RP:Tomb Raiding
When
2009-12-09
Characters
Dumuzi is a lycan and seems to be a mage.
Basil is a human and seems to be a mage.
Evie is a feline and seems to be a thief.
Taeme is a human and seems to be a druid.
Whess is a hobbit and seems to be a bard.
Satoshi is a feline and seems to be a mage.
Jack is a feline and seems to be an assassin.
Area
Left Tomb
This area of the necropolis holds only one grave, made of black rock. Behind the sarcophagus stands a large statue made purely of onyx. The statue is of a large being in full armor and a helmet with a visor, keeping his face hidden. Spread from the statue's back are massive angelic wings, and within the hands of the statue is a book. As you study the work of art, you feel it is not just a statue but holds some magical purpose as well, perhaps you should leave it be and be on your way. The only place to go is to the east.
Rp
Dumuzi was somewhat unsure of his current assortment of allies. Paying for help is a sketchy business at best, but they more than seemed to be able to get the job done. The 'seemed' part of that thought was stuck in his head. No time for such things though. He should focus on the task at hand: Leading the group to the opening of the tomb. It was a dry, eerie sort of place even in the darkness of Vailkrin. Dumuzi resist the urge to shiver violently as he motions to the huge stone blocking the entrance of the grave. His small voice squeaks out from under his leather hat addressing Basil, "Human. Open that up." The outlandishly dressed person appeared to be a magic user. Surely he has enough power inside to do such a thing. Then it would be a simple matter of shuffling everyone inside.
Basil keeps his lips pursed, piercing blue eyes roving about uncomfortably. The mage had been eager for work, though this had not quite been what he had in mind. Tomb-raiding was completely new to him, and the thought of disturbing the dead still sat uneasily in the pit of his stomach. Reminding himself that professionalism comes first, he steps up when addressed. "Basil, if you please, sir." The mage politely corrects him before stepping up to the huge stone. Pulling out a piece of chalk, he draws a large circle in the center of the stone, followed by a series of intricate geometric figures. A chord here, a tangent there, a triangle connecting, a final hash mark... With a dull blue flash, the circle stands empty; a smooth, round hole, slightly larger than meter in diameter stands in the middle of the stone.
Evie is huddled near the back, warmed by all the fur across her skin and the loose clothes hanging off her frame like a hanger. Her figure is hidden by the jumbles of cloth, but her arms are crossed with her feet together and her eyes are set, watching her surroundings as she is still cautious of the people she finds herself around.
Taeme stumbles through the graveyard unaware of the meeting taking place ahead, her focus now on getting herself un-lost in Vailkrin. Sightless hazel eyes habitually cast this way and that roaming over the eerie tombstones riddling the landscape without seeing them, the constant turn of her head a nervous gesture she hopes will catch the slightest sound emitting from around her. Pale hands extend before her as she plods ever onward the soft thumping of her boots a companion in the otherwise still silence. Taking a sharp left, she stumbles unwarily into the tomb just as the flash resonates leaving the blind human untainted by its light. With the next step taken, the toe of her boot catches on a crack in the floor sending her sprawling at Dumuzi's feet with an undignified oath. Hastily she attempts to regain her footing, the fall having left her slightly off balance and at odds with herself.
Dumuzi was rather glad that Basil, or whatever his name, was useful. Urging them through the product of his effort the party comes into the first room of the Tomb. Well it really wasn't a room. More like a long hallway. This hallway was rather tall and slightly in ruin. Stones from the roof had fallen in leaving the room bathed in weak filtered light from outside. The light gave enough illumination to see the walls. It was not the most welcoming sight. Countless alcoves made up the wall. In each was a skeleton laying in their final peace, stuffed in legs first to their pitiful holes. Five alcoves a column extending in a very long rows down the hall. Something strange was at the end of room. What was that? Moving light and chanting? This can't be good. Death Cultist here? Four of them at that? Fantastic. "Well so much for stealth. That damn spell that opened up the tomb was bright and loud enough to alert the dead." Perhaps a poor choice of words as the skeletons in the alcoves begin to shake and move. A macabre orchestra of radding bones. Hundred of skeletons begin to come to life. Panicking Dumuzi gives out orders, "Stop them!" A futile statement. The distance was far too huge to stop all of them. Never the less Dumuzi breaks into a run in front of everyone, his tiny legs pumping as fast as they can, towards them. It is not long before the dead begin to move out of their holes. Hands reach out pulling themselves free to encounter the party. Dumuzi, being as short and small as he is, quickly dodges between them. It isn't before though before one of them grabs on to the Shaman. Panic fills the Lycan's mind. One tiny hand peaks out from his patchwork robes. Almost stumbling over the words he speaks out a spell in his little squeaky voice as the skeleton draws him closer and closer. Finally it goes off. From his palm is a whirlwind of lightning. It strikes out in a random, wide burst. White and blue flashes destroying the undead that dared to touch him and seven near him. Scorching their ivory bones to dust that scatters in the air. A useless attack as more and more of those who no longer rest arise.
Basil ducks and slips through the hole, his bunny slippers softly squeaking as he sets foot in the dank hallway. Wrinkling his nose, the mage supresses a strong desire to cover his mouth and nose with he sleeve of his robes. Instead, he reaches for his wand, filling his hand and blinking against the dark. What was that at the end of the hallway? His already displeased expression falls. "You said nothing about stealth!" Gaze moves to follow Dumuzi as he charges into the fray. Deeply, he frowns and raises his wand, his attention focuses on the cultists chanting. A wicked spell of mass-reanimation, Basil recognizes it and begins loudly chanting the counterspell, hoping at least to hinder their ability to create new combatants.
Evie stumbles back as boney hands begin to pry themselves out of the ground. The tomb floor splits even more as the hands begin to pull their bodies, or fragments of, along with them. Since this is not what she came here for, the feline jumps back, kicking her feet at whatever hand grabs at her ankles. Similarly, her hands flail childishly around her body, a good left hook thrown every once in a while.
Taeme stands mouth agape as the oddest sounds grace her ears, the sounds of bones grating against themselves and stone with each defined movement. Puzzlement etches itself into her features, nimble fingers rising to brush straying strands of pearly white and raven from her eyes; their presence more annoyance than hindrance as she cannot see to begin with. "What I would not give for Erythos at this moment… bloody hawk." Having not seen the creature she depended upon for what little sight gained through the rapturous bird's sharp vision, she is left clueless to the awakening of skeletons or the panic settling in with the Lycan, his head long run into the ivory creatures one she would not have advised. The tomb floor below shudders with the effects of the reanimation spell, the spell following from Dumuzi's flesh and the correcting spell cast from Basil. Standing stock still, she is unaware of the gaggle of ghost white foes circling round her lithe frame, evil intent vacant from the gaping holes where their eyes once sat. The chill of deadened bone brushing against her own pale flesh sends the human girl into her own panic. From its securing ties strapped to her back, the druid pulls a staff and conduit of her craft. Long lessons and training has it settling with ease and comfort between her slender fingers before she spins into action, the staff a blur striking here and there with no real clue to the placement of her opponents. Unwittingly, she begins to draw the surrounding air close to her moving body, condensing it tightly into a packed globe. The thud of her weapon against stone sends the wound element spiraling outwards in a wide sphere with enough force to throw skeleton into the surrounding, crumbling walls.
Satoshi drops in on the little party then. Quite literally. With only a rumble, protest of grating stone, and a yelp as warning, a massive slab of the roof abruptly crashes to the floor, throwing into the thick, underground air ageless dust, rock slivers, and remnants of the skeletons unfortunate enough to be caught standing beneath the small cave-in. Two sets of coughs sound from the center of the swirling cloud, the owners of the voices revealed as Satoshi and a glistening white bat once the former has waved off most of the offending brown fog. The dusty mage stands upon the rectangle of stone, goggles pulled down over her eyes to shield them from debris as the bat--wearing a minuscule set of similar goggles for the sake of fashion--flits back and forth beside her, squeaking in excitement at the sights that meet the interloping duo. "Oh, hellfire. What have we fallen into...? Aha, Sparrow!" Spotting Taeme, the vampiric cat--bloodlust tamed by the overpowering scent of decay and dirt, for now--hops off the stone and hastily makes her way to the blind druid, using the improvised pathway of skeleton heads to do so, and breaking a fair few necks along the way. Satoshi is genuinely unfazed by the seemingly dangerous predicament, and concerns herself with greeting the blindly flailing girl, and getting an answer to her question. "Just" a duck under the staff, "what es" sidestep to avoid another swing, "going on here," a glance at the stranger, Jack, "Sparrow~?" At least the bat is helping out while Satoshi weaves around the druid, using her little body of enchanted ice to full body tackle bone dancers that get too close, and chittering in delight as she does so.
Dumuzi heard the sound of his adventurers' behind him. Their battle against the living dead was valiant. Bashing attackers, slashing enemies in swift movement, violent dancing, and some sort of spell he wasn't sure about. However they where just fighting the result, not the cause. At least that is the thought he had at the moment. Apparently it was incorrect. All of skeletons seem to stop and shudder for a moment at Basil's counterspell. Dumuzi can see them as he books it past them. Various bones from random body parts fall off the dead, clattering to the ground, before they restart their attack on the raiders. An arm here that was to grab him fell away or a leg there that marched the corpse instead made it collapse to the ground. It did not stop them in the least, but it was something. Enough to get the Lycanthrope next to one of the Necromancers. The Shaman grins with gruesome satisfaction as he looks up at the Human cultist. The cultist stands motionless in chant staring with wide open eyes at the little man before him. Helpless to do anything as Dumuzi pounces on him with a razor knife. From ear-to-ear he slices the necromancer's throat. Blood spurts out from his exposed insides. Choking on the crimson and enchanted words the cultist is stabbed over and over again in the neck by the tiny blade, even far after he crumbles to the ground. In his sadistic attack Dumuzi does not notice as a fourth of the undead fall at their creator's death.
Basil waves his arms emphatically, going through the necessary motions, his voice resonating through the hall as he enacts his careful cancellation. Sweat beads on his brow, an outward sign of his intense concentration. Eyes suddenly go wide, then, as Satoshi tumbles into their midst, and he wavers, thrown for a moment by the sheer chaos of the scene. The skeletons are falling, and between the many and varied actions of the troupe, Basil can scarcely tell who is responsible for which casualties. Taking a deep and well needed breath, the mage steadies his stance again, resuming his chant more loudly than before. With one of the opposing casters slain, perhaps he will have a better chance at an effective cancellation.
Evie stops her flailing after a while when she begins to hit nothing. There still are a lot of the creatures left, but little of them are actually attacking her since most of them fell. This gives the feline a chance to slip away, or hide behind some of the more battle happy people.
Taeme 's staff skitters from her hand, its head caught between the ribs of some skeleton that goes crumbling to the floor with its animator's death. Surprised both at the sudden lack of attack and Ghost's voice sends her stumbling towards Jack in his own approach to her side. "Ghost! Ghost, what's going on! What I wouldn't give to throttle that bloody hawk for abandoning me!" Her boots catch again under the lip, a section of floor set high than the rest from the various spells and upheavals having taken place thus far. Instead of sprawling over the floor as she'd done previously the lithe human is thrown forward, the momentum of her movements carrying her down the eerie hall towards one of the remaining casters whose blank stare matches her own sightless gaze. Thin arms flail and then catch winding round the cultist's neck as she collides solidly with him. With enough force behind her the pair goes toppling to the uneven floor, his head tilted back enough so that as they fall her arms squeeze and twist at his neck enough to snap his nec, stilling the chant falling from his lips.
Satoshi hears nothing of Taeme's words, the feline suddenly going rigid from vulpine ear tips to bushy tail, nose tipped skyward as it sniffs. Blood. There's blood in the air. And with it comes that overwhelming urge, impossible to resist by such a young fledgling. Bloodlust. With a lilting growl, Satoshi turns from Taeme and lunges for the nearest skeleton, doing no more than tackling it to the ground before she springs from it in a repeat maneuver on the next and the next, knocking skeletal obstacles aside that stand between her ravenous hunger and the source of sustenance. A hiss, both feral and regal, announces the feline's sudden appearance at Dumuzi's side. But he's left alone, safe in his undesirable stench of Lycan and lightning magic. Her predatory gaze is for the second necromancer, and fangs bare in a haunting smirk as their eyes lock, one set of murderous intent and the other of petrified fear. The man doesn't even get the chance to cry out and interrupt his chant before Satoshi is on him, claws embedding into collarbone and chin with the wet slicing of flesh, forcing his head back with a violent snap before fangs descend to slash upon skin, baring that sought after artery just begging for a bite. Far be it from her to ignore that call. And then, the feline is oblivious to her surroundings, plunging into the thrill of a successful kill and subsequent feasting, hunger a prominent enough force to keep her from spilling a drop of the precious vitae. Taeme, so near and with another dead cultist, will be next on her list if this meal isn't satisfying enough.
Jack allowed his senses to fly where they would, keeping mind of his and the woman's safety, his attention lied, however, with the others as the battle raged on. Two cultists down, and two more left standing. His visage was grim, though, he was not in the slightest worried for his life. A quick jab at a skeleton would knock his hood from its resting place, revealing rather pallid skin framed about with deep crimson locks falling to his shoulders. His dance continued to ensue, aware of the bloodthirsty feline close by, and cautious as well. A small misstep could send him sprawling earthward, should he not be careful, as Taeme quickly proved true. He knew not who these people where, but his mind told him he needed to help--and he was rarely wrong about these kinds of things. His dagger would cut a limb here, and another there as he spun about, but opportunity would quickly present itself for a better purpose. Body after lifeless body was dropping, but the ones calling were the ones needed to be targeted. A body would fall, revealing a path for the quick flick of a wrist to send the rusted dagger into the throat of a cultist. Blood spurted and sprayed from the gruesome wound, leaving his body to fall as the others did--lifeless.
Dumuzi was positively freaked as the Feline suddenly jumps to his side. The maniacal rage disappears in a flash as he stumbles backwards over the fallen trying to get away. Oh. But wait. She isn't attacking him. She was feeding on the necromancer. Are cats suppose to eat like that though. So that is why they always went after his throat, the Rabbit thinks to himself falsely as Jack's dagger soars over his head. Three out of four already. A wonderful average. The last cultist, upon seeing the death of his comrades at the the hands of the three animals, turns-face and runs. He could no longer keep up the spell between Basil and the killings. The skeletons collapse like lump sacks of bones as he disappears into the room behind him. The hallways grows quite and still as the battle has ended. Dumuzi breaks this silence as he moves to stand, "Good job. Shall we continue?"
Basil bids himself, with no small effort, not to turn his eyes away from the carnage, from the blood-spurting corpses of the fallen humans. Silently grateful for his commerades' haste in dispatching their foes, he finally lets his aching arms drop, his voice falling silent. Wishing he had a drink to ease his now tired voice, Basil steps forward as he is urged, throwing brief, appreciative glances to the others. "Well, that was a bit of unplanned excitement, wasn't it?" He manages a bit of a grin even, trying to keep his balance as he carefully steps between the many and scattered bones.
Taeme struggles to disentangle herself from the dead man below her and it is her saving grace that her sightless gaze could not detect the fleeting life from the cultist's gaze. Warm fades from his flesh, rigor mortis not yet setting in leaving the dead male soft, squishy even and whole save for the odd angle of his head where his neck had been broken. Bones crunch below, dust swirling upwards unseen as scuttling movements carry the blind druid away from the man she'd unintentionally murdered, not that it weighed heavily upon her conscious for he'd have had his puppets kill her all the same. Lashes fall and rise as she blinks the ivory dust from her eyes, nimble fingers lifting to brush straying pear and raven strands from her face leaving behind smudges on her cheeks, now flushed with excitement and adventure. "Continue, we should indeed press on, though I must ask what we are working towards?" She rises from the floor remaining in a careful crouch with little clue as to her surroundings or the placement of the troupe around her.
Jack let a sight of relief pass parted lips, the dust in the air quickly drying his throat and lips--leaving a slight rasp left to reverberate should someone have the ears to detect such a small difference. "I too, would like to know what is being worked towards..." His voice came steady, a hint of curiosity leading with a slight inclination. He began to step around the bodies, cautious and aware of the others still. At last, he would bend down, pulling the dagger from the dead cultist throat before moving a free hand to the mans face. A few words would pass in a whisper before Jack's hand would glide across the mans face, leaving his lids shut--hiding the lifeless orbs from the world about. His face was flushed, slightly, with the action, his veins pumping with the remnants of adrenaline. The pallid skin was streaked here and there with dirt and dust from the all too recent battle. The frail looking man kept a firm grasp on his 'walking stick', the butt end resting upon his boot while his dagger was sheathed--his expression open, waiting for an answer.
Rawnie ||The scent of fresh blood carried further than one might think, especially for a predator of the forest, and as quickly as the nickle'd perfume had gathered the tawny wolf's nose, she had abandoned her position in the woods to discard her curiosity's in what she hoped would be a meal. After losing her leg, it was not only hard to get around as a human, but to maneuver around a labyrinth like forest required either more dexterity than the lupine had, or a new leg; a dinner also required these things of the three-legged lycanthrope and thus the thought of a freshly slain dinner beat the idea of lumbering around the forest, simply waiting for her food. Luckily, the gypsy turned wolf wasn't far from the tomb in which the bloodied entree sat -or laid- waiting for her, and after a few brief minutes of quick hobbling, Rawnie found herself at a tomb. Humanistic voices deterred her from venturing further, but the prodding grumble of her stomach pushed her forward and with a couple of steps followed by a hop, the sight of scattered bones and a fallen human vanquished any curiosity that she might have once harbored. The tawny wolf had not once preyed on human's, but the need to eat was simply overbearing, surely a few bites couldn't hurt; humans, after all, were nothing more than furless animals right? Dainty paws dance around the slaughtered bones, hoping not to step on one and call unwanted attention to her, but alas that lone hind quarter moves to hop its progression and lands, rather unfortunately and slightly expectantly on a too dry-ed tibia, and with a smart sounding 'crack', Rawnie's presences is now noted.
Dumuzi makes sure to take a moment to collect the bone dust of the walking dead along with something else. With the sharp edge of his knife he cuts out the voice box of the man he killed. Carefully he stores them in glass tubes. The Lycanthrope was quick with the task before addressing gathered, "There is a cache of gold in the main chamber. That is what we are after." In an idle motion he wipes off the blood on the black robes of the dead man. Seeing as how Taeme was kind enough to kill the last cultist as he tried to flee they seemed free to search the tomb to their hearts' content. Not that there was much in this long hall aside from corpses and dulled babbles hidden in the alcoves. The main chamber ahead was slightly a different story however as Dumuzi lead on. Instead it was littered with gold coins, armor, and weapons. The room itself appeared to have no casket, but instead in the center there was gigantic cauldron that glowed a sinister red. It was the only light in the room and gave the appearance to the metal in the room the look as if they were covered in blood.
Basil is eager, too, about hearing the specifics of their mission, and his attentions turn to Dumuzi. The mention of gold has his brows raising. A very fair objective, he admits to himself, provided there is enough of it. Careful not to step in the puddles of blood, he walks along the wall until they emerge in the main chamber. As if in answer to his silent supposition, the rich display before him says quite plainly that, yes, there is enough indeed. Still, something doesn't seem quite right to the mage, and the sight of the cauldron is not a welcome one. "What do the rest of you think about that cauldron?" Already, his arcane affinities searching, trying to discern the nature of a possible magical presence here.
Taeme rises slowly from her ready crouch, pale hands extending outwards to hopefully detect the presence of objects barring forward progress. "Where the devil is my staff." She mutters, a soft frustrated whisper as leather boots thud gently against decaying bones and the tomb's floor below, her steps caring her towards Basil's voice. The room's splendor is lost to a sightless gaze; her head canted to one side revealing the twin puncture wounds upon the column of her throat. Fingertips habitually brush stray hairs from her eyes smudging the dust more so over her pristine visage. The eerie glow cast from the cauldron fails to alert her begging the next question, lyrical words issuing from parted lips. "What cauldron?" Edging further into the room, she attempts to gauge her surroundings with little success.
Jack was unsure if he should be disturbed more so by the fact of the small creature leading them, or of the fact that no one seemed concerned in the slightest by his appearance. Regardless, his head would cant this way and that upon the words issued from Taeme's lips in search of the staff he had seen her so preciously carrying the day before. Normally, this might prove rather hard when considering the amount of rubble surrounding everything, the poor lighting, and the numerous skeletons littering the ground about. However, a quick wit and agile sight, Jack found the staff without issue. Careful steps would care the lithe framed man to and back from the staff. It would be then that his attention would be brought about to the cauldron --or more over, the glow that emanated from it and cast about the surfaces in the room. A gentle hand would perch upon Taeme's shoulder, and his voice equally so with notes of reassurance so as not to startle her. "I believe this is your staff....no?"
Dumuzi carefully edges around the cauldron to get across to the other side of the room. At this point it was important to point it out, "Make sure to NOT touch that! It is a powerful summoning device. If the girl had not stopped the necromancer we would be facing a rather disgusting creature." He says in his small choice. Hopefully this sates the mage's thirst for knowledge and keep them away from it. He was a bit upset, though, to have discovered that some of the treasure had already been taken. It was an old tomb after all. There seemed to be enough to play the adventurers though and then some. Yet the Shaman seemed to be searching for a very specific piece of treasure. Seeming to find it in a fit of excitement the rabbit steals it away into his bag. Dumzui turns back to readdress the adventurers' in his tiny little voice, "Now hurry-hurry. Loot what you want quickly. Their friends will be here soon and I for one don't want to be a zombie."
Basil looks back to Taeme. "The cauldron in the middle of the room radiating the red glow. The one illuminating all the treasure." At Dumusi's words, the mage bites his tongue, not quite satisfied with the incomplete answer, but unwilling to press the issue further. Instead, he follows the diminutive shaman's advice and begin searching the loot, sure to give the cauldron a wide berth. Keeping his eyes carefully peeled, he tries to spot any old scrolls, tablets, sigils, amulets.... obsolete and antiquated magics were so delightfully intriguing.
Taeme spins towards the strange voice washing over her, the warmth of a hand resting upon her shoulder almost unsettling save for the meaning of his words. "Oh! I do thank you." A wicked smile quirks her lips as she accepts the staff from him and proceeds to scurry away following the given advice to search the loot and gather babbles. She does so, her hands passing over an ancient tomb that is tucked into her bag along with other objects sure to be looked upon at a later date, though the small discs she easily notes are coins. Over her shoulder she calls to Jack in hopes of pulling him into some sort of light conversation. "For future reference, I am Taeme. Quite often if you are running into me, it is while I am in a scrape and need a hero to rescue me." The amuse sparkle might go unnoticed due to the cauldron's red glow, but it still plays through her hazel gaze none-the-less.
Jack noted the small creatures words, making sure to stay a healthy difference away from the cauldron. His attention, however, quickly diverts to Taeme as she speaks. His ears perk, and a mental note is made of her name. This, though, is quickly followed with a light chuckle. "I am no hero, miss. My name is Jack, for the record." The slender man follows suite with the others, checking armor that he might find suitable, and looking for a rather exceptional dagger should one be there. Gold coins, too, are in search. The smile was seen, and the sparkle of her eyes well noted. These, of course, were returned with his own, and his voice carried the effects over. "So, how did you get dragged into this mess, exactly?"
Dumuzi give the room a good once over again. After finding little more worth wild himself he turns attention to his fellow party members. While there is not much in way of magical artifacts remaining there is a collection of flask that seem to burn to those with magical sight. There are a large, scorched casket of about forty-five of them total and they have a tiny emblem of fire etching in the glass. As for gold there is good amount along. Armor is few and far between. Mostly rusted chain mail and rotted leather. However there seems to be a surviving length of mail seemingly made as a sleeve in grand condition. Weapons tell the same story, but next to some pots and pans is a marvelous set of knives that still have razor sharp edges. This is quite enough as the two males pick up their prizes. Dumuzi begins to push them, quite literally in Jack's case, to get out of the tomb. "We have to go now!"
Basil carefully makes a small clearing around the chest, putting his wand away in exchange for the small piece of chalk, drawing a set of carefully interwoven sigils around the chest's base. With another gentle blue flash, just as before, the chest is vanished away to a convenient location for later examination and use. Suddenly, he jumps, startled by Dumuzi's shouts. Not about to question their employer, the mage hops to his feet, bunny slippers giving an eager squeak before he begins hastening towards the exit.