RP:Tunnel Vision

Part of the Township Troopers Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: Frostmawian forward scouts have informed Lionel that more of the strange beetle-like creatures have been found in the Southern Sage. He and Rorin -- and tagalong giantress Oline -- lead an expedition to investigate the area. The results are deeply disturbing. To combat this bizarre new threat, the full power of the rising Warrior's Guild will be needed.

Frostmaw: Snowless Training Yard

Lionel can wait no longer. He springs forth from his lean against the courtyard’s thin bronze railing, black silks swaying with the stiff breeze of winter’s last chills. Then again, it’s always cold this far north, but Lionel’s unique physiology is shielding him from the worst of it. It’s all thanks to the Ishaarite fire spirit known as Halycanos, its magics pulsing through him, and as he scoops up Hellfire in its prismatic Frostmaw-branded sheath, the blade surges a crimson glow to inform its master in ways onlookers will scarcely comprehend. The bond between man and spirit, man and blade, is all but mastered, even if Lionel himself has lost control of the tense symbiosis as recently as the Sauriangate incident. That thought runs through Lionel unnervingly as he rushes to a resting wyvern and pats her on the nape of the neck sympathetically. “Easy, girl,” he tells her, “easy, shh.” It’s a soothing line, and it does well; the Hero of Hellfire has never received formal training in the art of flying, but his keen horsemanship seems to have helped. Hopping up in a swift acrobatic motion, he prepares to issue the command to rise -- but Rorin’s pending arrival might stall him, if the squire is quick…

Rorin 's posture was tired. Whatever his face held could not be seen breath the reflective face mask that plated the front of his helmet. The Pilgrim was as armored as ever in half plate over his joints, lower limbs, and chest, all above his raggedy old coat and the weapons belt across his hips. It had been a long walk from Larket and he and Oline had come to something of a close pass neatly deviding the line between friends and much closer. Still it was a somewhat somber mood good for introspection that flowed around the aura of the two. The duo gather at the edge of the training yard for Rorin to call calmly, "sorry I'm late." In a calm respectful tone. He wasn't truly late never had been never will be never was. He was simply late to be early for when Lionel had expected him and to Rorin despite any complication of mood that was quite late enough.

Oline kept herself somewhat distant from Rorin; It was scarcely-perceptable buffer of space almost desperately trying (and failing) to repair the broken boundary between them. She'd come along because there were words that had needed saying, but by the time she'd even worked up the nerve to attempt to speak them... they'd reached Rorin's destination. Immediately, she felt like the unwelcome guest. She had no business being here, and it felt as if... at a moment's notice... that fact might get pointed out and she'd be sent off without ever saying her piece. Oline tried to find the words she wanted, and nearly had them, but before she could force them out of her mouth Rorin had announced their arrival and she was struck mute. The giantess stood there awkwardly, her bindle (war-club-with-a-bag-on-it) slung over one shoulder and her other, nervous hand looped in under the sinewy band of her loincloth. "Ah'm sorree..." she spoke in a hushed tone. "... Ah dinna know Ah was makin' you late..."

Lionel blinks -- twice. He hadn’t expected Rorin to travel with a companion, and, eyeing her briefly, he isn’t entirely sure what she’s doing here. Never one to appear dismissive, though, the Knight-Commander raises a hand in a casual wave. “Eh, no worries. You aren’t late, anyway, Rorin, but I’m zipping off posthaste. Hop aboard, there’s plenty of room. I’ll fill you in on the way. You remember those bugs of yours? The big ones? Yeah, I read the report. Well, uh, they’re back. Don’t know if you’ve heard by now, but they attacked the academy here just a few days ago during a training session. One of Frostmaw’s scouts got back to me this afternoon -- they found a nest on a routine patrol. It’s in Kelay, not far from where your original mission set out. I’m headed there now. Maybe we’ll find answers. Maybe your friend can come, but I advise she stays far back.” Only now, after all that dialogue, does Lionel offer an easygoing smile. “Hi there. Name’s Lionel. I run this joint, and it’s bug-hunting season. Might be there’s room aboard for you as well, if you’ve got some stuff to say to my squire there.” He shrugs, not dropping that casual air for a beat. “Just a stray thought. You’re both so pensive this whole open courtyard got ten degrees cooler with your arrival.” A well-meaning snicker and a gesture of urgency. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s mosey.”

Rorin didn't know what lay between them exactly but was honestly reassured. She was still his friend and having pretty much anyone by his side right now felt good. He needed the comfort. "This is Oline," Rorin introduced, noting she lacked nerves at the moment poor girl, "she expressed interest in joining the guild and I thought I'd bring her along. We've been good friends for some time now and I know she holds a lot of fighting potential. The girls a true berserker in battle," if any more explanation was needed for her presence he would give it. "Zipping off, sir?" The hint of concern was rather evident in Rorins voice. He wasn't entirely certain Lionel knew how to fly... nonetheless Rorin would help Oline get on first, gently so, before seating himself. "Bugs? In Kelay? Damn and blasted be, those bothersome blighters." He sounded both disguisted and annoyed as he spoke around Olines shoulders and rather tentatively grabbed her hips if nothing else for the fact that should Lionels mount go topsy turvy Rorim knew Oline would hold on for dear life. Wether her giants grip was good or not in that situation he was not sure. "Haven't been near lately," too true he'd been somewhat avoiding a return, "damn they've moved all the way to Frostmaw? If there's an entire nest of these things," he hardly needed to finish that sentence. To call it a disaster would be rather undermining the totality of the destruction these beasts could cause. "Oline will keep herself safe. She can hold her own, trust me," he patted her hip and gave Lionel the go ahead signal for liftoff. Rorin was more than ready to go. Defeating the infestation may more than give his mind time to rest.

Oline gave the wyvern, and Lionel, a nervous glance. She'd never ridden on -any- kind of beast before, land nor air, and the thought of doing so was equal parts exhillerating and terrifying. Unwilling to look the coward in front of someone Oline knew Rorin greatly respected, she swallowed down any uncertainty she might have had and stepped forward with a smile. A smile that faded ever-so-slightly upon Lioinel's mentioning of a temperature change following their arrival. ~Gods...~ her inner voice chided, dripping in honeyed humiliation ~Aren't you just the most transparent thing? Might as well be wearing a great big sign around your neck. Get it together, kid.~ Mercifully, Rorin handled all the speaking... because frankly Oline was busy trying to convince herself she wouldn't fall off the wyvern and die broken and alone in some mountain pass somewhere long before ever getting Kelay. Up she went, with a little help from Rorin as well, and finally the giantess managed to open her mouth and utter something other than panicked squeaking. "Ah'm Oline. I... I'm Oline. Rorin... alreaddy said that. Uh... I can... I can fight. Really." Her befreckled cheeks glowed bright red. "I'm... sorry... iff... if I puke on enny-one." Her well-spoken words were almost a point of pride, had they not sounded so stupid to her as she was saying them. But at least other people might actually understand most of what she'd said. That was an improvement she'd been practicing really hard to make. "I... won't really... I don't think."

Lionel || That easy smile seems almost a permanent fixture on Lionel’s face right about now. Oline’s awkward introduction gives the man further cause for cheer, and he lifts his hand again -- this time a distinctive ‘thumbs-up’ is provided. “Pleasure to meet you, Oline. Sit tight and let the wyvern do its thing. I’ve come to find she’s awfully good at getting folks from Point A to Point B in one piece, but only if we trust in her.” He pauses, shrugging. “So, like, trust in her.” He pats the creature, then snaps his fingers and draws the rein. Slowly, she rises, her sapphire scales almost gleaming reflectively as the late-afternoon sun’s orange rays envelop the team’s ascent. “We lost an instructor,” the Catalian informs Rorin once they’re suitably high and moving south by southeast. Below, the icy mountains trail, but in the distance a long sprawl of deep green forests await. “Hell of a thing. The bugs popped out in a calculated effort. I don’t know the deal, but I’ve gotta tell you -- first saurians, now this? The Warrior’s Guild’s earning its keep in some funky ways, my friend.” Night blankets them as the journey continues, a several-hour flight with a meal of dried meat and bread and cheeses midway through. It won’t be long until Kelay-Sage is in sight.

Rorin shook his head. Beneath his helmet a slight smile tugged at his lips. He tried not to chuckle, poor girl was a nervous wreck, always was around more of the 'official' types. The Pilgrim has to take a deep breath though as the wyvern he trusts just fine but even Lionels sense of direction sometimes seemed spotty at best. "Damn, they swarmed the Guild? Ballsy bastartds. But how can that be? What sort of bug were you fighting? We only found grubs and they weren't exactly the most locomotive of things. Are you certain these incidences are connected? What more did the scouts have to say?" Rorin would have to consider all the evidence before he reached a conjecture. Best not to assume and count on all the chips falling into place.

Oline remained quiet for most of the early stage of their trip. She was just a tagalong, after all, and didn't really feel it was her place to speak. More importantly, though, she was listening. The academy had lost an instructor. Large, violent bugs. Smart bugs? That was definitely not something she'd have expected to find herself hearing. She'd spent her early days in these lands living in the forest smashing beetles for food. She still spent some of her days in the forest hunting bugs... but none of the damn things had ever hunted her back! It took a couple of seconds for that to really sink in, at which point all apprehension disappeared from the girl's face. Smart bugs... that could put up a fight. Chuckling, Oline reached back to hike her loincloth's strap back on her hip and check to make sure her club was safely secured. "Sownz fun t'me! Ah'mma crush me sum bugs 'n eat lahk th'Queen Hog till Ah kinna move n'more!" Clearly, now that they were airborn, her attempts to make a good first impression had fallen by the wayside. Honestly, it just took too damn long to try to talk that way. Lionel knew she could speak clearly if she wanted to. She was satisfied with that.

Kelay-Sage: Southern Sage Forest

Lionel hmms thoughtfully, then shrugs. “I hadn’t even considered the possibility this wasn’t related. To be frank with you, in all my years fighting all sorts of things, this was the first time I’d ever come up against ten-meter millipedes and beetles so big they ate a man.” He winces, drumming up a recent memory he’d done well to suppress. “Heck, Rorin, maybe they -aren’t- connected, but I’m not sure that thought will net me any further sleep tonight. The scouts said they saw a pair of those aforementioned killer beetles while patrolling the Southern Sage. Before they could act -- although I rather question just what exactly they’d have done, and I sure hope they weren’t planning on attacking -- the beetles burrowed and hid beneath the earth. Further investigation turned up a series of tunnels leading to a nest, but the scouts wisely doubled back and filled me in just this past morning.” As if to accentuate the mess, he adds, “oi.” It’s at this time, as the forests below the party’s line of sight become more visible and defined, that Oline chimes in with her analysis of the situation. Lionel bites his lip. “Aye,” he agrees, his tone jovial and his stance relaxed. “That’s, er, that’s the spirit. You get ‘em, girl.” In a quick, controlled jerk of the reins, he leads the wyvern downward at a moderate clip, toward a sight clearing in the primordial treeline. She obeys, and it isn’t long before they’re ready to leap off and begin the investigation. Not far from where they land, the ground seems to suddenly give way into obvious holes, with supportive stone ‘steps’ inlaid to allow for humanoid exploration. “Gotta say,” Lionel mumbles to Rorin. “At least it isn’t -Northern- Sage this time. What’s the deal with that place, anyway? Two life-or-death battles in a row, if we’re counting the bridge…”

Rorin managed to get a laugh from Oline. "That's the spirit! You'll need to watch yourself though; these things are much more dangerous than just some common beetle. They have a lot of surprises inside their shells," he had to listen to Lionel intently over the wind. "Lionel... I fought grubs. When the hell do ten meter millipedes travel from Kelay to - never mind that question," Rorin grasps Olines hips firmly as the angle of descent begins steeply. His stomach drops, damn heights, before he's rather dizzily trying to hop off and help Oline down. Rorin needed just as much help to stand himself. "Remember Sage Forest was cursed. The Drow could likely have something to do with it, another one of their mad expirements," he'd dealt with quite enough of those lately. "What I believe we have is a matter of evolution. Magically guided evolution. Lionel when I last faced off against these creatures they adapted. They changed, to overcome trauma, to grow resistant to damages. Split one in half the other end grows a head, keep distance they sprouted wings, have armor they spit acid. Yet we never found where they came from or were they livedm it's possible some of them even made it back. If that's true- let's hope it's unrelated but if that's true- we may be looking at an epidemic of speciation. Of larva turning into pupae, of bugs adapting, making more efficient, more deadly beasts to roam with. Lionel grubs wouldn't get that far. But what if they didn't have to? You say the attack was coordinated well what if the grubs I fought are connected? That they were just tests, just scouts, to learn the enemy? To adapt and change to the world around them and come back stronger? If there's a nest there must be some sort of queen right? What if... what if it's some kind of Super Bug?" Rorin was prattling, rambling really, and close up his dizziness seemed a bit nore lingering though perhaps that would be caused by the sniff of whiskey seeping put from behind his closed helm. After previous incidents with Rorins drinking he had been 'recommended' to stop. The boy could hold his liquor for sure but a hair brained idea like Smart Bugs had to come from somewhere likely hair of the dog idea no less.

Oline accepted Rorin's assistance as she hopped down off the wyvern and immediately untied her Kanabo from her hip. The raggedy old bag tied around the business-end of the club too came untied, replacing the club at her hip now that the club rested on her shoulder. The giantess looked a bit more ready to fight, now... mostly thanks to the fact that her Rorin-related drama had been pushed aside in importance relative to squashing bugs and stuffing her face. She only half-listened to Rorin's speech, rambling and overly-complicated as it was, before cheerfully clearing her throat and interjecting with, "A crunchashell's a crunchashell. A bugga's a bugga. En't matter iffin' they git big 're they change... ya juss splat'em an fry'em." Somehow, that didn't sound quiet as convincing in the face of 'spit acid'... but the girl was committed now to the idea of turning this little expedition into an all-you-can-gorge buffet. Stepping closer to Rorin, she easily smelled the alcohol on him as she planted a large hand upon his armored shoulder. "Soopah Bug, huh? Ah call dibz."

Lionel wasn’t anticipating so thorough a theory from his squire, but a thorough theory has been received. All-the-while, he’s leaped off of the wyvern and soothed her, and begun the short trek toward the tunnel network, but his azure gaze never quite leaves Rorin -- and his features tighten notably over the course of the monologue. By the time Rorin’s finished, Lionel is fixing him with an unnerving stare, his breathing having slowed to help conceal the burgeoning stress. A mere ten-odd steps from the tunnels, the Catalian veers around and shakes his head incredulously. “Damn.” He’s dealt with plenty of drow, himself; throughout the Second Immortal War, Khasad had conquered Trist’oth and made up the rank-and-file of his armies with their numbers. He’d faced many abominations in that two-year span, but nothing like this. “Actually, you asked a damn good question with the very first thing you said back there. How in seven hells did these things sprout from here and yet pop up all the way in Frostmaw? We’ve got to…” Once again, Oline’s interjections come at a most peculiar time. Lionel’s eyes narrow, but not in a discriminatory fashion; rather, he’s amused, as simpler thoughts are ever-like to amuse him. “Excuse me, Miss, ah, Oline. You, ah, you do understand we’re discussing massive armored creatures which may potentially spew acid at us whilst attempting to slice us to ribbons? Yes?” His tone is so playful, his concerned expression so over-the-top. “I mean, I just -- you know, we’ve only just met, and it’d bother me something fierce if that happened to you. Something fierce.” He grimaces, glances to and fro between the pair comically, then shrugs. “Well, we’re off to see the wizard. The wonderful wizard of…” A fixed look toward Rorin. “...Super… bug.” Biting his lip, Lionel jumps down into the tunnel without any further ado. It’s dark, damp, humid, and it smells like Cenril’s public bathhouse district on a balmy summer day. It sucks down there.

Rorin was all for squashing bugs in as little a romantically dramatic way as possible. An epically dramstic way, yes, but Rorin would like to have an idea of what exactly he would be up against. Dire man eating beetles was one thing but Rorim had honestly been completely terrified the first time he saw a grub screech with a few hundred razor edged hook teeth in it's funel maw, pop out it's scythe like appendages, and start crawling towards him like a backwashed hallucinagetic nightmare. It had not been fun. "You have to remember the Drow respect and enjoy sacrificing their males to make driders. Centau spiders. They like those. These things aren't exactly out of the question for them." Nonetheless he unclips a silver edged bastard sword at his belt and brings out a sizeable crossbow, extending the stock, flipping out the trigger, threading the line, extending the arms, and clipping a magazine of auger-bolts on before drawing back the handle fed mechanism to lock the first one in place. It looked like a magnificent piece of machinery, silver smithed with yew frame, and apparently Rorin had not come unprepared by evidence of the two other ten-bolt magazines on his hip. Thirty shots. He may need a lot more. After his crossbow was prepared Rorin lit a lantern and belted it to his hip. It can be noted that a second locket now twins his usual one on the opposite side though it looks to be broken.

Oline quirked her head at Lionel curiously before flashing that big radiant grin of hers. Of course she knew there were... complications. Big scary bugs with armored shells, acid spit, probably too poisonous to even eat... but what good did worrying about all that do? Oline wanted to be courageous and fierce, not anxious and terrified. Especially since Rorin had vouched for her and kinda... premptively voiced her interest in joining their guild before she'd had a chance to prepare herself. And so, with a curious mixture of courage and common-sense, the giantess looked Lionel in the eye and said matter-of-factly: "En't nobuddy evva charg'd inta battle fer glorious vic-tuh-ree shoutin' 'Ahh, they's too soddin' bigga! Wurrall gunna die!' inna books Ah read attha Kademee. Occourse Ah know it en't gunna rilla be like tha'... Ah'm juss try'na giddin th'raht mindset." While she turned to watch Rorin preparing himself, apparently Lionel had jumped right on in, because when she tured around again to ask a question... now forgotten... the leader of this little expedition had disappeared. Oline stepped cautiously up to the edge of the hole and, ignoring the smell wafting up from below, hops down into the darkness. Hopefully the bugs weren't going to come tracking them by ground vibrations, because the ground definitely shook when the ten-foot-tall girl stuck the landing.

Lionel || Unfortunately for Oline, some of these bugs -do- track via ground vibration. No sooner is the party scant meters underground than the hard-packed dirt surrounding them begins to rupture, and out pops innumerable tiny white worm-like insects, flailing about as the walls collapse as if they aren’t fond of the situation, either. They appear harmless, wiggling to little effect, and as Lionel shouts for Rorin and Oline to follow further downward to escape the partial cave-in, it may even seem like the team has left them behind altogether. But those little white worms wiggle awfully close to one-another, and give chase through the dirt, moving in perfect harmony with each boisterous step Oline takes, detecting her weight and honing into it. In their strange rhythmic dance, the many worms begin to fuse, oozing a thick viscous fluid that coats the walls and drips down toward the team. Everything it touches sizzles, and by now the worms are as one, a large and grotesque creature with the vague suggestion of limbs and no eyes or teeth, but it reaches out in a resounding swoosh through the dank air to swat at the intruders and incinerate them if its touch should prove successful. Lionel leaps in front of his companions, Hellfire unsheathed in one fluid motion, flames billowing to life upon the blade. Yet no sooner does his defensive posture take hold than a loud boom erupts from behind them. Further in, those two great big beetles the scouts reported are racing forth, armored carapaces protecting them from most angles of attack. Their fangs widen to snap heads clean off if they should land. Lionel curves the angle of his sword due east, and a volley of fire shoots back to catch one of the beetles in its snout. It gives a rictus snarl and snaps at the air, torched, but its flesh seems to regenerate even as it burns…

Rorin had no idea wether they were good to eat or not honestly. Maybe some of the softer less poisonous ones? But the shells and limbs were great salvage, personally. "No, it reallt is sort of like that-" he told Oline, "the other day I gave the queen a flag spear and we faught a saurian hoard to Lionels rallying cry. Tis indeed the corrct mindset," Rorin simply hopped into the hole before Oline and landed with a soft thud. For wearing such remedial armors he was a rather quiet boy. He knew Oline wouldn't need help getting down and insteas started following Lionel crossbow-first, slapping a strange looking charm on top of the crossbow, his whispered prayers sifting out from behind the reflective mask. "What is it you always say commander? We're not in Kansas anymore," Rorin felt sympathy in regards towards the ideal. No surface dweller could have walked the realm of these creatures and lived. It is easy to understand moments later why that is the case. The earth erupts with disguisting little micro maggots and Rorin barely had time to tuck and roll out of the way of the partial collapse and then having to keep up with Lionel. "Damn," Rorin curses, watching behind them as they coalesce and begin to melt the walls. Rorins crossbow tracks it in one hand, Lionel taking gaurd, then switching to attack the oncomers. "Welcome wagons here," Rorin noted dryly as he dropped to one knee. The auger bolts of his crossbow are designed with a spiral cut out, as the Pilgrim fires at the leftmost beetle- the one yet untouched- the tin shafted bolts screw driver like design spins through the air meaning to penetrate any armor or hide by simply drilling it's way through it.

Oline might have seemed at first glace to be at a great disadvantage She was half-naked in fur flaps, with a wooden stick as her only weapon, against armor-plated beetles and acid-spitting abominations. What couldn't be seen at first glance however was the girl's speed and agility. She hurled herself at the beetle Rorin hadn't engaged, the one obnoxiously regenerating faster than Lionel's fires could cook it. Her Kababo thunked furiously against the beast's shell, only to be deflected time and again by the thickly-armored carapace. Unfortunately, in order to get close enough to hit the damned beast, Oline had to dart in close eough to risk getting snipped by it's scythy fangs. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to find a weak spot in the shell of the beetle anywhere. As an afterthought, she called out over to Rorin. "Ah'm naht evven dentin' this theng! D'yeh see enny weak spots onnit frum ovva there?!" She slammed her club into the creature again, to no avail. "Dunghumpin sonovawhore!"

Lionel ||Rorin’s targeted beetle finds its torso drilled-into by a most ingenious bolt, and a warm rush of purplish liquid bursts from the wound site. It slams into the too-narrow tunnel at the force of this blast, bumping into its companion all-the-while. What of the other beetle, then? Still aflame, but flesh mending in an active effort to combat the burn, its bark-like screech might pop eardrums. As Oline pounds into it, that screech intensifies, and it slams into the bolted beetle, then opens its jaw even wider and scoops forward to catch the young giant in a great badly-scented gulp. She’ll need to be quick on her feet to dodge, but Lionel, briefly turned to face the approaching blob that had only a moment ago been a collection of maggot-worms, widens his azure gaze in realization. They’re caught between one abomination and two others, this trio, and the local portion of the tunnel is threatening to collapse from the sheer tumult. It’s a no-good, very bad spot to be in, and Lionel… snaps his fingers, hefting Hellfire in one firm grip as if the longsword is a shortsword at best. “Jump to the carapace!’ He charges toward Rorin and Oline, tapping the girl on her forearm reassuringly even as she presumably evades a beetle, and kicks into the thing’s ugly eye in a spiraling leap to its armored shell. The blob from behind covers the remaining distance toward its prey, and it will be wise for Rorin and Oline to heed Lionel’s tense suggestion, because the beetles and the blob will now collide in an incredulous smacking sound, screeches and wails, the burn-to-the-touch white liquid oozing from the former worm creature searing and incinerating the beetles at too rapid a pace for regeneration. Simultaneously, the beetles, awestruck by this collision, will attempt to lash out and hungrily devour the blob, but it will burn them from the inside out as it’s pulled apart viciously. Lionel jumps from a carapace as it is lit aflame, rolling ahead into the abyss. The way forward is now clear.

Rorin pulls back the handle of the loading mechanism and pops it forward with the next primed bolt. He was incredibly aware of the approaching doom behind him and hoped only that Lionel would figure something out. Between the forelegs of the beetle facing Oline Rorin plunked another auger bolt and caught Lionels words. Instead of second guessing the commander Rorin springs forward and pulls Oline with him, blasting away the bug if it dared to remaim at her. As quickly as he could a few quiet words in prayer took to his boots for aid in leaping at least as far as Oline could walk in a single bound. No one left behind.

Oline watched Lionel's acrobatic display in awe... least-ways until the sizzling white acidic blob behind her got close enough to smell. This forced the girl into motion, and she plowed forward with seeming reckless abandon until she's brought fully back within pincer-range of the stubborn beetle before her. Swinging her Kanabo at it in what appeared to be a straight-forward attack on it's left side, the girl quickly ducked down to the right and grappled the armored beetle just out of reach of the slashing appendages. Remembering what she'd been told, that these things seemingly changed and adapted very quickly, the gianess wasted no time in KICKING it back into the maw of the great white amorphous abomination whilst simultaneously launching herself further down into the tunnel. This time when she landed, it was skidding across the ground on her rump... less agile, but also far more padded so as to keep the vibrations to a minimum. "Sodditall," she grumbled, thumping her battered old warclub until one of the loosened metal studs had been 'hammered' back in. "... Ah'm gonna need a bigga squisher."

Lionel and Rorin and Oline have barely averted total disaster and they’ve only just entered the tunnels. Behind them, the cacophony of crashdown horror is all squeals and death rattles, and ahead of them is total darkness. Lionel swings Hellfire in a cracking whip through the air, and the steel of the blade is then coated in a piercing blue flame. “Torch,” he comments, idly, just after Oline’s own declaration. “Let’s keep at it, then.” A few paces in, though, he turns to Oline. “You know, ah… if you want to head back…” His lips contort and the Catalian shakes his head. “Nevermind.” It’s increasingly apparent to him that she’s in this for the long haul. Whoever she is, she has courage. Maybe too much courage. In Lionel’s experience, most of those who’d follow him into the very pits of hell have been mad in some way, but he only hopes that when the time comes, this one will illustrate her madness is of a reasonably noble stock. Which reminds him of something. “Say, Rorin.” The party carries on through the tunnels, and the ground seems soft and loamy, and they’re moving deeper and deeper, and lower and lower, into the unknown. “How’d you two meet, anyway?” It’s voiced in a whisper, for Lionel does not believe they should be especially loud in a place like this. Along the walls, Hellfire illuminates the occasional rare gem, shining even in its crude natural form. The ‘hollows’ of Kelay-Sage are revealing their many wonders to the Warrior’s Guild today.

Rorin focused on the task ahead. To say it was daunting would be to undermine several lives and deaths including quite possibly their own. "Remind me again," he said to Lionel after a moment, "why exactly you planned to take me alone to this hellish place?" It seemed a fair question as Lionel was usually all about including as many members of the guild as possible on these excursions. Perhaps it was because Lionel knew that's exactly where Rorin would go him; to hell and back. As for how they met, "er," Rorin started- an odd nerve in his voice, "we met while I was training with the Ranger Master here, Ecthelion. Why do you ask?" Rorins hands play at the body of his crossbow as he reloads yet again- slowly. One too many a click and he believed for whatever reason they may be done for.

Oline rolled her wrist and spun her club, giving the tired old swatter a look-over. One by one she flicked out the metal studs of her Kanabo, all the while reaching out for the wall beside her and plucking whatever rare gems she could yank from the wall and pounding them into the wood with her bare hand. Though she made quiet a racket, it seemed for the moment that the noise hadn't disturbed their insectoid hosts... and for her effort she now had a diamond, sapphire, topaz, amethyst, and glow-stone studded club with which to face their next challenge. Madness? Oh yes... she had that in spades. But if it came down to madness or a big stick with a small fortune in gemstones? Always bet on the big stick.

Lionel winces as Oline pounds gems into her club, but settles on the mental reminder that at least they now have two makeshift torches. The glow of the gems is especially clear when Hellfire’s blue flame catches them, and Rorin’s question leads Lionel into a shrug. “I dunno. Just curious.” He chuckles dryly. “Gotta make conversation when marching into the dank unknown. Anyway, I guess I wanted this to be a two-man expedition because I figured it was going to be a bloody well unsafe encounter. Minimize risk. You’re my squire. That’s not a guild thing, that’s a Frostmaw thing. You and me,” he grammars poorly, “we go where we go, right? And I knew you’d want in on this action. You fought these things before. But this is the deep below. This isn’t ground level. We can’t summon reinforcements -- no one would hear us. I didn’t want to get too many players involved in a game this... “ He pauses, sighing. “Ugly.” The air seems to grow even thicker as they descend. Breathing will become labored for most humanoids, and Lionel is certainly one of them. He takes a controlled intake of air through his nostrils, gritting his teeth. “I think we’re almost there. Whatever there is.”

Rorin winced right along with Lionel. Patting the lamp at his hip Rorin struggled for a moment to relight it and was glad no oil had been spilt. Always prepared. "I guess so. Isn't every one of our expeditions a bloody well unsafe encounter, commander?" Still Rorin listens on. He tried not to chuckle. "Sir quite frankly I never told you this," Rorin grunts however as the air thickens and he is forced to extenguish the short lived lantern, "but I fekkin hate bugs." In its stead his off hand reaches for the talisman of Arkhen about his neck for there he whispers a solemn prayer. The air around Rorim grows light, both in tone and in breath, the talisman ushering forth what seems like daylight into the small tunnel and giving them some air. Carefully Rorin would attempt to extend the holy aura just to the edge of the party and strain himself no further. "You'll be put off down here Commander," Rorin advised, "I wager these insects have special lungs to breathe the flammable gasses we're passing through. Every miner knows deep down here lighting a torch is equal to a master mage blowing it sky high. Best be careful how hot your head is," to Oline it was offered a simple "stay close," as Rorin became both light and air source for the three. "If you get dizzy let me know. I'll heal you, and try to give you a charm against it. Be careful. No one's ever gotten this far," so much was evident by the number of skulls that lusterrd duller than the gem stones and for a moment Rorin almost believed they stared at him through the walls.

Oline needed more air to breathe than the average humanoid, and so was definitely running into some issues with the growing lump in her throat. It wasn't that she couldn't breathe at all or anything, just mild discomfort, but that didn't stop her from untying the strap of covering her chest and wrapping it over her mouth and nose to serve as a makeshift filter. Frankly, even the copious amounts of boob-sweat and armpit funk she'd worked up was better than the stink emanating up from down below. Having been listening in to the two men talk for some time now in silence, she gave her glow-stone'd club another swirl and took a deep breath. "S'what 'appenss iffin' they's got morrin' three thiss tahm, ennyhow? Cuzza... boys... Ah'm th'soddin reyinfohsmunts... enneye cuddn't kill onnuv'em."

Lionel bursts into a short fit of laughter when Rorin proclaims his disgust of bugs. He sucks desperately for air to alleviate his burning lungs as a result of that laughter, but when the paladin’s prayer grants them better lighting and ample breathing room, it’s like an elixir to the man. At the request that he monitors the flame, Lionel nods, glad for the heads-up. “See,” he says, as the blue fire on the sword flicks out of existence without so much as a single apparent motion from its wielder. “I’m damned glad I brought you along. And, ah, Oline… if we see more than three of the frakkers, we’ll just have to improv…” The last syllable of that final word is abruptly cut off as the descent takes the team to a massive wide-open chasm. The pathway has ended sharply, and they’re several meters above the floor of that chasm, hidden in relative darkness despite Rorin’s chant. Which is just as well, because the ground down there isn’t visible at all. Not a speck of it can be discerned, not a mere centimeter. The chasm, as it happens, is covered with monstrous insects. Dozens of beetles, dozens of centipedes, -hundreds- of smaller variations of the gelatinous maggot-worm. Between them, red and yellow mantis-like creatures the size of prize stallions, their sickle-scythes snapping, their hideous wet eyes scanning the perimeter like dutiful bodyguards. At the center of this freakshow, a being so immense, so fleshy and fat and with so many eyes, so many stomachs, so many loose dangling appendages. This being cannot possibly move, and yet it wobbles, precariously, and it wails. Behind it, there is a curiously gorgeous old mosaic, with intricate -- almost lifelike! -- depictions of three other locales upon its glassy panes. The harsh desert near Gualon, the dim dark lands close to Vailkrin, and a deep blue that seems to be an ocean, with a nearby shore. But most harrowing of all, some of these countless scores of horrifying bugs are feasting on the remains of -people.- None appear to have been left living, so there is no one to rescue. But people have died here. People have been killed to satisfy the feasting. The chasm’s expanse reaches on for what might be a mile or more, and it is a vast, sprawling network of these infernal things. Lionel can only gasp. “Frak me sideways,” is his hushed whisper. “More than three, you said…?”

Rorin gave thought to Olines muffled words. "Ya know that's not the worst point. I've been thinking and I believe i have a solution. You went at the beetle head on. If you were fighting an armored knight you'd loose the same way. When you fight something in armor your best bet is always to topple it and that'll usually expose the weak points. Next time try it from the side. Up end it, knock it over, and I think you'll stand more than a fair chance once you're staring at it's undersides. I bet that's where the mushy parts are. Bugs adapted to getting hit on from above. Their so low to the ground they can't armor their lower parts." Rorin believed that may be a winning strategy at least. Rorin hms as they reach the edgr of an abyss. "Well," Rorin whispers back as he commits this scene to memory, "hard to be sure innit?" He starves pensively at the... well, the gods blast it Super Bug. He was not of all things entirely sure what to make of it. "Perhaps," Rorin attempts to communicate, "we should ponder how to leave? I saw a few side tunnels that might help us. Unless of course you are quite keen on blowing this place Sky High," otherwise Rorim had absolutely no ideas on how to face the veritable army beneath them. A full blood curdling chill measured out panic, fear, disguist, and hatred inside him all of which he kept well concealed. Brave men do not shirk the need to squash bugs, he decided, but smart men learned How to squash them first.

Oline was all-too-happy to listen to Rorin's combat advice. Though she carried a club, most of her experience fighting had been in the form of brawls... unarmed... and she doubted how well her fighting style would hold up against limb-severing claws and pincers when she inevitably slipped up. She was just finishing up her first experiment to find the best way to perform a take-down on an armored beetle such as the ones they'd encountered at the beginning of this mess when suddenly the ground ahead of them just... vanished. Moving up to join the others at the edge, the young giantess stared out at the impossibly large, corpulent nightmare of flesh presumably responsible for the madness she was seeing and whistled softly. "Ho... lee... muthuh've monstahs... tha's a biggun'. How menny bugs y'think she gits fuggah'd by evry day, hm?" The giantess let her club return to resting upon her shoulder and turned to look back the way they'd come. "Least y'dinna 'ave tha' kinna challenge, eh Rorin? Becha tha' suppah bug ennevin' feel it." She was, in fact, looking to see where the nearest side-passage was. And panicking. Oh yes... she was beginning to panic now. "Ah thenk we pass't a side-passage juss a cuppla dozen feet ovvah theher..." she gestuerd into the darkness. "But ah dinna feel no wind'r noffin. Maht beeya ded end."

Lionel doesn’t tense his muscles much despite the sight. He listens keenly to the statements and suggestions of his comrades, ducking low and peering forward to reduce their potential visibility even further. With a soft sigh, he scratches his left cheek and weighs their options. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t tempted to start blasting balls of fire like Goodness Gracious herself,” he admits, as much to himself as the others. Some of the human and elven remains in that nigh-endless mess of hideous insectoid beasts still have a considerable bit of flesh on them, and skin, too, for that matter. But it’s being stripped with impressive efficiency. Against his stomach’s better judgment, Lionel takes a quick survey of the number of corpses he can espy. He catches sight of an elven woman’s face as it’s ripped off the bone in a sickening suck from a massive nearby millipede. “Rorin… there are at least fifty corpses down there.” He can scarcely fathom the words he’s said. “A whole village, wiped off the map. This isn’t a bug hunt. They’ve gone to war with us all and we didn’t even know it yet.” He rises. The urge to set it all aflame is growing, gnawing at him with a righteous momentum. “Damn it. One wrong move and we’re done for. And if we die here…” He balls his hand into a fist and resists the temptation to slam it into the tunnel wall and alert the insects to their presence. “Damn it. Damn…” Lionel closes his eyes and shakes his head fervently. “We retreat. I’m summoning the entire guild for this operation. In three days, we’re assembling them, Rorin, and we’re telling them what we’ve seen here today, and we’re coming back and we’re destroying this place before one more village falls. That’s a gods-damned promise.” His march back from whence they came is a quick one. “Follow those side tunnels. We’re leaving.”

Rorin had been all well and fine with giving combst advice under the idea it was shortly needed. "One thousand, one hundred, thirty six, accounting for known speciations- possibly three thousand live births a day." Rorin shortly becamed stoppered by Olimes reference. He was glad the fiery blush on his cheeks was well hidden beneath the helmet. "Dead end... I hope not." He finally managed to utter. Rorins disguist keeps him further quiet however and he is forced to look away from the abominable horrors before him. "An entire village? Gone so quietly it could've happened just last night," Rorins foot taps uneasily. A sign of mounting fear behind the squires mask. "Wait," Rorin said witha raised hand to his commander, "one more look..." slowly Rorin takes out a spyglass altered just slightly, normally a crossboe mount, a gem screen inside it often used by rangers to give them an eagles sight. From his pouches Rorin digs out an old notepad and a charcoal pencil. Working fast Rorin sketches some of the finer details should his memory fail him. The map most importantly. Secondarily the bugs, which ones where which, what they did. With only a moment to study Rorin had to be quick and efficent and the squire seemed as perceptive as ever. He just needed a moments time.

Oline waited with Rorin. She didn't want him anywhere near those monstrous bugs a moment longer than needed... and sure as hells not alone. It was mind-boggling to watch the beasts at work. They were just so... so... "Uhfisshent. Utterly... purfeckly... uhfisshent." She hadn't even realized she'd said it out loud. Once Rorin was done and departing, she'd go too. "Ah'm gunna be hevvin' nahtmares 'bout buggas fuhevah now..." she lamented.