RP:What's Eating Adelbert Ape?

From HollowWiki

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.


Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc


Summary: Lionel, Rorin, Quintessa, Kasyr, and Navarre begin their up-close and personal investigation of the cultists involved with one of the strange runic obelisks tied to a recent string of local earthquakes. Surrounding the perimeter of the cultists' pagoda is a row of deadly, flesh-eating plants with vines as long as tree trunks. The team sneaks inside through the roof, though they're quickly taken aback by the den of depravity that awaits them. The cultists, led by oddly-named Amazing Adelbert Ape, are a harmless bunch of hippies mixed up in dimmer business they know little and less about. Moments later, the monstrous plants assault the pagoda, slaughtering Ape and several of his cohorts. The Warrior's Guild team does its best to save the remaining cultists whilst battling the strange creatures to the death. In the aftermath of this bizarre vegetable carnage, clues are gathered and the mystery surrounding the identities of those truly responsible for the quakes, plants, and murder continues.

The Southern Sage

Traveling along the westernmost edge of the Southern Sage, the adventurers bore witness to multiple signs that the curse afflicting the forest had begun to resume. Many of the young trees on the forest’s outskirts still appeared healthy, but every so often there came a tree that taken on an appearance not unlike charred steak. Patches of soil emitted dank odors and sent out steam from wicked magics in rhythmic pulses. A goat lay dead and uneaten, its ribs exposed through decay and its bare meat tainted; there were no maggots on this goat, for even the flies knew to stay away. Quinton Navarre, who was operating as the group’s guide due to the time he had spent with the monks at Coreliant’s shrine, winced with each passing gaze upon the destruction. “I thought this had been cured,” he said, to which Lionel simply shrugged. “Nothing’s ever kept the curse at bay. A contingency of elves under a woman named Gilwen have done their best, although of late she is nowhere to be found.” It was a damned shame, but it wasn’t what the Warrior’s Guild trio and their allies were here to investigate. Navarre kept his eyes ahead, until at last they came upon the stretch of forest that the brother-monks had told him to seek. To Lionel, it was much like any other stretch, but he trusted the man’s intuition. Into the forest they all went, a verdant zone where the curse’s resurgence had not yet taken its toll. Small mammals scurried in their wake, the largest of which -- a meter-long rabbit -- twitched before rushing up a tree for safety. Lionel took a swig from his canteen of water before passing it to Rorin. “By the way,” he began, peering over toward Kasyr. “Join the Warrior’s Guild. Think of the opportunities. More gallivanting through damp jungle terrain like this, searching for cultists likely to be as dangerous as they are depraved.” He was well aware that Kasyr had about as much fill of danger as Lionel did, but nothing stopped his train of sarcasm once it had departed its station. “Same to you, kid.” He gave Navarre a cheeky thumbs-up, labeling him kid despite their reasonable closeness in age. Navarre chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, picking up a stick before tossing it for no real reason at all. “I’d sooner return to sea.” The words had been delivered dreamily; it was obvious the young man missed the oceans blue.


“Yeah, well.” Lionel yawned and sliced through a thicket with his katana like butter, revealing an upcoming clearing. He didn’t have anything planned for a follow-up to the retort, which was just as well, because the cultists’ pagoda was upon them now. Several stories tall, with ornate red shingles and a sophisticated pattern of characters written in a different language from the runes upon the stone which Quintessa had successfully translated, the pagoda was quite the sight. And, as rumored, it was surrounded by vines like tentacles wrapped around its perimeter, each pair of vines accompanied by a beak-like floral skull dotted with pinkish flowers. Carnivorous plants, likely to be much larger beneath the earth than their surface area projected, deadly and close. They hadn’t seemed to notice the party yet, for their ‘faces’ were all pointed at the pagoda rather than beyond it. This struck Lionel as odd. “Wait,” he whispered, uncertain how exactly the creatures recognized sound. Vibration, perhaps. “We need a plan.” He had half a mind to predict that Quintessa would illustrate the extent of her plan by roasting these things alive, but just in case he was mistaken he figured he would wait and hear what his companions had in mind.


Rorin walked comfortably in the wood and seemed to be preoccupied in his own mind. He idly drank from Lionel’s canteen and passed it back, half elf ear twitching at the name of Gilwen. The paladin boy had a meeting with her some time ago but nothing dam of it. She was an elf, he supposed, so she could just be laying in wait. Plenty of time for them. Rorin drifted back mentally towards his past, and felt his internal compass point towards the temple of Arkhen not far off. As they came on the pagoda clearing Rorin crouched down and thought of what a funny word pagoda was before thinking of how buildings could just hide out here in the woods with almost no one noticing. As if they just grew up out of the ground. Funny. “I may be wrong, but it looks like the plants aren’t a fan of the pagoda. Like they’re watching it somehow. We should drop in from the roof, cross from those trees there, take the residents by surprise. No one could see us coming.” Rorin scratched idly at the side of his face that no longer bared unnatural flesh and considered himself lucky. He came so naturally to battle and planning now that he could afford to dwell on his thoughts even now when one was about to begin. “If we rout them and flush them out, the plants might attack. Pick off the runners for us.”


Quintessa was indeed preparing to roast the giant plants, her pale fingers brought up into the air as she provides the somatic components for her firebolt spell. The young spellcaster is interrupted at the last second by the mention of plans and the magic fire fizzles from her fingertips harmlessly as her attention flickers to the rest of the group. "I thought the plan was to kill them." Trudging her way through the trees didn't bother her much but she still seemed to have a foul attitude when it came to staying her blade for even this small moment. The changeling quickly shrugs it off and listens to Rorin's suggestion as she reaches into her satchel for her traveling dairy and a sharpened piece of charcoal. Quintessa chuckles as she draws a sketch of the plant. "Watching? I mean, I've seen some spooky salads before but there was a dryad involved that time." Her mismatched eyes flicker back and forth between her drawing and the plant she attempted to capture on paper. "I'm on board with trying to sneak closer," the hex blade adds, putting the final touches on her sketch. "If you think you lot can be stealthy enough, that is. I've got my invisibility cloak but I don't know how well the rest of you can remain unseen."


Kasyr is lightly dressed for once, having forsaken his trademark trenchcoat once he'd ascertained he was going to be traipsing around the forest. Mostly in case there was going to be any sort of stealth involved in their cultist-oriented killing spree. That bit of logic aside, that still hasn't stopped him from wearing that overly long black scarf of his, which even now is in the process of billowing heroically behind him, without ever really getting caught in the branches they're navigating. An appraising look is shot towards Rorin as he makes his suggestion of both figuratively and literally having their prey 'reap the seeds they've sown'. It's a good mental image, but- "Peut-etre. Though I also got the unpleasent mental image of a bunch of robe wearing flashers riding a pack of angry oversized weeds into battle." The swordsman pauses there, adjusting the sleeveless vest he's wear for effect- and also to make the process of searching through it for a cigeratte look a bit more natural. It's only when it's retrieved that he affixes Lionel with a look, "What's your thoughts- are they on speaking terms with their homicidal hedge trimmings?" He snaps his fingers, a small spark bursting into life at the tip of his index and setting the smoke alight, before he carefully adds, "Well, until I fix things in Vailkrin, I'm working off a teachers Salary et what I had stashed in charts end. So. Sure. Bold adventures, Dragons slain, et what have you. Just, uh- let me know when there's something pertaining to cultists. They plagued my administration for years. The -worst- part of ruling- et there was a lot I disliked." That said, the Kensai offers a non-commital shrug, before he returns to fumbling into his vest, a second smoke pilfered so he can offer it over towards Quintessa, "Would the cloak work against plants? . . .Do they even have eyes? I think we'd need to figure out an alternative, et maybe dynamic entry." There's a sliver of something metallic in the air to coincide with the statement, likely familiar to the changeling, though it doesn't quite solidfy into anything- remaining a nebulous silve fracture in space which seems to always stay an equal distance from the swordsman.


Lionel snickered at Quintessa’s mention of a cloak, reaching into his satchel to fetch the astonishingly lightweight and well-folded stealth cloaks once crafted by Emrith years ago in the heat of the Haathian war. He passed one out to each of them in turn, donning the final cloak himself. “These are handy little things -- soundproof. They’ll mask a fair bit of foot-tapping so long as the foes ain’t packing particularly receptive earbuds. In the case of our vegetable friends, I’ll give this plan decent odds of success,” he said before turning to Kasyr, “although if you’ve got something better in mind, by all means.” As Navarre fitted his cloak over himself and fussed with his raven hair, Lionel braced for a swift, supernatural rush up a nearby tree… and then stopped, sighed, and mourned the loss of Halycanos not for the first time. Digging into some bark with his fingertips and assessing the tree’s stability, he began instead to climb -- deftly, though by no means expertly. The tree’s branches were the best that he could see, for they extended upward and kept a solid thickness to their composition all the way over the roof of the cultists’ pagoda. Lionel had sheathed his katana by now, and he held his arms into the air horizontally for balance. Navarre followed closely, though the younger man nearly stumbled once or twice, silently cursing himself for good measure. However it was that their companions traversed the tree, all would see that the man-eating flora far beneath their steps -- which Lionel had thus far deduced were not on speaking terms as Kasyr inquired -- did not stir. Until, as it were, Navarre leapt from the branch to the roof as quietly as he could, but the slight stirring of a shingle from its glue and down onto the loamy soil did cause one of the plants’ vines to stretch out and touch the shingle inquisitively. Thereafter, Lionel and Navarre were able to breathe again, as the monster brought its vine back to its resting place. “Okay,” Lionel whispered to anyone nearby before peering through a stained glass window fixed into the ceiling. Keeping his footing on uneven rooftop wasn’t easy, even for someone as lithe as Lionel. From what he could ascertain through the thick, yellow-and-green glass, multiple people in simple brown robes were gathered below. A chimney closeby appeared to lead directly to this fifth and final floor. Lionel gave it a glance, then waited to see if the rest of the party were prepared.


Rorin questioned Quintessas sudden show of restraint. And an invisibility cloak? She’d have to be rich. Wait, was she rich? He’d actually never asked. Hm. Anyway, Rorin was stealthy, sure, he was a half elf and he’d been born and trained among the rangers here. Stealth wouldn’t be a problem. Rorin looks at Kasyr skeptically, to Rorin he seemed like a foppish swordsman with a flask somewhere in his coat. “Plants have neither ears nor eyes, in the traditional way. It’s thought that they understand through scents in their skin, or the vibrations of the wind. Huge magical plants though, who knows.” Rorin was up a tree long before Lionel was, with mild concern. Just how much of the ifrit spirit that had infused him had Lionel relied on? And who was this Quinton guy again? Rorin shook off that thought and silently descended to the roof, employing a roped claw to the chimney seemingly from his sleeve. Rorin did not want to descend through a chimney unless they were planning to either rob the cultists or deploy diplomacy, and Rorin had a strange sense diplomacy was far out the window now. Speaking of, that’s how he was prepared to go in. Through the window. Then everyone could just hop in at once, very dramatic like. Good stuff.


Quintessa idly accepts the cigarette from Kasry and takes a long drag, an action that felt so familiar she didn't have to think about it to do it. "I hypothesize," she begins, letting the smoke drift from her mouth slowly as she snaps closed her notebook and returns it to her satchel, "That these plants do not have eyes, as Rorin says. I don't know, I never took much interest in herbology, but they must have some way of being able to tell where prey is. Maybe a tremorsense or some kind of ability that can detect life? I'm not certain about that, but I am certain that if we waltz up to one it'll chomp us hard." Quintessa takes another drag before passing the cigarette back, missing the clove taste of her own. Once everything was said and done she'd have to share one with Kasyr later as thanks. "Soundproof?" The hex blade eyes the cloak curiously, an idea for how to improve her own cloak popping up in her mind. "Hmm, yes, of course." Quintessa shifted her cloaks so that the new one rested under her invisibility cloak incase it became necessary to rely on not being see later during the mission. The changeling was very adept at sheath, however, and even in her spiked boots the creepy girl could skulk silently up trees and unto roofs as if it were second nature. In many ways for the child of a nighthag, it was well within her nature to stalk outside of windows as she was doing. Somehow, Quintessa always managed to find the smallest like kinks and footholds perfect for the two-inch spikes on her heels. Gripping the sheath of her sword tightly as she held tightly, mismatched eyes gazing through stained glass, she nods her head at Lionel's words. She wasn't sure was she was ready for but the changeling assumed that when the signal was given she'd break through the window and start slashing. Her pointed teeth gleam in the light as she grins. Quintessa loved a good ambush and it showed.


Kasyr can't help but offer an approving nod towards Lionel, the garment briefly inspected for all of a few brief moments before the Kensai proceeded to don it. "Would have -loved- this when I was in the underdark." Mostly, he means the form of stealth that doesn't rely on tricking their infravision, but there is something to be said about a strike force in matching snappy cloaks. In any case, he's relatively quiet in the face of his companions commentary, other than a rather bemused, "Good luck." And a slightly more serious, "Don't die." that's more or less aimed towards Quinton and Quintessa. It's while he's contemplating the oddness of that naming scheme that he accepts the smoke back from the changeling, staring blankly at it for a few more moments, before a thought flickers through his mind. Taking a few steps forward, he flicks Quintessa's towards the plants, a small burst of magic tossed in to help it along it's way. it's enough, too- since it manages to sail a good way towards one of the least pagoda Adjacent plants, though it doesn't even manage to get near the mark, as one tendril lashes up abruptly and obliterates the cigarette. "Smoke? Heat?" Kasyr thoughtfully takes another puff from the cigarette he'd started with, before casually dropping it to the ground and snuffing it out. Experimentation aside, his means of getting up is a fair bit more casual, as the fracture that had been resting near the Kensai fineses coalescing into the guise of a floating sheathed Katana. Almost thoughtlessly, the Kensai directs it in front of himself, if only to hop atop it- seeming wholly at ease with the process of balancing upon the tenuous foothold. And without needing to mind anyone else, there's really nothing stopping Kasyr from making a gradually ascending staircase of summoned swords, though one might be hard pressed to follow, given the older blades begin to blip out of existence. Suffice to say, he's likely not tardy for the 'pre-window-smashing' pose as a team moment. He probably even has enough time to squint at Lionels tree climbing prowess, if only because it's -really- weird to see after years of fiery teleportation, and conflagratory charges.


It was time. With everyone gathered beside the window, Lionel took a deep breath and did the honors, bringing his katana up over the distorted glass and hoping the shattering sound would still allow the team to catch these dubious religious zealots unawares. The tip of his blade made short work of the thickness of the glass, and down he leapt, followed by Navarre and presumably the others as well. Falling less gracefully than Halycanos would have offered, the guild’s leader scratched at his tailbone and grimaced. He was going to need to work on this. But minor injuries were the least of his concerns. Now that Lionel could see what the figures he had espied through the stained glass window were doing, he immediately regretted ever wondering. The gaggle of robed cultists were spread out across the plush, velvety floor with white dust all over their clothing and expressions full of pure ecstasy. Many of them had nothing on beneath their robes, and in all such cases nothing was left to the imagination. There were candles in the room, though all of them had been overturned by the mad pleasures of their keepers, their flames turned to ash which spilt upon the rug with nary a care. Portraits of the cultists covered the walls, each of them depicting something more sinful than the last, though none of it seemed to cross the line from smut to sadism. The room was thick with the scents of sex and incense, and dozens of bottles of alcohol in varying states of fullness were scattered all over the place. The dust in the air, from drugs and smoke alike, made a mess of the team’s cloaks and revealed them clear as day. “Note to self,” Lionel mumbled. “Berate Emrith.”


“Wait!” One of the cultists quickly rose from his position of pleasure, barer on the bottom than Lionel had signed up to see. “Wait! Wait! Wait, I said!” He scrambled, draping the rest of his robe over his private parts and then cowering pleadingly before his would-be killers. “My name is Amazing Adelbert Ape! Charmed, I’m sure! Behold our simple congregation, and despair!” His words were the farthest thing from menacing, and tears were welling up in his chocolatey brown eyes. Behind him, the rest of the hallucinogen-induced miscreants staggered to their feet, but several more cultists began to rush in from the nearest hallway. None of them, however, appeared the least bit threatening. “This small-framed lady is Lil Lilith Leopard!” A wiry woman with milk-white skin draped in gothic garb rolled her eyes and took a drag from her cigarette as she assessed the situation. “Right beside her is our larger and well-traveled friend, the Worldly Weimar Whale!” He was a big man to be sure, elegantly-dressed with puffy, red cheeks and a gentleman’s mustache. “Across and to your left are Cheeky Chevy Chimp and Candid Clarence Coyote, clearly a pair of bosom lovebirds who take our philosophy of free sexuality to a more intimate extent!” True to Adelbert’s description, the fair-haired lovers’ arms were draped around each other adoringly. “Stage-left, on the other hand, is Jostling John Jaguar, a three-time winner of our Third Annual Cowpoke Cowabunga!” The cowpoke champion had eye-catching boots fitted with spurs to match a hat that somehow felt more ‘Western’ than even far-off Chartsend. “And entering now from stage-right, feast your mismatched eyes upon Pretty Petey Platypus!” An astonishingly attractive man in his mid-forties smiled seductively and bowed. “You can’t just kill Pretty Petey Platypus,” Adelbert cried. “It’s… it’s… it must be against the rules! Somewhere! Somewhere… as written by… by someone who adheres to rules! Of his own making!”


“Seven hells,” Lionel and Navarre said in unison, thereafter eyeing one-another with unnecessary scrutiny. “Alright, hands up.” Every last one of the cultists save for Lil Lilith Leopard sprung their hands up desperately, many sweating profusely with fear. Leopard, however, did the same… albeit coolly and slowly. She gave Quintessa a lustful wink. “Hey, hey,” Navarre objected. “Easy with the... “ Lionel finished the sentence with, “...undead punk band backstage after-show pickup routine.” Navarre nodded, satisfied. Leopard shrugged and ‘accidentally’ allowed her robe to come undone. Navarre was unable to resist a glance, nor were several of the cultists. “Seven hells,” Lionel repeated, slapping his fellow Catalian and stomping forward to Amazing Adelbert Ape. “You’re going to tell me what the deal is with that runic stone of yours, and you’re going to tell me now!” All the cultists gave each other concerned looks as Ape cleared his throat. “Well, um, you mean the f***stone?” Lionel’s jaw dropped. “Yes,” he confirmed. “We found it outside!” Lionel’s dropped jaw was now met with a sigh that pierced the smoke. “Honest, honest!” Ape shrugged and then put on a pitiful countenance. “C-could we have it back? W-when we, ahem, erm, got on top of it, it-it was very good for, erm, enhancing ch-chakras?” Lionel grabbed the head cultist by his collar and gave him a firm shake. “Why does the earth quake in response to the stone? Where’d you get it from? And… and please, for the love of frak, belt your robe up so that I never have to see that thing again.”


Rorin descending the chained claw and swing in dramatically, rolling across the floor and raising with a war pick in his hand. He immediately regretted the decision. Rorin staggered, almost completely drunken with the scents and perfumes and other drugs. He suspected that if he weren’t full of holy magic he definitely wouldn’t last long. As it was he grumbled and sighed. Having orgies wasn’t evil, and having a... f**k stone wasn’t evil either, as long as you weren’t hypnotizing people and sacrificing them on it. “They’re just cultists of Delisha then?” He sounded a little disappointed. Looking at fat old people junk was not his idea of a good day. “So none of you know where the stone came from or what it...” plants. Plants had been at each one. Rorin was furious. “We’ve been had!” He threw up his arms and hit his head on the wall. “The plants are evil, not these naked bozos. It’s the plants! By Arkhen’s light.” He checked with Lionel, putting the leader back on his feet. “They’re just weird, Commander. I’m almost sure of it. But if you want, I can still interrogate them.” He knew a spell for detecting lies, after all. Paladins had to know these things.


Quintessa swings into the room on cue, her spiked heels digging into the wood as she begins to draws her katana to fight the... "Orgy?" The young changeling hesitates, keeping her sword safely within her sheath as she snaps it back down. Quintessa isn't phased by the nakedness of the cultists, however, as she seen many orgies take place at the temple of Delisha. She even recognized some of them. That's the part that surprised her. "Oh, hey Cheeks. Hey, Triple-P. I didn't know you guys were earthquake-plant cultist." Mismatched eyes lock onto the woman in the gothic garb and she becomes transfixed upon her. "Oh, and who might you be?" Quintessa eyes up Lil Lilith Leopard and approaches her, pulling out her silver cigarette case to join her in her smoke. "Lil Lilith? How come I never see you at the Temple of Delisha? Don't tell me you go to the morning mass, ugh. Mornings are terrible for orgies!" Quintessa continues to idly chat the woman up, already forgetting what they came here for. "Are there any Ice-Cap mushrooms left? I can see it in your eyes you've been eating them." The scent of clove joins the sex and incense as Quintessa snaps her fingers to light her cigarette, the purplish smoke lingering in the air around her.


Kasyr is in the process of beckoning his entourage of summoned swords into a fanned out pattern behind himself when the windows shattered- spurring him into motion even before he's gotten a proper view of the room. What he envisioned was something along the lines of a dramatic downwards descent, his weapons spreading out to loom threateningly over the heads of a horde of hooded hooligans akin to the sword of Damocles. What Kasyr -gets- is an eyeful of more junk that a goblin scrapyard. One hand briefly reaches out to grap hold of one of the floating swords, as though it might anchor him in place- save that he doesn't quite recall to -fix- it in place, leading to him hitting the ground in a stumbling stagger forward that ultimately ends with him barreling towards their resident cowpoke. At a glance, Jostling John Jaguar even seems like he'd make an admirable safety rail of sorts- but what the swordsman couldn't have predicted was the slick oil-y something that coats his chest, and which simply enables Kasyr to continue his awkward and calamitous shuffle until he finally manages to reach a wall. ". . ." Really, he's just going to be busy wiping his hands off against it for a moment, and faintly wishing he'd hung back and tempted fate with the sinister shrubberies. "I second that it's the plants, et that everything is awful. Thanks."


Lionel blinked. He then blinked again. He blinked two more times and then stepped over to Quintessa. “I have a feeling, Rorin,” the man began, keeping his eyes on the changeling, “that interrogation will not be necessary.” Lil Lilith Leopard snickered and ran a soft hand over Quintessa’s cheek, leaning over -- very slowly -- and retrieving ice-cap mushrooms from her purse. “Everything is awful,” Navarre repeated the Kensai’s words. He then repeated them again. He repeated them two more times and then stepped over to Quintessa. “I have a feeling, Rorin,” the man began, keeping his eyes on the changeling, “that I’m going to like it here.” Lionel shot the other Catalian a look as Amazing Adelbert Ape threw his arms wide and ushered his underlings to lower all their hands, sensing that their ill-timed murders were no longer upon them. “It’s the plants, you see.” He glanced down at the ground from a stained glass window quite like the one on the ceiling, squinting to see past the branches. “They’ve trapped us inside the temple for over two weeks now. We’re running out of food. It’s all we can do to get high and toss our naked bodies all over…” “'I get you,” Lionel interrupted, picking up a bottle of what looked like rum and drinking deeply from it. He wouldn’t have cared either way, but it seemed that not a single cultist regarded his beverage theft with contempt. “Why are they doing this to you? The plants, I mean. Are they here under orders from some other monster?” Lil Lilith Leopard snorted. “Please,” she purred. “We haven’t been able to leave this place since shortly after those damned Coreliant cultists,” she spat the word with disdain, “stole our prized piece. The plants were already en route best as we could tell, so I don’t think those pitiful, bread-eating monks had anything to do with it. But when Princely Pappy Plesiosaur stepped outside in an attempt to gauge the threat, she was eaten whole for her troubles.” Worldly Weimar Whale burst into a fit of tears in Princely Pappy’s honor. “Oh, quit it, you big lug; she was boring anyway.” Lilith rolled her eyes and regarded Quintessa anew. “So anyway, we’ve felt the tremors from that stone a few times since it was pilfered and every time we do the plants seem to grow more aggressive. At this point we’re beginning to worry that they’ll come through the windows and eat us all.”


Before two seconds had passed, Lil Lilith Leopard’s comment bore fruit. Every window shattered in frightful unison as the pagoda shook so much that everyone was caught unawares, tossed to the side like ragdolls unless they had the skill or means to avoid it. No sooner had the fallen recovered than the pagoda swayed in the opposite direction, and now it was swaying to and fro, and already one of the cultists was dead, his head struck against a portrait of himself like a melon. Amazing Adelbert Ape made a scream like a shriek, tossed his robe with wild abandon, and covered his ears as he began to run toward the stairs. But no sooner had he taken a single step than a giant vine broke through the shaking pagoda and opened wide, swallowing him whole. His body visibly fell down the vine’s humid interior like a snake’s dinner before vanishing from sight. More vines broke through now, and the quake grew fiercer by the moment, and Pretty Petey Platypus’ pretty face was ruined irreparably by the piercing of one of the carnivorous plants’ terrifying beaks before he was summarily consumed. Worldly Weimar Whale was unable to scram to any real extent, and he fell out of an open window and his corpse hit the dirt with a worldly thud. Lionel grabbed Quintessa’s hand to help support her, unaware whether or not it was himself who was to be supported, and the two began to plummet as the pagoda teetered to the left again but with his free hand Lionel clung to a bolted-down table to keep them steadied. Navarre, on the other hand, seemed to be doing surprisingly well for himself by hanging onto the open window on the ceiling for dear life.


Rorin didn’t seem surprised that Quintessa was very familiar with orgies. He did try not to picture her naked and focus on the task at pants- hand- on the task at hand. The cultists had turned out to be the harmless kind and instead it was the plants who were evil. What a twist. Rorin was about to suggest Lionel not drink what could easily be drugged rum before the whole place was tossed asunder and Rorin went to a knee. “By Arkhen’s light! It’s begun!” Rorin was trying to think of what sort of weapon he could use - a giant pair of shears? But it was almost too much shaking to think, and cultists were dying left and right. In an effort to reduce casualties, Rorin took a deep breath and threw himself onto whatever cultists were still around, erecting (ugh, poor choice of words) a holy dome of blue light to shield them with. “Keep your heads down- both of them!” He commanded as the plants continued assaulting their prey.


Quintessa munches on her magic mushroom after gleefully taking it from Lilith. The conversation becomes much more interesting to her after her mind had been expanded by the psychotropic substance but that would come a few second too late as the pagoda shakes from the force of a new quake. Everything else happened pretty quickly after that, especially as the mushroom kicked in. People where flung about, Triple-P was dead, and Lil Lilith Leopard, her current fixation, was in danger. The changeling scoops up Lilith quickly, her 5'8 (5'10 in her boots) frame large enough to easily support the smaller woman and keep her from falling to her death. As the floor disappears from under her feet, Quintessa is actually glad that Lionel is there to grab her free hand. As Lionel grabs the bolted table, Quintessa slams her heels into the wall to gain a small bit of grip as Lil Lilith clings to her. She tries to pull herself higher but with Lilith in her grasp she didn't have the strength. "Don't drop me," Quintessa warns Lionel as she glares at him. "I have an idea." She had Rorin to think for that. "Wal iâ!" The changeling shouts, creating a small shelf of ice that juts out of the wood below them to give them extra support and keep the three from falling. "We need to kill these stupid plants!" Quintessa reaffirms, letting Lionel's hand slip from hers as she falls to her platform. "Where- where is Master Kasyr?" Her mismatched eyes scan the room for the kensai. If anyone was at home in situations that failed massively it was him and she looked for his guidance during moments like this, even if it meant jumping onto the back of a murder-dragon.


Kasyr probably shouldn't be surprised at how adeptly Quintessa is navigating this situation. He's seen the shrines, after all, even if the insectoid one is a little weird and creepy. That said, her social graces in this situation are unfortunately not contagious, leaving the swordsman to fend for himself. It's only when Lionel avails himself to some liquor without further complications that Kasyr realizes that there remains an avenue forinuring himself to further indignities. Suffice to say, he wastes no time in striding over to pluck up the first thing that looks like a wine bottle, before he gives it a discerning sniff for good measure. Which is more or less how he ends up nearly braining himself in the face when the Pagoda lurches. The only thing that spares him is the still slick surfaces of his fingers, which see it hurling over his shoulders, even as he's knocked down onto his hands and knees. Which is a terrible thing to have happen to you when confronted with creatures that seemed to have such a keen connection to the ground- because one of those tendrils veers off from the wall and hurtles straight towards Kasyr. And really, he looks all but poised to say something, one finger lifted up as though to request some form of time-out. And then it dawns on him. Not the immediate peril of being smeared into fertilizer, mind you. "They don't have ears." If anyone had bothered to count the swords floating around the Kensai, they'd only ever have seen 13 at once, but in that moment there was only one adjacent to him. Because the other twelve had been sent hurtling clear of their sheathes and into that oncoming mass of vegetation in a precise and deadly display of choreography that left it a few meters short of the mark when it came to the Kensai. "I can't banter at them." The remaining sword Kasyr takes hold of, using it at once to tether himself to the location in the midst of the fray, and rise back to his feet. Lionel is giving a sidelong glance about this point, if only so he can inquire, "Is this cheating? I mean, since warrior guild business? Or?" He ducks as a chair wings by his head with the teetering of the pagoda.


Lionel gave Kasyr a wide shrug before twirling gracefully onto the sheet of ice beneath him. “Cheat away,” he replied, snapping his fingers at the ceiling-dangling Navarre. “Hey.” Navarre lifted a brow as the pagoda continued to hurl and deadly vines continued to consume the flesh of their victims. Navarre was, evidently, entranced by Kasyr’s display of power -- the Kensai had had precious little of it by comparison when last they’d fought together -- but he was capable of diverting his attention for long enough to acknowledge the former prince of their mutual fallen country. “Hey,” Navarre said back blankly while a corpse went flying between them and out the window. “Give me your sword,” Lionel said. “Huh? Uh, sure. Give it back, will you?” Lionel offered up little more than a second shrug and evaded a string of freshly-grated killer vegetable courtesy of Kasyr. He caught the sword that Navarre dropped his way, tapped the blade together with his katana for luck, and took off across the ice in a sprint. “If this doesn’t work, one of you apologize to Penelope Halifax for me,” was all he said before leaping onto one of the other vines and stabbing into it with the tips of his swords. The tentacle-like vine swung upward as Lionel had predicted it would, and its accompanying beak-like mouth came swirling in with a vengeance, but the Catalian was already sliding down the vine, carving steel to separate it all the way down. He disappeared out the window, though the plant shrieked in pain as he continued his slide, ripping it apart inch by inch until it exploded into a gross, gooey, purplish substance. Holding onto what remained of the vine at the last possible second in order to cushion his fall, Lionel zigzagged in-between attacking vines, taking the pressure off of Rorin and Quintessa whilst they saved the remaining cultists. One of the monsters’ beaks clipped the man in the shoulder, drawing blood, but his painful shout was predicated by a swift diagonal slash. As Kasyr and the others took care of their foes’ skyward limbs, Lionel handled what awaited him down below. He carved through them one by one, narrowly avoiding poisonous spit from a pair that lunged at him in careful unison. At last the ground stopped quaking, though at this point the damage was done -- a chasm had widened like a maw in several places, and it was a very long way down, indeed. Something seemed to screech from the bottom, but Lionel, covered in sweat and with his black shirt torn and a gash on his shoulder, looked down from the edge of the earth and saw nothing but far-off dirt punctuating the abyss. However it was that his allies handled the remainder of the monstrous flora, a pensive safety had returned to them now, and the plants were no more. Picking up another bottle of liquor, which had miraculously survived its toss, he popped the cork with his mouth and took a swig, waiting for the survivors to come downstairs and join him in his ample bewilderment.


Rorin released the dome and carved off a few remaining tentacle vines as the attacks subsided and everything was done. He hoped he saved a majority fi the cultists but he had no idea how many there really were. Looking around Rorin sighed and wiped himself off. Man but these cultists were oily and then the vines were gooey and man, screw all that. Not really though. Not in the way they’d want him too. Eventually he joined Lionel outside. “So, tunnels again huh?” At least there’s weren’t any spiders this time. There weren’t going to be spider plants, right?


Quintessa was relatively safe from her perch above the carnage but the hex blade didn't want to be safe. "Stay here," Quintessa commands Lilith as she sets her down and drops into the fray. The strange girls voice ringing out in "Streic dân!" or "Rhuban tân!" would signify her arrival as she draws her katana, the fires of her magic shriveling up any rogue vines or plants the others had missed. When the scuffle was over, Quintessa searched for the others, the flesh on her hands and arms still sizzling and burning from the leftover plant-acid and poisonous spit that she had failed to dodge. If not for her hag-borne constitution, that poison and acid might actually had been a dire threat to her, but right now she casually knocks it from her form as she exits the ruins of the pagoda in time to hear 'spider plants'. "Huh?" She asks, inserting herself between them, "Spider plants? Is that what lives in those tunnels?" Quintessa doesn't know but she seems willing to rush into one without thinking about it. Her mismatched eyes flicker over to the bottle of rum in Lionel's hands and she reaches out for it, "Don't be a hog, pass it over." The changeling's pupils were still dilated but she wanted to keep this party going.


Kasyr’s expression is nigh inscrutable in the aftermath, and only partly because of the coating of purplish goo that had stained his clothes and face. No, as the last of the tendrils fell to the ground in tattered pieces, the swordsman was lamenting the near certainty that all the bottles of wine had been demolished during the disaster. "Too sober for th- oh. Right." It's an awkward afterthought, but the Kensais swords do draw themselves out from the vegetable-y resting places they'd found, if only to align themselves beneath Quinton to provide a path downwards from where he was dangling, "Sorry!" That done, he'd offer the room a cursory glance, and then start to make his way after his student and the oth- er, "Oh gods. I'm his subordinate." His left hand rakes out some of the plant slop from his hair, heedless of the tingling that accompanies the motion. it also helps to restore a smidgen of his dignity, in time for him to reach the ominous looking pit. "Good job on the actually saving people thing, by the by." There's a nod afforded to Quintessa, and Rorin- "Since they aren't the 'iin need of stabbing' variant." It's a good distinction, the Kensai finds- but it's an awkward place to leave things off at, so the swordsman waits for a few more moments, alternating between scrutinizing the pit, and checking up on Quintons progress. Partly, because the moment Kasyr feels it's safe, he's going to take back one of tose blades. Purely for academic reasons, mind. In the, imbuing the blade with pyric energy and then dropping it over the edge and into the pit to see how long until he loses sight of the blade, or hears a 'Thunk'. "You know, I've never actually checked to see how far I can be from these."


Lionel wiped his face with his hands to free himself of sweat and crouched down beside the abyss. Kasyr’s sword fell for a very long time, and a ‘thunk’ was never heard. “By all means.” He handed Quintessa the rum. Surviving cultists were gathering now, mourning their dead. For all their joyful sense of excess, in the end they’d proven to possess no greater malice than Coreliant’s monks. They were people, with feelings, and their connection to the ongoing mystery of the quakes was tenuous at best. “I’m sorry,” he told Cheeky Chevy Chimp. True to his nomenclature, Chevy dismissed Lionel’s apology most cheekily. “It’s a’right, chap. Not your fault. Were it not for this lad over here,” Chevy gestured to Rorin, “I’d have joined poor Adelbert and Weimar and the rest of our fallen.” Lionel nodded. “True enough.” Chevy wrapped his arm around his beau Candid Clarence’s and stepped off to rejoin the others. Lilith blushed and gave Quintessa a kiss as soon as the changeling was finished with her rum swig, which didn’t surprise Lionel in the least. As Quinton Navarre tiptoed down Kasyr’s path of swords, he gave his Kensai friend a chin-up show of appreciation and tapped Lionel on the shoulder. “Ow!” Navarre covered his mouth in shock, only now beginning to realize that his companion had been wounded. “I swear I didn’t know. But also. Can I have my sword back?” Lionel grimaced -- and then he smirked and handed him back his blade.


“Alright,” the commander said after a momentary pause. “This mission wasn’t entirely a bust. For one thing, we were here to save some eclectic people from their eclectic end.” He traipsed over to the corpse of one of the plant monsters and pulled out a chunk of its remains, wincing derisively as he did so. “For another, we know for a fact that these weird-ass plants are connected somehow to the quakes. And, by proxy, the stones and their runes. Plus, we’ve got a big ol’ chasm now, and in the Warrior’s Guild, we’ve learned to treat big ol’ chasms as inevitable... “ He searched for the word. “...Dungeons. So here’s what I’d like for us to do. Quintessa, will you escort the cultists to safety? You know them best, after all.” He tried not to think about that too heavily. “Afterward, we could really use your academic acumen. If you’d be so kind as to jot down the runes on our stolen stone up in Frostmaw,” he kept his voice lower for that part to avoid glares like daggers from the cultists, “I’ll get you clearance to the library up there and you can compare notes with whatever you find in Vailkrin’s. We need information on who built these things and what they want. Especially since a couple of elven freaks tried to kill us for them just the other day.” Turning to Rorin now, Lionel continued doling out orders. “Return to Frostmaw with me -- we’ll share the road with whomever else tags along. You need to acquaint me with these undead hordes up yonder, anyway, and Quintessa can take care of herself but backup is backup and the route to the sacred library is fraught with peril even without a bunch of zombies dancing around like they own the place.” Now to Navarre. “Let those monks know the coast is as clear as a coast can conceivably be given the circumstances.” Finally, to Kasyr. He handed the Kensai a silver torc emblazoned with the image of a falcon. “A few weeks ago, you might have still tried to stab me in an alley. As of this moment, I’m not entirely sure you won’t still try, but then again, your protege over there joined the team shortly after an assassination attempt on yours truly. So take this. And welcome to the Warrior’s Guild.” He scanned the battlefield. “We’ll label this your entry spar.”


Kasyr said to Lionel, "It would have been a bar. It's almost always a bar."


Rorin tried to think of the name those one elves had said before turning into ash and blowing away in the wind, but he was coming up short. “Our real enemies are some kind of death cult,” he wagered, “and they’re elves. That’s a start. I’ll head up with you, but first I have to pay my respects.” He headed back towards the Delisha cultists and assembled them to speak quietly, mentioning he could lead them all in a very respectful and non judgmental prayer. After that was done he’d gladly accompany Lionel wherever he wished to go. Hopefully somewhere with showers.


Quintessa grins when Lilith kisses her and she grabs the woman by the hip as she passes the rum to the next in line, which she assumed was Kasyr. "Here, not quite a bar but it'll get you started." The hex blade says to her master before her mismatched eyes find Lionel again. "Oh, of course. Since you want me to return to Vailkrin I'll bring the cultists with me." Quintessa looks over her shoulder and calls back to them, "Hey guys, sorry I couldn't save Triple-P but I can save this party. You all are coming with me to House Dragana." The cultist give a mixed response but Lilith at least seems pleased. "Bring the ice-cap mushrooms." The changeling says to her before returning her attention to her guildmates. "Congrats, Master," she says to Kasyr as the silver torc is passed to him, "I was surprised you weren't already in the Guild. You're the best swordsman ever!" Quintessa gives him a cheeky smirk before she adds, "You should come with us. We can raid Larewen's stash again for old times sake." After her little temptation was offered she'd look at Navarre and ask, "Who is this, again? I've never seen this guy before." Finally, to Rorin she informs him with the name of the god-thing these bad cultists were worshiping. "Hallowed Xicotl, First and Only. Underworld’s Champion. Singular Lord Beneath the Earth. Rise, Xicotl, and Claim Also The Surface World and the Skies Above. We Are Yours. All Are Yours." I remember it very well." Quintessa might have already copied the runes down and been studying them without having been asked. "After I compare them to what I find in Vailkrin I'll return to Xalious to compare there too. If anyone needs to find me, that's where I'll be." Having said her bit, Quintessa Dragan would head off to her manor with her Delishian cultist, eager to finish hosting their debauched party into the night with or without Kasyr.


Kasyr accepts the torc, though given that he's just received some rum as well, he finds it rather prudent to place it in his pocket. Rorin's acknowledgement of the blight that is death Cultists earns an approving nod, "This guy gets it." That aside, however- he's content enough to offer Navarre a proper introduction, "Quinton Navarrre, he was ...my captain, fo sorts? When i was fresh off the boat here, enfin." Quietly, the swordsman adds, "Back when I couldn't abide the thought of killing anyone." So. Forever ago. "Good guy. Et, er, as for the guild. I just, never really thought about it, enfin." Kasyr pauses for a moment, almost waiting to see if there's anything else pending, before he decides that this seems like one of those things you probably shouldn't pass up on, "You know, it has been a while since we last dipped into her stash. May as well celebrate a job well done." Congratulations, Quintessa. Temptation succeeded.


Everyone had their orders now, and Lionel’s own work would easily rival theirs. It was back to Frostmaw now, and then to rendezvous with the others and put together a next course of action. The chunk of plant flesh safely stored in his satchel he would bring to Penelope; if anyone he knew could tell him more about the wicked creature, it was she. Lionel waited quietly beside Rorin as his friend paid respects to those who were lost here today. The other Catalian shuffled over to Quintessa in order to join Kasyr in addressing her question, shaking her hand in the meanwhile. “I’m Quinton. Quinton Navarre. Though I’ve been debating a name change of late. Something about my first name just feels inexplicably, wall-breakingly redundant.” Lionel eyed Quinton, unsure what the man could possibly have meant by that. Once the cultists had departed with Lady Dragana, and Navarre had said his farewells before beginning his solitary march back to Coreliant’s shrine, Lionel patted Rorin on the shoulder. “Let’s grab supper on the way. I know a salad joint that’s simply to die for.”


The elves were dressed entirely unlike the villainous assassins whom Lionel, Quintessa, and Rorin had encountered at guild headquarters a few days past. Numbering seven, these were tribal elves, noble and proud, their faces painted in a traditional style and their garb easily identifiable as befitting warriors and scouts. Their skin was tanned and their arms were chiseled. Their legs were long, even for elves, fit for strides through the depths of the Southern Sage. They watched as groups went their separate ways, lurking amongst shrubbery with their bows and arrows and spears. When all the intruders had disappeared, they crept out from the shadows and surveyed the carnage left in their wake. “I can no longer accept this,” one of the males spoke with a voice as bitter as it was solemn. “The desecration will end.” There was a pause as the other elves peered down at the chasm and collected bits of plant flesh and cultist artifacts. A female elf tilted her slender neck toward him. “What will you do?” The male elf glowered to the west, where cursed trees tainted the forest and criminals roamed free. The setting sun cast its face in a fuchsia fury. “The desecration will end,” he repeated.