RP:Transporting The Cargo - Part II
Background
This is part of the Recruiting For Redhale story arc.
With the assistance of wealth shared, the consignment of prisoners for Redhale have passed safely out of Venturil and through Craughmoyle.
But now the odd group have reached Xalious, and once past Xalious must pass through the outskirts of Sage Forest before they can reach the Milous plains and enjoy what should be a more relaxed final leg to their journey.
Entering Xalious
Cornelius emerges in dignified fashion from the tunnels with a sound of distant applause and some angry voices still discernible. The prisoners, for their part, seem even more in shock and fear than they were before.
Svilfon follows behind Cornelius, doing his best to stifle the laughter threatening to spew forth.
Svilfon claps Cornelius on the back as they fully exit the dwarven keep, “Good show.. And we didn’t even have to kill any of them.” He motions to the prisoners, “Sadly...” He glares at them, causing more than a few to gulp in terror.
Cornelius scratches his jawline with his serrated dagger “Well, old salt, we were told that we were allowed 10 percent losses, but a bonus for any losses under that. It’s good business sense, wot?” Cornelius is, of course, lying. He has no clue what the specific arrangements are, but it sounds plausible enough to the prisoners, some of whom still have the presence of mind to tally up just how many that allows these sociopaths to kill on a whim.
Jolie was waiting for them, pacing back and forth while the gaunt-bodied Maladroit refuelled his unnatural frame in a manner best not described to, nor witnessed by, anyone who ever wished to enjoy a meal of rabbit ever again. “Bout time,” she murmured, approaching them. “We’re to go with the poaching story from here on. Elves loathe poachers - they seemed willing enough to allow us passage.” She grinned to Cornelius. “And are the citizens of Craughmoyle adequately educated to the dangers of undeath?”
Cornelius raises a piratical eyebrow at Jolie “But of course, me barnacle. Clear sailing all the way through dontcha know? Yarr.” Percy, amused as he is by the whole affair, confirms “Corny’s a zombie! Pirate corpse! Raark!”
Svilfon tips his hat to Jolie, “You owe me some gems, and might owe some dwarves a dinner, but they didn’t suspect.” He frowns a little, “Though, we must be careful. I am known to the elves, and they like me... If they realize this is a ruse, they will not rest until we are slain.” He spoke quiet enough for the prisoners not to hear, ‘less they get any ideas.
Jolie said to Cornelius “I believe there’s an equitable market for stuffed specimens of that species.”
Cornelius gives a slight nod at Svilfon’s words
Jolie nodded toward Svilfon. “Then perhaps a disguise?”
Svilfon thinks for a long moment, before shaking his head, “My presence will give credit to our ruse, it out weighs hiding. I will risk it... And have enough magic to get us through, I think.. at least to escape.. “
Cornelius ponders “Very well. Stealth it is. Percy, sod off for a bit. You know the penalty if you don’t return.” Percy mutters and flutters off into the trees
Jolie pursed her lips, speaking quiet reply. “Then best we make as sure as we can that our pretense holds up. Cornelius...” she smiled to her old companion, “On the first stumble, the first syllable out of place, from any of these varmints, please feel free to rupture some vital organs, there’s a dear.” To Svilfon, she added, “We have one elf among their number. Think your magic could shield that fact, while we travel? They’ll be hard pressed to believe one of their own kind a traitor to their laws, and may insist on delivering justice themselves, even if they did.”
Jolie would then follow Cornelius’ example, sending the very unofficial-looking Maldroit skyward with an arcane command fit to chill the air that exhaled it.
Cornelius carefully stows away his hat and patch into his leather satchel, retrieving some clothing made of a shimmering material. He dons a mask, hood, and cloak. It is disconcerting, but you feel as if you want to look at something less... mundane than the figure that stands before you now
Cornelius nods to Svilfon “You keep them in line, and I’ll keep them quiet.” He draws his sabre, assuming the persona of an armed guard
Svilfon nods his head to Jolie, “Give me a moment, lady.” The wizard walks over to the degenerate elf and locks his gaze upon him. When he speaks his voice is layered, like a room full of people speaking all at once. “You will remain silent... You will listen... You will not attract attention...” The elf’s own eyes seem to glaze over as he listens, and at each command his head nods slightly, almost imperceptible unless you were looking at him. “Good.” Speaks the wizard, before he lifts his staff, carved from the Xalious tree, above his head. He begins speaking in a confusing language; lyrical and heavy with vowels, yet undermined with an almost barbaric, primal rage. A light forms around the head of the elf, blinding the other prisoners, and as the final words of the spell are spoken, Svilfon stumbles back a few steps, sweat dripping from beneath his hat. As the light fades, the elf’s skin has become ebon black; looking for all money like a captured dark elf. The wizard takes a moment, leaning on his staff, before turning to Jolie, “This will add...” He takes a deep breath, his magic draining him, “more credit to our ruse.. The elves will not question a dark elf prisoner, unless that question is whether or not they can have the joy of killing him.” The wizard smiles, that same cold, crooked grin, “We are ready.”
Jolie drew a pair of spectacles, the lenses ordinary glass, from her pack and perched them on her nose. Her swathe of ebon hair was hastily twisted up into a tight bun, and clipped into place. Nothing much she could do about that scarlet halter-dress.. but at least the colour was reminiscent of Venturil’s official uniforms.
Svilfon turns to Cornelius, “Aye, cap’n.” He takes his spot on one side of the prisoners, who seem quiet in light of his second magical display. He glares at them, letting them see how eager he is to kill them. That should keep them in line.
Cornelius murmurs to Svilfon “From now on, treat me like any guard working for Venturil. I shall follow your cue.”
Jolie stuffed her clipboard under one arm, and nodded toward to Svilfon. “Once more, you show your worth.” A worth she’d keep in mind, in future.
Cornelius relaxes his posture, for all intents and purposes just another indifferent sword-for-hire with an easy job babysitting chained prisoners
Svilfon nods to Cornelius and to Jolie, “Let us move on. The spell will not last all night.” He turns to the prisoners, “Right, let’s move, scum! If you take one step out of line...” He doesn’t finish the threat, but his gaze shows the horrible fate that will befall any who disobey.
Jolie snapped, eyeing the pole-borne carcass and its belly laden with dwarf, “Men! We have passage through the forest. Quick step, now, lively forward, no time to waste! Gualon wants its pound of flesh, after all.” This was spoken in one of those irritatingly shrill voices that some women use, when given a modicum of bureaucratic power, confident it’s carry to any watching elven bowmen.
Cornelius taps the shoulder of one particularly burly prisoner with his sabre, the blade scraping against his neck “Watching ya, sonny. Please. Feel free to make this less boring for me.”
Svilfon follows the progression, walking now with his usual jovial smile plastered over his face. The look the elves would know; almost as if the wizard were stupid. He chatters to himself as he walks, following the direction of Jolie. Looking exactly like Svilfon would, were he in charge of a line of prisoners.
Cornelius strides alongside the parade of prisoners, paying close attention to their body language, focusing his attention on those with the least glint of resistance in their eyes. Some slight nicks are dispersed here and there, on arms and shoulders, keeping the prisoners sufficiently cowed for easy movement.
Passing through Xalious
Jolie marched ahead of the throng, frowning at her clipboard over the rim of those ineffective spectacles, their passage through Xalious as unaccosted as she thought it might be .. at least until they reached the well. A pair of Xalian guards crossed her path, meaty heads stamped with concern. “Hold and desist!” said one, while the other eyed him, speaking to Jolie, “What he means, madam is.. what’s your business, in Xalious, and who are these... unfortunates?” A sharp nod to the convoy.
Svilfon tips his hat to the guards, and smiles warmly at them. He keeps his mouth shut for now, letting Jolie talk her way out of this. Though, the wizard is sure to show his Xalious wood staff, the sign of his membership in the mage’s guild. That should help things along.
Cornelius halts the progression with a glare and a raised hand, before saluting Jolie and the guards
Jolie wafted a hand toward to Svilfon, offering the guards her most.. persuasive smile. And a flash of décolletage, as she bent to brush a speck of dust from her dress-hem. “Captain Horatio, of the Gualon Tribunal Against Poaching, will explain his end. Mine is that Venturil has agreed to extradite, “ she paused, glanced to her clipboard, “Two dozen criminals of said conspiracy, as well as that dead beast as evidence.”
Jolie waved a hand toward Cornelius, “Lieutenant Poncy Blowhard, of Venturil’s Guard.”
Cornelius smirks as the guards barely even look at him, the enchanted mask doing its work well. He is curious though, how Svilfon will manage being put on the spot like that with such a ridiculously fake pseudonym. Jolie had obviously forgotten a lot of her earliest lessons.
Jolie simply kept her most official face on, tapping her board with an impatient fingertip.
Svilfon wanders up to the guards, doing his best to hide his laughter at Jolie’s choice of name for Cornelius. He inspects both guards before asking in a casually quiet voice, “No salutes, gentlemen?” He raises a brow, causing both men to slam their fists against breastplates. “Better.” He smiles that warm smile; disarming and charming all at once, “Now, men. These prisoners were caught by me, under the authority of both Gualon and the mage’s guild..” He taps his staff against the ground, “And are going to face the tribunal. You know the punishment for poaching, I assume?” Before they can answer the wizard nods, “Aye, I thought so. Let us pass, gentlemen. Justice awaits!”
Cornelius smiles even more as one of the guards says to the other “But, wasn’t he one of the Mages Guild? Pretty sure I seen him before. Didn’t think mages went into policing. Is this legit?” The other guard furrows his brow
Jolie almost choked, realising her error... She gathered herself, grateful for her skill in using vocal persuasion in a manner not unlike the mage, who’d she’d likely just put in peril. She murmured, in a delicate purr, to one of the men as she passed, “He likes it when I call him Horatio,” followed by a knowing wink, “Or rather, his.. you-know-what. Do forgive our private joke.” And in a much more shrill tone, called the ragged troupe and their ‘guards’ forward.
Cornelius snickers as the other guard, not hearing Jolie, says “Captain Horatio, was it? Have you got your papers from Gualon handy? And which mage are you working for? We needs the records, you see. Sorry to be a pain. It’s me superiors, y’see”
Svilfon storms forward, all pretense of joviality gone in an instant. He stops pacing when his face is an inch from the guard who foolishly opened his mouth, and screams, spittle flying onto the man’s face, “You question the rights of Rheven?! You question the rights of Tiphareth?! You question the rights of Svilfon?! You want to see my papers? You doubt me? You question the might of Gualon?! You agree that poaching is legal?!” The guard pales, and steps back, putting his hands before him as he shakes his head, “No, no, just wanted...” “What?!” Screamed the wizard. “Uhh, nothing... Go... I was...” He salutes again in the same fashion, his gaze occasionally flicking to the tall tower of mages. “Good! If I hear more of this, I will return with the sublime master... He spoke to me just yesterday about the guards down here... Some needed lessons, it seems.” As he finishes, Svilfon glares at Jolie. A little angry she put him in this potentially dangerous situation. “Let us pass.”
Jolie bit her lip, already concocting the vast apologies she’d offer the mage once they were free of the town. Mentally kicking herself, she nevertheless managed to simper in a manner suggesting Svilfon’s masterful blustering manner had a stimulating effect upon her, eliciting an eye-roll and perhaps an envious glance toward the mage from the less curious of the guards. “We really ought to get a move-on,” she said, rustling the blank parchments on her board. “Well past time these miscreants were on the gallows.”
Cornelius growls at the prisoners and indicates they should get moving. Now.
Svilfon offers Jolie a tight smile as he says, “Aye.” He turns back to the guards and simply raises a brow. Both quickly move out of the way, though the one who wasn’t yelled at does offer a wink to the wizard. Svilfon replies with another tight smile, before turning back to the prisoners, “Right, time to move. Lieutenant, lead them.” He motions forward.
Cornelius gets the prisoners moving with a curse and several blows, striking the slowest moving of them with the flat of his blade until they are all shuffling at a convenient pace
Svilfon casts a final glare at the two guards as he follows the prisoners out of Xalious.
Near Southern Sage Forest
Jolie said, “... so I naturally forgot - stupidly, and once more I apologise, Svilfon, that of course you’d be well known. Old habits die hard, it won’t happen again.” That was her twentieth apology, since they left Xalious town and had travelled the exhausting ranges, alighting at last on the lower ground of the forest’s edge. If the elven outriders had been wary, it was nothing compared to what might be faced, here in the thick of thier own territory. “Perhaps you ought to play the official here.. Horatio.”
Cornelius chuckles quietly to himself, keeping the prisoners in two tidy lines
Cornelius quietly suggests “Perhaps pseudonyms are a liability when, at any moment, someone may come by who will recognise any one of us for our actual identities? My disguise is good, but not perfect. Yours are nonexistent.”
Svilfon waved away the apology like he had all the others, muttering a, “It’s fine. The mages will not question me. And if I see those guards again, I’ll make sure they are in no position to speak... ever” He offers her a more natural smile, “The matter is forgotten.” He assures her, before looking at the depths of the forests. “I am known here by some.. But only the druids. Perhaps master Blowhard should lead us, leaving me to be the wizard making sure none escape justice... They will believe it, I am sure.”
Svilfon is sure to keep his movements light and uncaring, sensing more than seeing the arrows already aimed at them by the scouts the elves keep. Jolie offered Cornelius a withering look, and tapped her glasses. “I’m not well known here. And those who do know me know better than to open their traps.” She sighed, and turned to Svilfon, “I’d not ask you to stress your magic again, on another disguise. Perhaps I am simply your secretary.”
Jolie slumped her shoulders, in a mousier pose, and scrunched her features into a pinched look.
Jolie said to Cornelius, “Or..” Gods forbid, “...yours.”
Cornelius arches an elegant brow, knowing Jolie would correctly read the unspoken words in that look: ‘...this from someone who has already made one such false assumption’.
Svilfon nods to Jolie, “Aye, lady. I would rather leave my reserves of power in case we need protection enough to flee.” He casts a quick glance at the elf-turned-drow, making sure he is still concealed. He turns to Cornelius, “You lead. I am here to ensure all prisoners are taken, Jolie is my secretary, ensuring all payments for guild services are paid. It should work.. I hope.”
Jolie gave Cornelius look that implied he’d need to be cautious in accepting foodstuffs from her for several decades to come.
Cornelius nods to Svilfon, then kneels down to ostensibly check some markings on the ground, removing his mask as he does so, and pulling back his hood when he stands, the disguise cast off. “Very well then” He turns to the prisoners, who are made more frightened by the constant mercurial shifts in the dandy’s personality “You lot. Get moving. We’ve a schedule to adhere to, wot.” With the encouragement of the flat of his sabre, the procession starts moving again. Catching Jolie’s look, he smiles blithely “My name is Cornelius Von Penzance. Try to get it right, M’dear”
Cornelius ignores Jolie’s returning glare as he guides the procession forward, strolling casually along the path as if he were in a park, not trespassing with a cavalcade of wretches
Jolie muttered, “Look like a Blowhard, to me...”
Svilfon falls to the back of the progression, keeping his gaze shifting between prisoner and trees, sure they are being watched. He sets his smile once more to his usual jovial look, and begins to casually speak to Jolie, “Yes, yes. You will ensure they are paid. You know what I want.” The lady nods, doing quite a good job at playing the demure secretary. Before the wizard yells ahead to Cornelius, sure his words will be listened to, “Almost there, good sir! Only the friendly woods to traverse and then these miscreants can face justice for their horrendous crimes...” He speaks quietly again, “Poor animals, none deserve such a fate. You prisoners deserve your fate. Let it be a lesson to all who kill without mercy, for prize rather than survival.” He hopes this goes down well with the listening elves.
Jolie would follow Svilfon, swiftly, as a good secretary should.
Outskirts of Sage Forest - Trouble with the Elves
Cornelius continues his stroll through sage forest, the twin lines of prisoners trudging through the dried leaves and undergrowth with the kind of noise even the least skilled of woodsmen would notice. He plays it casual, sabre resting on his shoulder, pretending that his eyes aren’t flicking every which way for signs of interference or ambush. He relies on the fear already instilled in the prisoners to keep them quiet for now, especially given how far away they are from their homelands. The forest seems rather quiet. Few birds are singing, and the only other noise is the tromping of feet and the rustle of a light breeze.
Svilfon follows behind the prisoners, keeping his gaze shifting from them to the trees. He plays at speaking to Jolie, muttering something about ensuring payment, and purchasing jersher feet for his spell, before he hears the whisper of a noise. His eyes snap to the front of the procession where an elf has elegantly leapt from a tree to land before the dandy. He speaks in a soft voice, the words almost perfectly fitting into the natural sounds that emanate from the forests, “Halt.” There is a wealth of menace in that single word, and without being told by their deranged captors, the prisoners stop moving. The elf turns his gaze on them, before visibly scowling; he has noticed the presence of the ‘drow’. When he speaks again to Cornelius his voice is almost sibilant, “You are the ones bringing the prisoners? They face death, yes?” Behind them, Svilfon curses, but otherwise remains silent.
Cornelius pauses his stroll, adopting a nonchalant stance “Hallo there old bean. I imagine there’s a jolly good chance of it, but I’ve heard there’s rumours of new penal workgangs to assist with civic gruntwork, dontcha know. Road repairs and whatnot. All I know is, I need to get this bunch of wretched vermin to Gualon for whatever judgement is decided upon”. He is careful with this answer - he wants the prisoners to maintain hope of some form of leniency, as desperate prisoners with nothing to lose are prisoners with a willingness to gamble all. Hopefully the answer will appease whatever delicate sensibilities the elf may possess. In his experience, they are notably prickly specimens. “All that being said, my good man, how may I assist you?”
Svilfon silently applauds Cornelius’s speech. Though the elf is not so happy. “This.. thing.” He motions to the drow, “Betrayed the law of our land. He poached animals. He slayed beasts for the pleasure of it. The rest you may take, their fate is their own. But that one.. He must die.” Svilfon watches as the elf swings the bow that rested on his back into his arms with an almost languid grace, before slender fingers reach into the quiver that sits on his side and pull forth a black-feathered arrow. The ranger fluidly draws back on the string, pulling until the feathers rest just below his left eye. It is clear the arrow is pointed directly for the elf-turned-drow’s heart, but as he’s still within the thralls of Svilfon’s spell, the prisoner hardly moves to evade. The elf speaks again, no signs of strain in his voice as that arrow is held fully cocked, “I am sure you do not mind, old bean.” The use of Cornelius’s phrase is laced with angry sarcasm, “That justice be dispensed here, where all my brethren...” Is there a threat in those words? “Can see.”
Cornelius ponders, bouncing his sabre on his shoulder, counting the 23 prisoners still in chains, not including the concealed dwarf “Hmm. A bit premature, dear sprout. I’m already in trouble as it is, having lost a bloody duergar to an Owlbear before we made it out of Venturil. I don’t think they’d be too happy if we came back further empty handed.” He purses his lips. “Tell you what...” He pulls out a hood and jams it over the head of the ‘drow’, trusting the rest to Svilfon’s magics outlasting the elf’s death. “You kill him, we keep him, and if there’s any problems I’ll send you the paperwork. It’ll be an object lesson for the rest of these scum as well” He glares at the prisoners, who quail somewhat before returning his gaze to the elf “What’s your name, old bean? Got to do this by the book, as it were” Cornelius shifts his position so that his sabre interferes somewhat with the elf’s line of fire, looking expectantly for a response to his last question.
Svilfon hears the words and feels the faint strains of panic playing havoc with his heart. He is unsure if the spell will work posthumously. But again he must silently applaud the cunning dandy, who in placing the hood over his head, would disguise the change.
The elf, though, speaks again, “I am Trinthial, I lead my troop of rangers in protecting -my- forests.” He slightly uncocks his bow, though the arrow is still notched to the string, “The rules of Gualon mean nothing here... Now...” He looks Cornelius up and down, “Human, what is your name? You who are such a hero.” Again, those venomous tones. Surly elves; their rage springing from the fact they are now a hunted race.
In the background, Svilfon tries to make himself as small as possible as he leans in to whisper to Jolie, “They are everywhere, lady. Be ready.” That said, he looks back up at Cornelius, ready to aid the man if it comes to that.
Cornelius offers the elf an elaborate bow “Cornelius Von Penzance, at your service. Now, Trinthial old bean, you will need to sign my ledger before we can complete the transaction. Then you can pepper the bastard as full of arrows as your heart desires. A bit violent, wot, but then it takes all sorts I suppose.” He calls over Jolie with a hearty “Oi, Secretary, make yourself useful wot!” and returns his steady gaze to the elf’s eyes “Now, please write here: ‘I, Trinthial of the Sage Forest Rangers, do hereby declare that it was my arrow that slew the shackled and unarmored prisoner being held in armed escort by Cornelius Von Penzance. I do hereby take any and all responsibility for these actions and confirm that the recipient of this disclaimer was forced to accede to my reprehensible actions under duress, and holds no responsibility for arriving short 1 prisoner.’. He waits as Jolie comes over with her clipboard-like object and provides the elf with quill and clean paper. His sabre is held ready on his shoulder, still ready to interfere with a fired arrow should things not go accordingly to plan. He subtly loosens his cloak.
Svilfon watches as Trinthial listens to Cornelius’s words. The elf takes the pen from Jolie as if he would adhere to the words, before hurling it to the ground, “Arrogant human... Did you not listen? No laws apply to my land aside from those that govern the forest.” Fluidly he draws his arrow back once more, this time pointing it at Cornelius, “I tire of this. There were whispered words that prisoners would come through here, but no mention of drow. You, foolish human, have spoken your last insult.” Svilfon is heard muttering words in the background, but it seems the elf doesn’t care. He is ready, his arrow mere moments from being released directly at Cornelius...
Cornelius smiles and with a subtle but swift movement of feet, hip and arm flicks the arrow tip up and to the side with his left hand, while whipping his sabre into a neat little cut that severs the bowstring and results with the tip of his sabre at the elf’s throat while the arrow sails harmlessly overhead “Trinthial, old bean, let’s continue negotiating. Methinks you misunderstood my words, and I apologise if you took umbrage. I’m happy to consider a slight rewording of the disclaimer” The sabre pricks the elf’s neck, right on the adam’s apple. “We are all friends of law and justice here. Let us act appropriately. Do we have an accord?” Cornelius arches an elegant brow at the elf, sunlight glinting off the silver buttons adorning his elaborately embroidered waistcoat as it filters through the forest canopy.
Jolie kept up her disguise - which despite Cornelius’ earlier moaning, was holding up pretty darned well - for the moment, trembling in her high heeled boots like a regular girly helpmeet. Her fidgeting enabled her access to the plethora of sharp and poisoned weapons planted all over her outfit, in seams and hems, tucked into handy gaps between fabric and flesh. Thus, she would hold out against the hope they could evade an all-out battle - three against how many?
Svilfon continues to mutter the words, seemingly oblivious to the actions of the two.
Trinthial, on the other hand, is suddenly very aware of everything; he feels the life in the forests, each breath so sweet, each beat of his heart sending exultion surging through his slender body. For this is the life of a ranger, this flirting with death. His gaze remains unwavering as he looks at Cornelius, his hands discarding his bow to the ground below. “Human...” As he speaks, his hands flick into a fist, before two fingers are extended. A ranger’s sign, “You are swift, but you are foolish.” As he speaks, his throat rubs against the razor sharp edge of the blade, causing the thin wound to open further, “You could slay me before my brethren pepper you with arrows, though they are swift, they are deadly.. But even if you take my life, for this... disclaimer.. do you think you will walk out of here alive? Negotiate? He is drow. No court will care for the sake of one dark elf.” He was rambling, his fingers shifting their positions as he silently commanded his men.
Jolie noted those hand gestures- the silent languages always one of her hobbies - and understood enough of them that her feigned nerves were increasingly, if not visibly, more realistic.
Cornelius sighs, and speaks slowly as if to a child “I don’t care if you kill him. I just need written confirmation that you have done so for my records. And frankly, I don’t care if we kill each other - because I would rather be dead than be held accountable for starting an unnecessary war. Which, by the way, is what you are threatening to do by impeding with the processing of these criminals. I imagine you’ll also be happier off dead than to be held to account for starting a war. It would be an unpleasant debriefing, I am sure.” He smiles at the ranger’s hand signs “Call off your brethren, Trinthial, or start a war. It is your choice.”
Trinthial is an elf, and an old one. To be commanded in combat is one thing, but to be commanded by a human, in his own forest? That is too much for him to handle. He listens to the secretary’s words with an arrogant smirk on his face; haughty as if he were not standing before a warrior who held his life in the palm of his hand. When he speaks his voice sounds far away, almost as if he were repeating a prayer learned long ago, “We are at war with the drow already.. These cities that you claim justice comes from do nothing to aid us in our time of need. A war? Who would tell them when all of you are dead? Who would damn us when you rest beneath our forests, your lifeblood feeding our trees? You condemn me for bloodshed, when this.. man... stands before me with a sword to my throat, after trying to force me into signing something ridiculous. A bother? No, this is over.” His fist snaps shut once more, before turning at the wrist to splay his fingers out. From the trees all around comes a torrent of arrows, the twang of bowstrings the only warning. But it is warning enough for the wizard who was readying himself for this. He screams the final words of the spell that he was muttering as the arrows rain from the trees; more than anything he did not want to go down this path. For in casting this magic he has drawn tight lines between those cities; dragged himself into a war he refuses to fight.
The wizard knows he cannot go back from this, yet is he not a fine and resourceful ally? He tries not to think what his partners in crime would do in his situation, for he fears he knows the truth. But regardless, he must act. So the words are spoken; guttural, harsh, like the rumbling of an earthquake they shatter the quiet of the forest, sending birds hurling into the sky from all the trees. But the effect of the spell is devastating: All the arrows stop in their flights, before falling harmlessly to the ground.
Trinthial, who commanded his men to slay Cornelius, is first to fall victim to the true nature of Svilfon’s eldritch casting. His eyes begin to water as he staggers back, a choking sound coming from his contorted mouth. His hands lift to his head and he begins to slowly claw into his face; nails biting deep into the skin, tearing chunks of bloody flesh away from the bone. The compulsion is strong, and soon elves rain from the trees above, each one in a similar state; blood soaking their bodies as they attempt to claw their own flesh and muscle from their bones. It is as if an ant farm has appeared within their bodies, and the charm is so strong they must rip it out ‘less they be consumed from the inside.
With mad eyes, Svilfon manages to scream, “Run, you scum sucking sons of bitches! RUN!” The prisoners begin to flee in the direction of Gualon, far too afraid to attempt to disobey the mad wizard and his vicious spells. Svilfon also screams to Cornelius and Jolie, “Follow them.. Now!.. This will not last!” He turns from them and returns to his arcane recital, praying he has bought them enough time.
Cornelius is a clown, but no fool. He follows Svilfon’s advice, herding the prisoners as he does with a deft swipe of the flat of his blade here and there
Jolie did not need any further prompting; she was already bolting after those captives, clipboard dropped, pen flung, boots taking gouges out of humus-soft earth as her feet thudded, strides altering only to ensure she did not snap an ankle by tripping on tree roots. She had no idea what in all heck the mage had just done, but... she was impressed, and would surely ask about it. Later. Right now her brain was flooded with adrenaline, her heart battering against her ribs. Sweat rolled off her, as her internal temperature boiled over. Indeed for a time she may be mistaken for a drow herself, as skin deepened in colour to that of mottled bruising then deepened to true black. The scent of terror was a winding skein of red threads in her mind, the trail obvious, red as the clothes she was shedding, some of it torn off, some just torn, sharp as the heels of the boots that dropped from hind paws. Finally, those glasses dislodged from her elongated snout, and Corny would find a large abyssal-black canine of some feral species loping, lips drawn to a razor-tipped snarl, snapping at manacled ankles like some herding-beast from the pits of the seventh hell.
Cornelius grins, a mad cheshire display of white teeth below eyes gleaming with a deranged excitement. For all this, his movements remain precise, avoiding the usual dangers of rough terrain, stepping over broken branches and tree-roots, adeptly ducking under or vaulting over low branches and fallen logs, continuing to call out clipped commands to the fear-driven prisoners, knowing that a calm voice in crisis would keep them in line.
Svilfon lifts his hand that clutches his staff to the sky above as his words continue to flow, holding the elves within the webs of his sinister spell. The wizard feels his body being consumed by his magic; this spell he stole from the book owned by Daath. He is not ready for such magic; even with the addition of his Xalious wood staff, he cannot control what he has released. His skin begins to peel back from his face, as if he were standing within a burning room. Blood pours from his ruined flesh, his fingers, even those wrapped around his staff, begin to pop like squeezed pimples; blood erupting in little sanguine explosions as his body is ravaged and raped by his out-of-control magic. The elves contort madly on the ground around him, but Svilfon is unaware. His identity, his life, all is being devoured by his viscious spell-casting. Sanity comes and goes, his memories flash before the dancing lights that shimmer before his eyes. And he feels something... something beyond good and evil... stalking him... waiting... patient... Death, ready to claim the wizard, and caught as he is within the thralls of his own magic, he fears cannot delay his coming. Until he hears a snarl. Svilfon remembers something like it before, coming from within that building. The last time he was truly afraid. He focuses his swimming mind on the image and with the remnants of his determination he hurls himself through Hollow, teleporting in a firey blaze to the Jolly Roger, where he collapses onto the floor, unmoving, barely alive, though faintly hoping his allies survive their journey...
Jolie ‘s eyes were venomous will-o-wisp lights in the shade of trees, her own contribution a horrible snarling from the borders of their path of flight, making sure all knew what waited should they stray from their strange shepherd’s less aggressively intoned directions.
Jolie, ironically, is the present owner of that book. But that fact was neither here nor there in anybody’s mind, as the nature of the tome she had come to own was a secret - even from the necromancer herself.
Approaching the Overlooking Gorge and the Dark Portal
Cornelius was slightly miffed. He’d had to use some of his ‘special concoctions’ in a diluted form to properly calm the prisoners once they’d exited Sage Forest and put some distance between them and any benighted elves. The prisoners, at least, moved with a placid trudge which at least gave Cornelius time to recover from the mad dash. Finally, the volcanic ashes and barren terrain of the gorge could be seen. The portal was not far off now.
Jolie trotted behind, tongue lolling and dripping as she panted in an effort to quell the raging heat that coursed her transformed flesh. The change was easier for her than for her mate, the necromancer more than willing to give in to the wolfish demands of her infected system, but it came with a cost as her metabolism almost buckled under the strain. Just as well, really - she wasn’t thinking all that rationally right now, and only exhaustion prevented her taking the ‘hunt’ to its natural conclusion.
Cornelius glanced at Jolie’s wolf form, and resisted the mad urge to pat her and say ‘Good doggy’. Barely. To distract him from the compelling desire, he checked the physical status of all the prisoners. The elf once again looked like an elf, and Cornelius felt a tad bit concerned about Svilfon’s welfare. Still, any man who could throw a party like that wizard had was likely to have survived. He guided them through the treacherous terrain leading up to the murky patch of air which signified the presence of the portal. By They Who Watch, he hated this bit. The unnerving sensation of walking through every nightmare he had ever had growing up in Vailkrin would never grow tolerable. Still, he would endure, as he always did, with a stiff upper lip and the pleasure of some brandy after.
Jolie was thus and thankfully denied the triggering taste of blood, her belly stung with a hunger that gnawed her innards as though she’d swallowed a pack of alley-rats whole and alive. She’d gained wind enough to catch up, at least, and would be a looming presence at the heels of whoever was last in line, hackles spining at her pointed nape, head low and snaking toward every motion the wolf deemed errant, or.. appetising. The external struggle was over, but within a battle was being waged, frontal lobe commands strangled by the chemical demands of the more animalistic rear-brain. Hunt.. or not to hunt.. All she could smell was living meat.
Jolie didn’t have nightmares. She was one.
Entering Vailkrin
Cornelius remains painfully aware of the hungry look in the Wolf’s eyes, accentuated by the lolling tongue and wistful looks at the larger, meatier prisoners. It is a dilemma. Feed her some sausages, and risk encouraging her hunger, or wait and see if she can keep it under control. He straightens his sleeves, and gives each arm a slight flick, as if shaking off some of the tension of the day. And then the darkness of the portal comes, and with it the screaming, the flickering candlelight above the banisters dripping red with the servants’ blood, and -her- musical voice, laughing merrily above the screams. Anastasia...! and he is through the Portal, breathing heavily, fist clenched around the hilt of a silver dagger. “Ah. We’re here.” He carefully flicks his wrist, and the dagger vanishes.
Jolie might have said, “No shinola..” were she herself. But she wasn’t, so all he got was a gleam of green as she slunk past the dandy, wary gaze kept to the road ahead, which vaguely smelled of wolf in places.
Cornelius murmurs as they leave the portal, half dragging the prisoners through, still thankful for the concoction which has rendered them into dronelike shamblers “Where to now?”
To the Dark Arena
Jolie would do her best to ignore those who followed in her wake, clawed paw marks left as a trail to follow as she loped up ahead, struggling to keep their task in mind. She’d pause at the path to the slaughtering-ground, a black shadow on black stone, tufted ears pricked for any hint of danger. Finally, she’d watched the exhausted, filthy troupe file in under Corny’s supervision, and clank to a halt once word was given, fearful eyes turning to the cages placed in the arena’s central region. No sign of the previous carnage remained, so it was not unreasonable for the majority of the well-drugged captives to assume this was the place they’d be kept when not breaking rocks or digging for ore, whatever unpleasant task they’d been brought here for. All was, despite the chaos in that penultimate leg of their trek, going according to nefarious plan.. until the pole-bearers’ shaking limbs finally gave out, and they dropped their burden, the beast Svilfon had slain splitting its stitches, spilling an unconscious, grue-covered dwarf onto the ground. It was too much for the wolfess. Slavering, snarling, she snapped and lunged until potential rivals for her feast were driven back. That heated animal brain was at last off its leash, and drove its host into a frenzy of feasting - beast, dwarf, prisoner.. who knew what her jaws ripped into now? Not Jolie; she couldn’t tell nor would give a damn about the difference.
Cornelius curses and, with a flick of the wrists, two silver daggers appear in his hands. He lets the Dwarf be eaten, its consumption giving him precious time to preserve the rest of the cargo, which he does by hauling the pole bearers behind him and stepping away from the hapless dwarf as he snarls at Jolie “Damn it Jolly-girl, BAD DOG!”. Again, he gives thanks that none of the prisoners can cognitively recognise what is happening, the neurotoxins doing their work well. He stares warily at the hungry Lycaness, waiting for his luck to go south.
Jolie had her head down and was gorging, so was hardly coherent nor inclined to strive to that end. Horrible sounds echoed across the space, rending, cracking, snarling.. snoring? By the time the prisoners were safely caged, the wolfess was lying on her side, snout and chest wet with gore, a litter of meat shreds and bone shards all around her, deep in oblivious slumber. Corny knew his business with those drugs, alright. As her lycanthropine body sought to neutralise the unnatural toxins and repair numbed synapses, Jolie’s paws twitched, and she whined and growled, chasing dream-rabbits with oddly human shapes..
Cornelius is half tempted to lock himself in a deuced cage at this rate. Still, it was good to know that even Lycan constitutions succumbed to his paralytic concoctions. Maybe he wouldn’t need his trump card after all, if push came to bared teeth. He waits patiently, timing how long it takes her to recover, daggers once again hidden up in their latchspring holsters beneath his sleeves.
Mercutious wanders into the arena while looking around the city of Vailkrin.
Jolie would be snoring a while, yet. But the cool earth below, and the calming effect of the drug - not to mention a satisfied belly - would soon have her reverting to human shape. Pity nobody had yet invented clothing that could withstand the transformation.
Cornelius is standing cross-armed near a cage of prisoners, staring at a sleeping wolf who is slumbering by what appears to be the ravaged remains of a dwarf
Cornelius looks at Mercutious, his cold gaze a vast difference to that of the jovial dandy Mercutious had met the day before “Good day old bean. Can I assist you?” He whips off and drapes his cloak over the wolf when he notices the hair becoming finer and sparser
Mercutious stops in mid stride as he seemingly interrupted something of importance, “Nope just took a wrong turn somewheres.” At that he turns around and heads back in the direction he came from.