the dragon when there was an ominous rumbling. For that initial second, he’d thought it to be emanating from Raiez, just another part of her death throes. But no… there it was again, accompanied by dust and pieces of rock tumbling from the cave’s ceiling. Frakkin’ hell. He had -really- wanted to watch the last of the life die out of Raiez’s eyes, but it looked like it wasn’t to be. “Cave in. Time to go,” Brand announced with a shout, just in case any of the others hadn’t caught on to the imminent. Hastily conjured stilettos of ice and stone were sent to pierce deep into Raiez’s wounds -- sure, she was already dying, but he couldn’t resist the desire to gift her a bit more misery before she passed -- and then Brand sprinted away. To Khitti. To the one he’d come here for. The other redhead vampiress was nowhere to be found now, anyway. With barely a grunt of gratitude spared Gallad’s way, and a repeated urge to retreat in case the man hadn't heard the first time, Brand lifted the unconscious Khitti into his arms and made hastily for the exit.

Beldur would sigh shaking his head as the merchant pushed. He did believe in the divines, but he seriously doubted they would have such a pushy merchant be their way. Though the sounds of the dragon reached them, Bel would frown as he looked towards it. Not expecting to see his comrades but rather an angry dragon. Need to get this stubborn man away if that's the dragon, he thought. "Fine, how much for the lot of healing potions?" Looking at the jerky, he thinks a moment before he pointed to it as well. "And that?" Thankfully he didn't trust the banks very much so he had a number of gold coins on him. His eyes glancing back to the cave as it got eerily quiet. He assumed the worst, naturally, but stayed at his post. Hoping the merchant would hurry up and leave incase his assumptions were correct.

Pilar had just gotten to her feet when the cave in started. A rock fell just inches from her, and she shrieked and bolted towards Khitti. Oh, Brand had her. Well, that was good. She slid to a stop when she remembered. Her knife! She turned and ran back towards Raiez, dodging falling debris until she reached the dragon's leg. She ripped the blade from the flesh and then ran back towards the exit as fast as she could. Which was pretty fast. She was already catching up to them.

Gallad stopped his protective playing as Brand came up. He huffed indignantly at Brand's grunt, then made a beeline for the exit himself.

For all the hubbub inside the cave, Beldur's cocksure merchant companion seems to think it's festival for the equable. "Six gold coins, my good friend and best man," the seller delights, and then he pauses, and points. "You! You are my best man. And for a best man, that jerky stack can sell for a scant fifteen. Oh, how I love to make friends happy." But something is off. The observant Beldur will surely detect it. The merchant, once handed the gold, is in a hurry to depart. What foulness is at play? Is this shopkeep in league with goblins? With Raiez? With Dark Immortals? Could he be a vengeful spirit, here to trick Beldur into certain death? ...Nah. He just doesn't want to be here anymore. He has what he wants -- money, moolah, dinero. Dollar dollar bills. "Anyway, -bye!-" The merchant says it so briskly, he does, and then he hops on top of the space between lumps on his faithful camel steed and zips away, zips away, zips away home.

Lionel sighs so loudly those nearby might even hear it as the cave comes down in a hurry. It's all he can do to stare straight up at the falling shards of ice-crusted stalactite and raise his left hand into the air indignantly, one choice finger up in defiance to the gods themselves. Raeiz's final scream is the drum which beats an ugly red sound as the survivors all race to the exit Esche created. It is the elven mage who guides them, his spry step reinvigorated thanks to Varka's delicate aid. Thus, he is the first to reach the blasted hole those ancient fire magics created, and he's the first to climb through and touch tightly-packed snow and feel the warmth of sunlight. Behind him, Varka and Stroud, and then the dwarves Tratt and Sundance. Miraculously, the pair worked together to retrieve Shanks' corpse, carrying it between them like lumber. Their gazes are appropriately forlorn; when they fall to their knees, they hold the body in reverence and it is the towering Sundance who chokes back tears. Now, five remain within the collapsing cavern network. Pilar and Gallad. Brand with the unconscious Khitti. And Lionel. There is no doubt to be made that he's one of the fastest members of the expedition. With Halycanos' Ishaarite techniques from Hellfire blazing deep within him, he may even be -the- fastest. But he's the furthest behind. He's not leaving without Khitti. Brand's strength is impressive. A real prime Catalian specimen, that one, if the once-prince of Catal does say so, himself. Still, carrying the woman is going to slow him down. Lionel doesn't force assistance. Rather, he stays just behind his fellow countryman, just within reach if the worst should come to pass. He isn't failing the mission no matter what -- and he isn't losing another Catalian, either. Not one frakking more.

Brand was paying as little attention to everyone else as he did Gallad. It wasn’t that he didn’t care if they made it out, it was just that Khitti was his focus -- Khitti, who was far warmer than she should be even if after a recent feeding. Khitti, who now cried out something Brand was unable to make out over the last roars of the dragon and rock formations trembling and crashing to the ground. Everyone else could handle themselves, or they wouldn’t have joined this mission in the first place. And so it was that when Brand emerged from the opening Esche had created, barely a backwards glance was spared for his allies. Just enough to ensure they were all accounted for, and little else. “Well done,” he stated to the group, and began hastily marching for their mounts. He’d never been the sort for a victory speech, and had neither the desire to give one nor be an audience to any the others might want to give. And Khitti wasn’t quite out of the woods yet, not until he knew what had become of her, why she was in this state.

Lionel freezes and the world seems to spin around him. Light from the end of the elf-made tunnel almost blinds him, but it's what's missing on the other side that causes him to half-collapse. For all his bravado over seeing to it that Khitti and Brand are safe, Briar Ku Risu is nowhere to be found. Rocks come crumbling down in all directions and that tunnel light grows a little bit dimmer by the second. Dust kicks up and Lionel coughs hideously, an arm stretched ahead of his face and his free hand covering his nose and mouth instinctually. Faintly, he can hear their voices. Stroud's booming demand. Sundance's frantic shouting. Varka's wailing plea. Even Esche sounds positively distraught somehow. Darkness ascending; Lionel can't see a thing. With a whir of sick cracking and a constant hum of the earth shattering from on high, it almost sounds as if dead Raeiz herself wasn't finishing screaming after all. What is he even doing here? Is his quest to play the Big Gorram Hero card every single time drawing up blanks now? The light is dim now; too dim. Outside, arguing. The voices all blend. Lionel has barely even moved. A stone falls on his shoulder and he falls with it. He cries out -- is he dying for her? His legs begin to press him forward but not of his own volition. Another stone takes him in the neck but only softly. And somehow, that soft stone is pulling him up, hoisting him, even helping maneuver his legs. His cough worsens and the nausea reaches fever pitch but the too-dim light is suddenly brighter. He's all but thrown into it and vision abruptly improves. He can scarcely breathe, but Briar is there, staring at Lionel engulfed in that light. Everything fades.

When he opens his eyes, the Catalian -- Lionel, that is; it feels like there are so many again lately -- is suspended in midair snugly secured upon their wyvern. Briar's words are like a whisper, but he can begin to discern shapes. The setting sky, red with passion. The ice mountains underneath. "I separated from you," she's saying, and the words grow louder as Lionel's hearing improves. "Goblins in the caves. I didn't want the rescue to unravel. I spotted them. No one else did. And they hadn't spotted us. I left, silently." Lionel blinks, coughs, and asks, weakly: "And what happened?" Briar smirks, patting her commander on the hair and fixing water for him. "They died," she answers sweetly, and he laughs. A real laugh. A good laugh. "Fetch me some food?" He asks her, but when she rummages, she comes up empty. They glance, agape, and then arch their necks to one of the other mounts. To a rider upon that mount... and the little drake that could.

For Beldur, it had been an easy thing to hop to the mounts and rejoin his companions. There'd be accommodations for the man given how he's exceeded mission parameters so smoothly. His drake, too, will be rewarded -- although certainly -not- from Lionel's rations. Shanks will receive the highest honors for his noble sacrifice, but it will not bring him back. Tratt and Sundance remain morose, but should any of the others care to look, they'll note Sundance slowly reaching out for a hug to his dwarven friend. They'll mourn, but they'll live on. Esche? Varka? Well, the girl won't leave him be, so transfixed by him, so completely devoided. But there's something different about their interaction, something slightly colder than it should be. The elf himself is mostly gazing out upon the horizon, as though his mind is elsewhere entirely.

Pilar and Gallad, she exhausted and he bewildered. There's no telling whether any of them will ever espy the bard again, but he's survived far more than he'd bargained for. And what, of course, of Brand and Khitti? Well, that's the most imperative question of all, as it were, but it's not for this chapter to tell...

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RP:Rescuers Down Under

Raiez's Cave (Dead End)