RP:Xicotl Frostmaw Battle - The Decoys

Part of the Dissonance Theory Arc

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: As the Strike Team (Beldur/Kailani and Krice/Kreekitaka get up close and personal with Xicotl in Frostmaw, the Decoy Team (Kasyr, Iintahquohae, Mathollak, and Khitti) do their best to distract the majority of Xicotl's thrall horde from that main battle.

Also RIP Mathollak's horse, Horse III.

Northern Gate, Frostmaw

Kasyr || Not so long ago, the Warriors Guild Hold-Out team went over their final debriefing. And, hypothetically, their first- given the manner this team had been formed. After all, the holdout group hadn't been formed by careful deliberation, or an evaluation of the abilities of those present. Rather- it was by virtue of the Kensai managing to get ahold of those few who hadn't immediately ventured off to Frostmaw in order to provide relief, to scout, or bring the battle to the Belligerent Bush. "Well. That happened. Which means it falls to us to do our best and ensure they aren't overrun. We have the means, at least, to pull it's forces towards us- I do believe, so our job is simply to survive, and whittle away at it's forces as much as possible." And maybe take the convenient pot shot if the opportunity presents itself. "Thankfully, we have a defensible location in Fort Frostmaw, so we can establish a base there, possibly make contact with any survivors, or existing infrastructure insofar as leadership. ...If anyone has any last minute preparations, or addendums, now's the time." And the kensai means that- given the very moment the others join him at the warrior Guilds courtyard, they'll find themself ensnared in a miasma of caligninous energy- a brief solidification of his vampiric essence, conjured up solely so that when he allows himself to be wreathed and lightning and begin the journey to Frostmaw, the others will be pulled along, as well. An expeditious option, but one that affords the group a rather bleak punchline. For even as that shell of midnight energy cracks, and the group is deposited neatly before the Northern Gates of Fort Frostmaw- the sight they behold is catastrophic. Whole streets, buildings and all, have slid into the earth, consumed by a gaping chasm which only seems to expand. Around them, the naked, frostbitten form of thralls rush over slick pathways- tearing apart the isolated, only to drag the fresh slain corpses to the nearest pit- piling them amidst the tangled roots of the gargantuan tree which lurks within the center of the crater. Pockets of resistance still exist, armoured guards putting giant weapons to task against the onslaught of interlopers- but the losses are terrible, coating the ground in a thick carpet of blood and ichor.

Iintahquohae heard and felt a whole mess of rumbling from her cabin out east. As much as she'd love to continue her hermit-like behavior and just stay out of sight as much as she could, curiosity gets the better of her, and the seamstress is on the move. Doubly so, when she catches a scent she hasn't sniffed in ages. Two scents. Ozone and...Is that..? Her recently acquired vulpine ears perk up, hidden previously beneath the mass of formerly black and now silvery-grey curls, in search for voices. Particularly one. And it seems like she's walked in on a whole mess of trouble, by the looks. But there he is in the thick of it, and she can't help remembering an old memory of Vailkrin when she was still human swinging around a bar stool (or was it a chair?), and her fortunate (or unfortunate) decision to take a walk somewhere dangerous. Whatever those thralls are...Well. The seamstress curls her hands into fists and heaves a breath to concentrate, and throws two sharp punches into the nearest stone. Her fists -sink- into the stone, and after flexing and curling her fingers within that now malleable rock, Iintahquohae twists her wrists outward, carving a pair of massive cylinder stone 'gloves' that her hands are embedded in out of the wall to start swinging at thralls. She'll ask questions later. Clad in her usual – black leggings, black jacket, grey tank beneath it, the sesamstress looks just the same as always if you ignore new ears and new tail. She crushes a thrall's head between her stone fists before shouting over the noise toward her sire. “You don't smell good enough to eat anymore.”

Mathollak had ample time to prepare himself since the others were coming from a fair distance. Of course, everything he needed was already here…It’s also very important to get adequate sleep before a fight. So he does, before stopping by Black Bear’s kitchen to pick some cuts of dinosaur he’d be taking on the road. Later, he arrives in the courtyard armed and armored, mounted upon a dun stallion with its hair dyed red. “Whoa am I last? That can’t be right,” he exclaims. “That Black Bear is so long winded…anyway why are we meeting here?”Kasyr starts doing some kind of magic. “Bro…” he murmurs as Kasyr starts to surround himself and others with a strange esoteric answer, and he’s brought eventually to the end of times. It came early. “What the…” his eyes wide with confusion and horror at the sight of the chasm and the chaos crawling out of it. For a moment, he’s flat-footed. His horse however is much more quick-witted, “Horse,” he calls to it as it bucks and turns on two legs. “Horse! Stoppit Horse!” In a panic, it runs into the fort, away from the danger. Not an ideal start.

Khitti || It had been quite some time since Khitti had seen Frostmaw in any state of disrepair. Things seemed to have calmed down after the Warrior’s Guild moved their headquarters to Venturil, but things never stayed nice for long in Lithrydel. She’d brought with her the swords Embershard and Sol, the latter of which a certain seamstress had helped create, as well as adorned herself in one of her black silk two-piece combat dresses (which had also been created by Iintahquohae), the tiny plates of true steel sandwiched between the fabric as light as and stronger than the fabric itself. And while she had her black satchel with her, full of potions and elixirs and her planisphere, the redhead also carried with her a glass containment cube, but for the moment, nothing could be seen within, beyond some sort of blackish-green substance. She kept the lid on tight and her grip on it even tighter as Kasyr transported them from Venturil to Frostmaw. Her lips were pressed into a grim line, the redhead silent for the duration of the trip.

Khitti || And when they got there, she set the cube on the ground and removed the lid from it, releasing the putrid scent that had been boxed within. Ice crystals gathered along her hand and the lower part of her arm like a long opera glove, keeping her flesh safe from the ooze as she plunged her hand into the cube. She extracted the severed head of Xicotl’s lieutenant Naphtali from the glass box, the mangled flesh where the neck had been letting loose a seemingly unending stream of that same dark green goo, the very same dripping from the girl’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears--it had even tainted the higher up thrall’s blonde hair and turned it green and oily. “Oh, Xicotl, you giant disgusting cabbage roll! I have something of yours! It would appear your lieutenants got a little overzealous and… lost their head? I’m afraid the Maw got her brother, but Naphtali here has missed you!” Her tone was mocking and her words loud for all to hear as she tried to get the cabbage’s attention. Shadow tendrils seeped from Khitti’s fingertips and latched themselves onto Naphtali’s head, turning the girl into a sort of marionette as Khitti pretended to be her. “Oh, no! Help me, Lord Xicotl! Please!” The redhead continued to make a mockery of the thrall’s head and was clearly getting a lot of enjoyment out of it.

Kasyr is getting ready to hail one of the nearby guards still in the fray when a horrific gurgling noise emanates through the air- a prelude to unnatural site of a conquering crab man growing to a colossal size in order to, assumably, wrassle a tree. "...Is he orange?" A pause, and the Kensai finds himself asking the more important question, "Is he on fire?" It's enough that the appearance of an equally enormous dragon from the crater hurling a mass of Frostmaw back at him seems comparitively -normal-. Especially when he had to take into consideration that Mathollak was galloping headlong into the fort, Khitti was corpse jockeying one of the twins from the debriefing, and Inks was...well, "That's a relief." A stark contrast to the cacophony that echoes out in response to the redheads challenge. The shrill cry raises in pitch, echoing from the craters depths, from within the shattered homes of Frostmaw, and even the closed confines of the fort- a dismal wail that's only drowned out when the thunderous footfall of feet overtakes it. In a singular instance, the majority of those thralls within Frostmaw are given a singular purpose. To exterminate those gathered, and to reclaim that fragment of their master. Fresh fissures form within the ground, giving way to mobs of tendril infested visages- the roads growing so swiftly clogged with bodies that the only available paths is under -or- through. "I think it worked." Maybe a bit too well, given that the Kensais next act is to abruptly turn on his heel, and moves to sweep by Khitti- one arm moving out in order to try and scoop around her waist so he can heft her towards the more defensible section of the fortress, without the need for her to stop casting. Really, the Kensai's just intending on his revenant speed on full display in this instance, crossing the whole of the courtyard to the fortresses doors so he can gain an adequate amount of distance. "Stitch. Take Cover." Whether or not she hears is answer is a tricky question- because even as the words leave Kasyrs mouth- a second boom emanates from the city center, as Frostmaw falls further into the chasm. Worse, still, is the fact that were any of them going to rely on an arcane shortcut to communicate, it'd promptly cut out- replaced instead by a sickening grating feeling within their head, courtesy of the pulse of energy that washes over the city. A pulse that sees the last of the resident defenders in the courtyard setting their weapons aside and allowing the thralls to tear them limb from limb. Still, it removes the final obstacle to the equation- because with distance, there's only one thing left for the Kensai to do. With a hiss, he sets his will towards summonong as many spiritual swords as he possibly can- the air behind him riddled with so many metallic fractures that for a brief second, ti might be mistaken for a starlit sky. That is, until the swords -finish- coalescing into existence, and promptly begin to bombard the area in a hail of metal. "Stupid Brute Force works. I can do that, enfin. And that's- MATH, Where are you?"

Iintahquohae ;; Maybe asking questions -now- might be wise, but between the chasm and the sound of a panicked horse and a glimpse of Khitti puppeteering a head of cabbage? or just a head, she isn't sure, Iintahquohae doesn't have much time to assess what in the world is going on. She hears her old nickname and grins, and even in the chaos she gets the gist of the Kensai's command. Not like she could disobey it anyway if she tried, so carves a path for herself and perhaps the others if they're near, though Mathollak and Khitti she's both certain can hold their own, toward a demolished building whose roof is still surprisingly intact. Between thrown punches and careless shoves of debris and thrall alike, she eventually makes her way to the roof and beneath it is where the seamstress dives for cover, lingering near a gap of splintered wood siding that functions as a window for her to watch for the others. If any of them happened to follow her underneath the ruined structure, now she'll ask at least one question. “The hell is going on?” Shouted over the cacophany of sound and rain of blades, some of which embed themselves with a series of horrible thunks into the roof overhead. Her hands captured within their stone gloves flex and stone fractures like a pair of cracked eggshells, crumbling into pieces to free her hands. She wipes dust and pebbles from her hands along her leggings, and waits for an instruction from her sire or some general indicator that she can head back out.

Mathollak :: Heralded by the smell of acrid smoke, answers Kasyr wordlessly, or more accurately with words he probably can’t understand. Bursting through the doors of the fort a changed man riding a monster. Smoke and cinders billow from the gashes carved into the back of his armor by Leoxander’s monstrous form, but seem desperately to cling to him somehow. Like an aura. Horse has changed with him, his barding grows jagged and sharp, embedding itself into its flesh and seeming to burn it away down to bare muscle and sinew. The Dark Mother’s boons were often a deadly poison to the uninitiated, and by battle or by burning out, Horse would die. But its cowardice has been replaced by madness and hunger, enough to match the circumstances, almost. Together they dash to meet the rapidly growing percussion of thundering frost giants, stomping through ice and snow and leaving steaming puddles in their wake. He passes Khitti and Kasyr, and hardly seems to notice them running in the opposite direction. Which is unfortunate, as he’s dashing into some cutting rain without an umbrella. As the fissures widen, Mathollak raises the Piecemaker over his head and leans over, swinging it back and forth alongside his horse as needed to cleave or crush through the clawing hands or poking heads that try to breach the ground. And then abruptly, his horse falls, and Mathollak is sent flying and tumbling The poor creature probably ran fifteen steps without noticing it was impaled by one of Kasyr’s swords. When Mathollak pushes Horse off him, it’s already dead. But now he had an umbrella, and he holds Horse above his head to catch the storm of swords, before throwing the corpse at a similarly pincushioned giant. It smacks the thrall in the chest and sticks to it like a dart, knocking it back into the hole it just crawled out of.

Khitti || The head of Xicotl’s lieutenant erupted into shadowflames, the grim line that had once been planted on Khitti’s lips now a sinister grin as Kasyr pulled her away from where she’d been standing and moved her elsewhere. So often had she done similarly to others when she’d been a vampire, that she didn’t even blink when the revenant did so. The head turned to ash and sprinkled along the ground in Kasyr’s wake, leaving Khitti to unsheathe her swords and start her own hacking and slashing of the thralls. And despite the horde and the fighting and the near total destruction of Frostmaw and the possible apocalypse if this whole thing didn’t turn out well, things seemed alright for a time. It seemed alright… until slightly more advanced thralls lurched into view. Some were massive, tank-like monstrosities that cracked the very ground beneath it as they headed towards the makeshift group; others lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right time to jump onto an unsuspecting guild member and jockey them about into the massive ones; and even more still were big and bloated that would release spores once they exploded and others hacked up and spit that disgusting smelling blackish-green ooze at the ground like a sort of acid -- clearly, Xicotl had upped the creation of its thralls. “Hmm. This seems… bad.” Still hacking away, the gears turned in the redhead’s mind, going over ways to deal with the mess she’d created for them. Only a moment later, would she start to open up massive portals all around the ground amongst the horde. “Say hello to those Gloomglut for me,” she said, as many of them, both basic and advanced thrall alike, fell through the portals only to eventually get gobbled up by the massive cannibalistic creatures called the Gloomglut that lay on the other side in the Shadow Plane.

Kasyr s' ears are ringing, the sound of steel colliding with stone an almost omnipresent Din- whose sole competition comes from the distance collision of gargantuan forms. Still, he tries to find a response, though witticisms fail him, "Demi-God Problems. What's new?" The evolution of their antagonists is a decisive issue- and yet, the Kensai can take some solace in his sustained assault- if only because every new blade buried into the turf provides an additional impediment. And yet, the sheer mindless persistence of their advance remains a problem- for the tide of bodies gradually creeps forward all the same- led by particularly bulky and malformed Frost Giant thralls. In fact, one of them is in the process of reaching over to Mathollak to pluck away at his equine bulwark- though, it's meddling won't last too long, given the ground abruptly vanishes beneath it. All over the field, the ground betrays the earthen entities- leaving them with the choice between the Dismal shadow plane, the iron rain, or some gory combination of the two. "Mathollak- You better pray -Real- Hard to Delisha." Mostly, because the Kensai's dashing forward- a moving sanctuary amidst the swords, seemingly bent on providing salvation to the warrior Guild's Gopher. Seeming being the operative word, because when Revenant Lord's fingers take hold of the death knight, they don't do so with the intention of lifting him to his feet. Rather, the man is poised to be hefted above the Kensai's head, amidst a threatening looking crackle of lightning. "May Daedria bless this moment, since it will no doubt be the most dramatic in your life." All around the pair, the sword rain would abate- ceding some of them gained ground as that energy is further intensified into the Death Knight's body. -Contained- within it to a point of near bursting. And then violently released.

Kasyr || Even as a wave of sickening, malefic energy washes over the courtyard, sending dread visions of a world lost into the minds of those present, Mathollak would be hurtling through the air- a living missile propelled forward at lightning speeds, all so it can impart a divinely augmented man into Xicotl's exposed core. And, ideally- through it. Hopefully, that would be enough to interrupt the oppressive energy that seeps over the city, for even in his augmented state- some element of unnatural despair begins to burgeon. Sickly memories which begin to overlap with the images of the oncoming thrall, and which make those portals leading to the Gloomgut look promising.

Iintahquohae can't decide if she actually wants context or not for what's happening. Whatever this was, it was disturbing her far-too-long mourning period and forced her to go outside. ...And socialize. Does this count as socializing? Her nostrils catch the distinct whiff of horse blood somewhere, out there, along with frost giant's blood. That once near-endless feeling of hunger isn't so strong, now. Probably because the serpent tattoo that once encircled her throat is hidden away beneath curls behind a human ear. ...Or the space where her human ear once was? Did the seamstress have two pairs of ears? This was a detail that needed to be sussed out, but no time. Demi-God Problems. Right. She nods, and figures it should be fine to wander back out from under her roof hiding place and rejoin the chaos. Unfortunately, some sort of giant version of those smaller thralls forces its way through already demolished siding attached to the far end of the roof she's claimed as a hiding place. Probably shouldn't have dropped her 'gloves' so soon. Rarely ever one to back down from something bigger and nasty-looking to fight, she gets back to her feet, trailing an ungloved hand across the stone debris on the ground while she does so, magic at work in those dye-stained fingertips to make that stone malleable, and to coax out a hefty, imperfectly shaped club of sorts. Shame she didn't have her bat. One ear twitches, swiveling toward the direction of something – perhaps several somethings, exploding in the chasm and chaos outside. So it's a walking sack of gross. Great. Reminds her of some monster she managed to survive in Vailkrin's sewers, so long ago. Hopefully she comes out this time without a broken leg. Peeking her head outside of the cover of the roof, the seamstress attempts to assess. Khitti's portals to somewhere unknown to her are vacuuming up their problem. Excellent. Kasyr and Math are...Well, they're solving problems. She'll take the walking bag of gross that's lumbering its way toward her beneath that roof and count that as helping to Solve The Problem. Far too large stone-club hefted in her hands with a firm grip, the seamstress dashes forward, takes a swing at the thing's middle to puncture it and awaits the shower of gross that she'll most likely end up caked in.

Mathollak was stomping the battlefield swinging his battleaxe with reckless aandon, lopping off the reaching arm of an infected giant, before coming back around and slamming the hammer side of his weapon head into a giant knee. Cracks thundered all the way up to its hip, then it fell like a heavy tree. After its head hits the ground, Mathollak came down from a high jump andcrushed its head with his boots. Nearly breathless now, but he grabs the giant corpse by its arm, adjusts his grip, and drags it two steps before hurling it into a ravenously approaching squad of monsters. But they approach from all sides and he falls to his knees exhausted. As they bare down on him, he slides the liver of one of the world’s first kings out of a pocket. As he crushes the tyrannosaurus liver over his head, gore drips down his face and he chants unintelligible gibberish to his mother. Hopefully, she would impart the power of the ancient tyrant’s bloodline to him, and he’d survive the knaves that rushed forth to take his limbs off. But karma takes him instead, in the form of a revenant vampire.

Mathollak appears to understand some aspect of what Kasyr says…or maybe not , because he smiles. He slaps Kasyr on the shoulder, chuckling in an unnaturally monstrous voice and muttering the same dead language, and then suddenly? He’s gone. His axe head falls to the ground and teeters on its head Miraculously, through Kasyr’s blessing he’s able to perceive what’s comig. Doom. But not for him. A massive fleshy core, a tumor charred and smoking, trembles before the imminent missile coing at it faster than most could even see. Mathollak’s got just enough time to raise his clawed and chitinous hands in front of his manic toothy grin before he touches Xicotl. His gnarled fingers gouge into the blackened exterior like it was paper. But he digs deeper, shredding the cabbage’s guts into slaw, until he explodes out of the other side like the eruption from a volcano. Accompanied by a hail of plant matter and mulch, Mathollak continues flying through the air and turns to admire the wreckage. A beat of silence as pieces of its core continue to rain from the heavens and dribble out of either end of its newest hole. A second later, Mathollak’s Piecemakerthumps the snow.

Khitti || The portals would close and open up in different areas, making a ‘bamf’ sound as a way to alert Kasyr, Math, and Inks of possible impending doom. Khitti continued hacking and slashing away, of course, but she’s soon deterred by this thanks to the sight of Kasyr turning Mathollak, Delisha’s Axe of Love, into a big love rocket. “I guess that means we should start the explosions now…” She resheathed her swords and let out a heavy sigh, doing her best to clear her mind for the moment, letting the vampires take the brunt of the attacks. Putting both hands together in front of her, sparks began to form as both dark and light magicks were conjured up. The two collided with one another, the opposite forces continuing to oppose as Khitti created massive swirling orbs of the two before chucking them, one after the other, into the horde, letting them explode where they may. While Inks had not witnessed the destructive force of those orbs, Kasyr certainly had, during their fight with Haladavar, the explosion having been enough to rend the Ossian Order’s leader into many pieces. These orbs were on a much smaller scale, of course, but they still packed a hell of a punch.

Kasyr s' brief mental drift abruptly ends when Mathollak impacts into the core, leaving the Kensai with a spare moment to admire the plant entrail spread trailing in Mathollaks wake. Also the fact that his form is basically receding over the Horizon. "...You know- I wonder if I could have imbued him to slingshot -back-?" Though, that perhaps would have been a tragic experiment, given the rather abrupt manner in which the almost tumour-like bulge of plant tissue is rapidly engulfed in bark and vines- dissapearing within rapidly formed foliage and ultimately plunged out of site. Which is to say, it's distracting enough- that he doesn't clue in to the fact that Inks popped a particularily juicy thrall until it's goey chunks are littering one half of his coat. "..." It's this observation that turns the kensais attention back to the field at hand- and also to the fact that he has a small slew of thralls biting, scraping and pulling at his jacket, all to no avail. With a sigh, he begins marching over forward, rather intentionally stopping at the perimeter of one of Khitti's blasts in order to essentially knock away his unlocky lodgers from the shockwave. It's a sloppy solution, but one he gets the luxury of from being a vampire. Much in the same vein that he gets the luxury of continuing to stride over towards one of the fortresses doors- if only so he can drive a fist through the midst of it- impart a bit of his condensed power into it, and then wrench it clear of it's moorings whole sale. "Apres vous- It's still standing, so we should regroup."And provided they follow- he's going to plant the door right back in place and hold it until they can figure out -something-. "If you have an ice spell- that'd be appreciated."