RP:Xicotl Frostmaw Battle - Uprooting the Enemy

Summary: The last stand against Xicotl concludes. At Kasyr’s behest, most members of the Warriors' Guild rush underground into the heart of the wooded creature to tackle the pseudo-deity head-on. While there, they realize the true power of a primordial firsthand, and several sacrifices are made by Lithrydel’s most powerful warriors in order to finish the monster once and for all. Khitti remains behind on the surface to ensure that the group will have a safe passage, only to be confronted by a different enemy altogether: the first of several undead creations Quintessa has made while hostage of Alithyk Caluss, eager to punish those involved in the failed undead tree conversion.

Walled Courtyard

Passing through the impressive North Gate or standing upon the threshold of Frostmaw Fort, the courtyard sprawls out before you, securely fenced in by the mighty wall. High above upon the wall, soldiers march and sentries stand guard, ever watchful of Frostmaw city's borders and those that move throughout the fort. With the knowledge that sharped eyed archers oversee activity, one can move through the courtyard upon a stone-paved pathway, each piece handcarved with intricate, tribal designs beloved of Frostmawians. Bordering the path are grounds that should be nothing more than packed earth and snow, yet it appears to be a lawn of finely trimmed grass, of all things. How is such a thing growing in these harsh climes? Whatever the sorcery behind it, grass dominates this courtyard, a rare splash of color so far North, and dotted with statues of various famous warriors of lore. Lining the pathway are lengthy, tiered constructs of stone and ice: benches, you realize, cunningly wrought to provide seating for races of any height. Southward lies the gates to depart this area, well-guarded to prevent the ill-intentioned from fleeing. While northward looms Frostmaw Fort, a behemoth construct of stone, wood, and ice, riddled with battlements, towers, and a myriad of deadly defenses. As if the walls, mounted, giant crossbows, and guards were not daunting enough, to the east and west lie the courtyards of the Titan Sentinels, their earthen and frozen heads visible over the walls. The City of War seems to have earned its title.

Kasyr is neatly seated on a pile of dismembered thralls, seemingly oblivious to the uncanny manner in which the blood seems to be trailing upwards and pooling around the folds of his coat. At his side, is an empty carton of smokes, the final bent cigarette poking out from between his lips. "Well- I suppose they've been given enough time to recover. ...Right?" He can't actually be sure if Khitti's lingering nearby- given her capacity to create 'shortcuts', but he poses the question, anyways. Rhetorically- because it's at that juncture that his left arm lifts up and points at the sky. Without another second's notice, a ghastly torrent of miasma streams out from the vampiric lord's form, billowing up into the sky in order to deepen the already pronounced shadows about the City of War. And yet, however bleak that display might be- it likely can't prepare any of the onlookers for what ensues. Specifically, for when that mass of dark energy abruptly contracts into a rather distinct looking mimicry of a pointing finger- neatly aimed at Fort Frostmaw, and sloppy looking scrawl. 'Over Here, Warriors. We're going on a Field Trip. ~Kas' . Once that particular manifestation has been given time to linger, the swordsman simply stops focusing on it- allowing it to dissipate, as his focus more neatly returns to the frost coated mass of vegetation that had blossomed out of the craters heart- the wooden bulwark that had been thrown up even as Xicotl made it's retreat. "Well, could be worse."

Krice arrived from Talyara's cottage, which was literally only a few minutes Southwest of the fort. Dressed in the usual garb with his two katanas strapped to his back, the nasty gash that had marred the right side of his face during the defensive battle against Xicotl only days earlier had healed to a scar from temple to jaw, well advanced for the time frame and seemingly ignorable. As always when it came to these meetings, he would be silent to listen to the update and hear the course of action- albeit his demeanor reflected his readiness to jump into battle as soon as possible. Xicotl had threatened his home, endangered his loved ones, and he wanted to break it. He seemed disinterested in Kasyr's peculiar beacon, and the fact that blood see upward where he sat upon a body of thralls, so singularly focused was he. " Let's go," he called, finding position on an elevated slab of tile at the end of a large crack. He was ready to fight, and only waited for anyone else to ensure that their success was as high as possible.

Had Kailani been given enough time to recover? It certainly did not feel like it, her muscles still ached and overall she felt drained. Her current state of being was important, sure, but stopping the destruction that was occurring in Frostmaw was more important. And so when she is summoned to Fort Frostmaw, she does not ignore the call as much as her body still seems to crave rest. Nevermind the very odd manner in which this message was deliver, Kailani’s mind was too numb to really process all of that. The druid was running on fumes and so was the griffin companion that she so often travels which. Which is precisely why today Kailani arrives alone, Grimclaw no where in sight to stand guard and offer protection. Orion would be absolutely devastated if something happened to his beastly best friend and Kailani would not have that happen as a result of her own poor decision making. Either way, she is here. The other warrior’s are greeted with little more than a tired look today.

Khitti || Oh yes, Khitti was lingering. Lingering and still seething from a certain ambush and drinking copious amounts of whiskey. The good stuff. She sent for someone to get her a nice flask and a keg from Jacklin’s place in Sage Forest. The nice flask just so happened to be one that was linked to said keg and when she finished off the drink inside, it instantly refilled for her. It’s a wonder she hadn’t thought of this before. She’d have to get one for Brand too. “I dunno, but time’s up anyway,” she said to the revenant as she stepped forward, eyeing the message he left across the heavens. “And I’m suddenly eager to make cabbage rolls.” She’s not actually going to make cabbage rolls out of Xicotl, don’t worry. That’s gross. The redhead took a swig of that top shelf booze and sighed contentedly at the burn it sent from her mouth straight down to her stomach. Each drink was barely enough to dull the pain physically she still had from Xalious, but it couldn’t even begin to touch what she felt mentally and emotionally. “We’ll be fine. We always are. Somehow.” For a moment, Khitt, somewhere back in that shared mind of theirs, couldn’t quite tell if she was talking about fighting Xicotl or the Living Dead Girls’ betrayal and that honestly worried him a little. He said nothing though, leaving Khitti to her salad-making business. Once Kailani showed though, Khitti did offer the women a slight, sad frown, but nothing more. Khitti had been at peak rage levels that day and felt bad for arguing with her, but wasn’t even sure on how to make amends. She breathed another sigh, then looked to Kasyr, waiting for the rest of the guild to show.

Karasu rides into view of those gathered at the fort, her diminutive stature nearly dwarfed by the size of the golden armored bird she rides in on. Some might recognize it as the favored steed of Quintessa, but the changeling is not present with her as she arrives. Her rhodolite eyes take in the scene of headless thralls and the chainsmoking revenant sitting upon them like a throne, several triage tents set up to tend to the wounded, and the familiar faces around. Most of them looked beaten to Vaalane and back, even with bruising having been in certain stage of healing. "Sven have mercy, good thing I brought supplies..." Karasu dismounts and opens her satchel, revealing several colorful vials. Calling out to those gathered, Karasu shouts out, "If you're feeling the effects of the magical anomaly from a few nights ago or need a magical weapon recharged, come get a potion." In a quieter tone, she adds, "Likely not enough for everyone, it looks like." Her eyes catch that of the druid Kailani and waves her down. A bubbling silvery-blue potion is held out in offering to help ease her fatigue. "Has anyone received our courier ravens? They never came back to roost." An icy wind causes the demifeline to shiver slightly and hug her runic jaguar pelt tighter around her form. Looking out past the courtyard and down the westward embankment to the destroyed merchant's district, she adds, "Is it dead?"

Penelope somehow managed to move back up to the healer’s encampment, even if she barely had the strength left in her these past couple days. There were too many people not to let down when it came to survival. Lack of rest was an understatement. Once the signal is given, not only does Penelope proceed onward to the Fort, but so does Ruari Erickson–a volunteer of the catastrophe at hand, as he was concerned for the well-being of civilians… and mostly, the Ardelian who was pushing herself too hard. The druid keeps her medical supplies close and an exhausted look wears on her face. Normally, the girl is quite cheery and full of more life than what was given, but she is here. As that frontline healer like she oathed mentally. There was really no time to complain, and hopefully this exhaustion would be all over soon. Somehow. Maybe.

Somewhere on the peripherals of the carnage and chaos lurked something unrelated to Xicotl. Cloaked in supernatural camouflage, Quintessa's newly created undead, the Gloom, stalks the one it was ordered to slay; Khitti Herzegler. Looking similar to a human from the neck down, its head is entirely different. Black, leathery skin is pulled tight against its skull and it possesses no eyes, nose, or hair, instead only having a mouth perpetually twisted into a jagged grin. It gives off no magical impulses, has no scent, and its footsteps make no sound. It is a perfect assassin. Emotionless. Efficient. Deadly. It watches from the shadows, never lingering in one place long, never hiding in the same place twice, only existing in the corners of your eyes and disappearing when you look again. The Gloom was not ready to show itself, not while all of her allies were gathered together. It would wait until they were distracted and she was alone, then it would complete its mission. For now it never lets Khitti out of its sight no matter where it lurks. After she was dead it would move to the next two targets, Penelope and Kailani, for their roles in thwarting Caluss as the Xalious Tree. This was vengeance from the God of Undeath and the Gloom was here to deliver it swiftly.

Kasyr's gaze flickered over towards the warrior guild members as they gradually gathered- most weathered and weary. And yet, they still were here- with devastation all around, and a lingering doom beneath their feet, they heeded the call. With a nod, the Kensai rises to his feet, smoothly taking hold of a briefly solidified outcropping of blood, which just as swiftly slips back to the ground as he begins to make his way into their midst. "Alright, so-" And then his thoughts briefly de-rail, because not only does Karasu arrive, she's actually brought fresh supplies, something that's sorely needed given that xicotl's effect on animals had somewhat staggered their ability to maintain a supply train efficiently, beyond salvaging the very city. Speaking of which, "Ravens? ... We haven't seen a single animal out here, madamoiselle. Couriers included. It's why I made my little display. I don't think they like -being- around this place." There's a pause there, before the Kensai allows a sigh, "And non. While we may have grievously wounded it- We only succeeded in driving it off. It's resilient- and I fear if we don't pursue it- it may begin to recover. " As the Kensai speaks, a peculiar prickling sensation begins to ripple through the air- an unnatural pressure that seems to build up in time, even as he begins to stride down Frostmaws corpse ridden streets towards the crater. "So we're going to bring the fight towards it."

Krice was completely fine. The only injury he had sustained in the defensive battle against Xicotl had been the gash alongside his face, now a barely mentionable scar. His energy was up, his focus was sharp, his motivation high. Kailani’s clear exhaustion earned her a sympathetic stare, similar for Penelope,Khitti's arrival a brief glance, and Karasu a longer one since she spoke; he took note of the supplies in her arsenal, and observed anyone who approached her to retrieve a relieving potion. He hoped to encourage the weary members by calling to them, " Stay focused. It's almost done." He glanced over his right shoulder toward Gloom, though he wasn't sure why and of course couldn't see the hidden beast. It was an instinctive reaction, an awareness that something had been nearby if only for a moment. A brow furrowed in reflection of his bemusement but Xicotl was the bigger threat, so he redirected his attention back to the others. Fueled by an instinctive need so distant that he was hardly aware of it, Krice moved closer to Kailani and stopped about a metre outside her reach, hands in his pockets, acknowledging her with a look if she noted his change of position. Penelope had a companion with her is the reason he chose to draw closer to Kailani. Later, perhaps, he'd chalk up his protectiveness to the fact that they were exhausted. To Kasyr, he said, " No argument from me." He wanted to hack some plant.

Would Kailani accept a potion from a total stranger? Why, yes. In these circumstances she totally would. Karasu was affiliated with the guild, the purpose of the potion was identified, and Kailani was in need. What’s the worst that could happen? Okay, plenty of answers to that question but really going against Xicotl in an entirely fatigued state was not a great option either. She would take whatever help she could get. The potion is accepted with a tired smile and then promptly drained before the group ends up in the thick of it all. Khitti’s reaction to Kailani’s presence does not escape the druid’s attention, but they were about to get thrown into the thick of battle again. If the potion that Karasu gave Kailani helped, it did not outwardly show. The druid seemed to still wear a grim expression due to the gravity of the situation at hand. When Kasyr begins to stride toward the crater, Kailani follows behind. While she moves, she is already getting both her ranseur and her buckler into position, just in case an attack catches them off guard. And it could, for Kailani has zero awareness of the Gloom’s presence.

Mathollak was lucky to have packed food with him, because he ended up needing it. After landing in some remote place in the lands collectively held by tribes and families among the exiled frost giants, he rested a bit. Eventually though, there was no choice but to go back. What else would he do? Live in the icy desert? No. When he finally arrived, the city was in ruins, and assuming his friends to the West have any sense, the place would be looted soon. He had to get there first. Otherwise all the good stuff would be gone. “Where’d that dumb ol’ horse get off to?” He wonders aloud. Forever passes, and he’s bored as can be. But he takes frequent snack breaks between bouts of long walking and sometimes jogging…but eventually he sees the devastation Xicotl’s caused. A city in ruins. It could be rebuilt, sure, but it wouldn’t be the same, and different people would live there. Apparently oblivious to the thralls that still run amok, he paces to the thing he remembers last, an enormously fat thrall, or what’s left of it. Its insides once full of a viscous grime, now burst, cleaning a wide area of snow and debris. But left intact…”Aha!” The grandest axe-hammer combo in all the land. Then he starts pacing around the giant sinkhole, sometimes peering inside.

Khitti rolled her eyes at Krice and took another drink, soon after offering the other guild members a nod of her head. When everyone showed up, and Kasyr said what he needed to, Khitti made a point to say something too. “Keep your focus on Xicotl. I’ll deal with any thralls that show up or any other distractions. It needs to die -today-.” Her words were firm and there was a severe lack of giving any fraks written all over her face. And when she finished, she looked around, crimson brows furrowing in concern as a chill ran up and down her spine, the hair on the back of her neck standing upright. Mmm, nope. She didn’t like that. Fine, Xicotl. You got more lieutenants? Bring it. Because that’s what it would be right? Absolutely nothing else. Khitti scowled a very Brand-like scowl, drained more of her flask, and grumbled to herself.

Karasu purses her lips at Kasyr's mention that the creature hasn't died, and that the couriers have likely been intercepted, if not outright destroyed by the thralls. Even if disoriented, they were well-trained enough to come back to Xalious. As if to confirm Kasyr's summary, a subtle change in the air makes the hairs on her neck rise up. Her tail unconsciously swishes side to side, it's fur fluffing out in a long-old instinct to try to make the demifeline look larger and more dangerous to predators. With wisps of curls sticking to her face with the ice, and other curls sticking straight out at the unnatural feeling, it has the exact opposite effect. The feline ears atop her head swivel around as she takes in the more subtle sounds around her. The only things she could hear were the footfalls of the living, and the faint footfalls of the occasional thrall stuck under debris, scratching at frozen stones to try to get out. Nothing that posed quite an immediate risk, but still the unease remains. The potions are thankfully not poisoned; no reason to bring any poisoned ones if the thralls were not intelligent enough to make use of such restoratives, she reasoned beforehand. Her eyes narrow as she watches the golden-red armor dance around the base of the crater in the distance. "Isn't... he one of ours? What's he doing?" When Khitti speaks, Karasu turns. "It's throwing out thralls to keep people from focusing in on it's weak points, right?" Turning back to the crater, the spellblade puts a gloved hand to her chin in thought. Gods damn, she was cold here. "What if we put up two thick walls of fire to make a somewhat safer path to it? That should make a nice buffer for the thralls without triggering them directly by getting close." As if on cue, a thrall scratches its way out from a pile of rubble, but remains stuck halfway out, making it harmless so long as no one is in range. It gives raspy shrieks and squeaks as it's clawed hands remain outstretched towards Mathollak.

Penelope glances towards Krice briefly. The mention of the battle being almost done did not make her feel better. There was still an eeriness. A bitter taste to war. Damage. Why was she in the Warrior’s Guild again? Oh yeah, to heal the innocent. The wounded. The woman adjusts her bow around her torso. Ruari keeps close to the Ardelian, “We’ll stay back behind the others. I’ll stay behind you. We need to keep our distance, in case someone gets hurt. We’re frontlines, but don’t be reckless. I know you’re tired, but be aware.” The dark-haired half-elf says before giving the Ardelian a nudge. Penelope offers a weary smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Let’s go,” she gestures with her chin before following along. Gloom, as well as the others, is not on her radar. When Karasu begins to observe and suggest thick walls of fire, the Ardelian, even if she was supposed to be back up, offers… “If you need extra hands for this wall, I can help.” Keeping the rest of the crew safe, the better in her little healer eyes.

That eerie feeling creeping down your neck, that chill on your spine. The tenseness in the air. These were the only things giving the Gloom away, at least to those who knew when someone- something was watching them. Xicotl means nothing to the Gloom, the thralls mean nothing either, and it was very good that Khitti had experienced fighting the lieutenants before, because it was going to feel reminiscent of that when the Gloom warped the shadows to its will and tried using the plane of shadow against her just like Naphtali and Asher had attempted before. Waiting as patiently as death itself, the Gloom merely watches for now.

Kasyr actually pauses at what Karasu says, before squinting in the distance at "Mathollak! Well, he actually found his way back. And survived." As for Karasu's idea for contending with the thralls- he could certainly appreciate the prudent planning- especially given that he was in the process of preparing to poke the bear in it's proverbial eye. With every step down towards the mouth of the crater, that dismal oppressive aura continues to burgeon- and yet, there's no fresh tremors to accompany it, no second wave of thralls, nor lashing tendrils. Even when they gather at the edge of the crater, to stare down at the walls of vegetation until they fade into obscurity.

Perhaps an astute observer might notice the way the kensai is wholly unaffected the whole while, but even the truly distracted will find it difficult to miss the way in which darkness begins to pool out from the Kensai, overlapping his left arm in grossly swirling coils. Khitti, at the least, would likely be familiar with the display, given how much it had overlapped with his initial message- and yet, the execution is different this time around. As the Kensai exerts his will over the very undeath that fuels his form, and sends it cascading towards the barrier at the craters center- it's form begins to shift, to match and mirror a once familiar form. Countless tendrils twine and twist together, growing in volume and definition- providing an air of the serpentine to what was had been formless- an obsidian scaled path which spans the chasm, and tightly constricts about the outer shell barring their passage. As primal bark and vegetation is sundered, and their way forward begins to be unveiled to a freshly rising chorus of voices emanating from the pit- the Kensai helpfully adds, "I think you can figure out the logistics of placing the walls once you're on your way, non?"

Krice had been specifically talking to the most tired pair of the group - Kailani and Penelope - so he wasn't focused on Khitti to see her attitude. Ruari’s words to the latter earned him a respectful nod. He looked past Kailani into the distance where a vaguely familiar face bobbed among the rubble. Good to see that another ally had survived. Nearer to the center of the crater, as that ominous aura densified, the warrior reached over a shoulder to draw his black katana, angling it thereafter with the blade pointed upward along his spine; the longer white mythril weapon remained unused by its sister’s empty sheath. For now. Krice remained closer to Kailani and Penelope than to Kasyr, more protective of the group’s rear given Kas’ position at the fore, observing the Kensai’s manipulation of the path ahead from afar. Once it was clear to advance, he did so, ever watchful of their surroundings with heightened vigilance given the shadows at their flanks (and unknowingly, the assassin stalking from within).

Kailani heard no objections to the plan that Karasu had pitched about creating two walls of fire. In fact, Penelope seemed to be in agreement. Rather than waste further time, the druidic woman beings the process by channeling the element of fire so that flames begin to build up on either side of the group of warrior’s. Of course, it would be far more efficient if the two pyromancer’s joined in and added further fuel to these flames. And it would make it easier for the three of them to prolong the spell if they worked together as a group. “We should all help if we can,” Kai murmurs at a low volume. The druid wasn’t exactly focused on making sure that she was projects the few words that she did feel inclined to speak at an audible volume. Of course the darkness that begins to pool around Kas is something that Kailani notices, it’s just not something that she is willing to spend much time dwelling over. Letting her thoughts wander too much right now….It was just a new detail to file away in the ‘things Kailani has learned about Kasyr’ folder. The eerie sensation on the back of Kailani’s neck is for the time being attributed to the fact that she was about to walk into another battle. She hoped this one would be a victorious battle, unlike the one at the Xalious tree. That thought is quickly pushed to the back of her mind. Onward and forward. The druid grips the shaft of her ranseur just a bit more tightly when she hears the chorus that begins to emanate from the pit. A deep breath is taken in as she tries to steel her nerves and muster the adrenaline for another fight.

Mathollak notices the thrall of a giant reaching out for him under some rubble and stays adequately out of range. “Hmm,” says Mathollak as a sadistic smile spreads across his face. “Is it this? Is this what you want?” He lobs a small piece of cobblestone debris at the thrall. He ignores it. “No? How about this?” It’s some tattered loin cloth or something. “Ohhh I know what you want,” he says, turning around and wiggling his cheeks. “It’s -this- you want isn’t it?” The thrall is so tempted, he actually dislodges some of the debris that’s pinning him down and he lunges for the cheeks, managing to close the distance a startling amount before being pinned again. “NO.” Says Mathollak startled. “No,” he repeats in a disciplinary fashion as he smashes the thrall’s hand flat with several smacks from the Piecemaker. Then he leaves them and joins the worriers. “It’s not dead is it,” he gathers from the assembly. “It’s down there huh.” He huffs and puffs. “This isn’t right,” he says, a sense of dread filling him up to the brim as soon as he gazes down into the abyss. Kasyr extends a long dark scaly walkway down into the tunnel, not quite changing the vibe. He looks away from the pit. “This is so messed up,” he says to the group, eyes full of worry. He might cry. “I can’t believe after all this time. There’s…more walking. I just can’t believe it. Really.” He shakes his head grumpily and begins down the path into the abyss.

The Frozen Maw

As the group makes their way down the newly made glass path, Khitti falls behind the lot of them, letting them all take the lead. When they were far enough, the redhead stopped and raised both hands into the air, conjuring three separate walls: one of grey shadow-ice, one of purple shadowflames, and one of pure, coalesced shadows. “Good luck,” she muttered, and turned away from them. She had faith that Kasyr would get them out if the need arose. It was made clear soon after, however, that she wasn’t turning on them--there had been quite enough of that for one week. “WELL?! COME ON THEN, XICOTL! WHERE’S YOUR NEW LACKEYS?! I’LL TAKE THEM ALL ON!” She was very much ‘come at me, bro’ right now. A last bit of whiskey was stolen from her flask before it was shoved into the pocket of her silk dress, rattling briefly against the true steel beneath the cloth. Khitti was angry. She hadn’t been quite this angry since… well… Maybe when she found out Brand had still been lying to her about Viera? Or maybe it was when it had been revealed that Brand had not been Brand at one point, and the real one had been kidnapped by Jessamine and James. Whenever it was, it had certainly been quite some time. Even now tears threatened to spill over--the instant everyone was gone, she could no longer keep them at bay. “I’ll kill all of you… Anyone you send at me,” the last of her words whispered now. The witch-in-training unsheathed her swords, her opposing magicks taking hold of their respective weapons--black tides to the gladius and light magic to the harpe--and she waited. Before the Gloom could finally strike, violent shrieks filled the air, and Xicotl’s thralls attacked her.

Karasu glances back at the group to see who follows. Noting Krice has drawn his sword, Karasu reaches down and draws the two daggers sheathed on either side of her long boots. The sense of unease only intensifies as the group makes their way across the shadowy void. Her steps slow, bringing her to the center of the group. "Agreed." She murmurs to Kailani after her sentiment about working together is expressed. "I can only bring two people with me at best if things come to the worst. Khitti and Kasyr can get out easily on their own if needed--" She looks at the lamenting Mathollak and the stoic man guarding the rear of the flank. Karasu was unsure of their abilities, but was sure they would be able to evacuate themselves if needed. "-- So if you and Penelope need to get to safer spot to work, don't hesitate to let any of us know." As they begin their descent into the abyss, her furred tail and ears only poof out more. Every instinct is screaming to leave this area and get everyone to safety while it was still possible. The fact there was only one known exit here wasn't easing her anxieties either. Still, the spellblade remains stone faced as she moves directly behind Mathollak and Kasyr. Khitti's call to Xicotl and the enraged shrieks of the thralls unconsciously make her steps move faster, to hurry and end this before things got worse. Every twenty or so paces, Karasu uses a cantrip to have magelights illuminate the obsidian caverns. The writhing vines and roots are just barely visible behind the glassy walls, as are the bodies and detritus of those absorbed into the wooded parasite. "Disgusting." She mutters, turning her eyes away. There was no time to mourn now.

Penelope does not waste another moment at the quiet voice of Kailani’s. The Ardelian closes her eyes for a moment, trying to shake that chill, before hands extend to help with the wall of flame as they walk. The obsidian path is observed as it trails down into that abyss, and there is a small tremble before Ruari pushes her forward. “Go, and prepare yourself,” he says slowly with calm ease. She was not scared, but she was a little timid because does anyone -really- want to walk down into a pit of voices? Not really. Khitti yells out in her beast-mode and the Ardelian turns in a gasp as she puts up the walls to separate. She wants to pause. To stay, but she knows there are bigger forces ahead of the walkway. She has to continue, the girl pulls one blade from a sheath on a belt around her waist. She leaves the other tucked as she keeps a steady hand to control the wall of fire. Eyes that turn hazel with magic cast to Karasu. “Thank you. We’ll let you know. We’ll keep back–in case.” Her eyes gaze for surroundings–where would be a better place if it came to it? Would there even be? There’s no time to greatly think of the answer, only… do.

The Gloom was not eager to fight the thralls to get to Khitti. It had no reason to be, so instead of joining the fray it carefully analyzed the situation. Perhaps it would be mathematically optimal to slay Penelope first. Kailani might prove more tricky should they join forces against it. In the end its emotionless calculation reaffirms that Khitti had to die first. She was best equipped to fight Caluss. She had to go, but there was no reason why the thralls couldn’t tire her out first.

Kasyr isn't actually wholly comfortable with the guise his own aura had taken- internally trying to sift through the various reasons -why- it could have taken the guise it did. And yet, as they plunge deeper into the guts of the earth, the Kensais attention focuses at the task at hand. Even now, the sounds of battle behind them are beginning to fade- replaced instead by the uncanny creak and crackle of the ebon material he'd beckoned forth. That, and the dull rasp of stale air about them. Even now, a humid gust rises to meet them, carrying with it a fetid, earthy scent.

Those with a greener thumb may even find it vaguely familiar- though it likely cannot prepare them for what awaits them. One moment the group is walking, and then the next an extreme amount of pressure is placed upon the Kensai's construct, roughly sundering the tunnel in a burst of razor sharp glass- which just as swiftly fades away into wisps. "Mer-" The words' unfinished, as one of the Myriad tendrils responsible for the devastation collides into the Kensai's form, dragging it into the darkness with such haste that even the sound of his voice winks out queerly.

And as for the group, they're left to freefall, dropping into the same darkness myriad Frostmawians had tumbled down into beforehand. The only difference now is their descent is far shorter, and there are far more bodies intermingled within the roots below to cushion their fall.

Roots which intertwine with those bodies, dredging from them the precious nourishment needed to replenish the primordial elemental- which serve to not only repair the fleshy tumour which lies pulsing within that abyssal darkness, but which helps to give form to something gestating within it. An undefinable thing which now calls out to those present with an overwhelming compulsion, to surrender, to find a home within it's spreading roots, to spread its message through words, or with weaponry should it fail.

Krice 's attention was briefly stolen by Mathollak’s performance with the half-buried thrall Giant. He furrowed a brow, bemused by the comical manner in which their ally dealt with the thrall, but a dead thrall was still a dead thrall regardless of how it was dispatched. Focusing on Kasyr’s darkness-conjured path once more, he advanced with the group but slowed as Khitti’s presence faded from the rest, glancing toward her past the hilt visible beyond his left shoulder. He watched as she protected them with her magics, creating a barrier behind which she could fend off the incoming masses. Returning his focus ahead, the enigmatic warrior trusted Khitti to handle what happened on her side of the barrier but ensured that his evolved senses were attuned to the group’s surrounds. As they progressed, the astute warrior noticed a distinct lack of the creeping presence that he’d been unable to identify before. Was it gone, then? This led Krice to surmise that it wasn’t a sensation attributed to Xicotl’s presence, but to something else. Slightly creepy. Each step was near-silent as he walked along Kasyr’s glass path, partly due to natural stealth and in part because he was extra careful - quiet as to better hear other sounds in the chasm. As Penelope joined Kailani to fortify the firewall, he observed how magic use changed her appearance and couldn’t recall a time when he had last seen her in battle. Their involvement in defending Lythridel had intersected at times, but he had always been focused on the actual battle.

Krice pondered all this in the space of a breath, which caught in his throat as the walkway underfoot spasmed into shards. One such shard shot up alongside his left pantleg, cutting only the fabric halfway to his knee and then dissipating before it could do more damage. He threw a glance at his comrades to note their positions. As the path altogether disappeared to leave them all free-falling, the warrior glimpsed Kasyr’s capture and unsheathed his white katana on the way down and thrust it outward, sending an arc of air toward the tendril that had collided with the Kensai. Whether it cut the tendril or not he couldn’t say, for shadows took the outcome from his sight. As they all fell, they clearly had very little time to react, but Krice managed to discern that the ground below was easily close enough that he could land unscathed without cushioning - but that cushioning was provided in the dangerous form of bodies writhing and otherwise. Within a second of his first white-katana thrust, Krice directed another at the ground to shatter through the more rotten thralls there, not only killing them outright but flattening a space for him to land. After a quick glance reassured him that everyone had survived the fall, in part due to the organisms on the ground, he suffered a twinge of that compulsion to surrender and called out to the others, “Stay focused. Do not yield!” Decades of training and experience, coupled with an innate sense of self and perhaps something else, enabled him to fend off those feelings of hopelessness and focus on cutting away at the roots with more air crescents as he pressed on. Assuming none of his allies required him to directly help them, he would continue deeper into the abyss as possible, damaging and severing the roots wherever they connected to a life source.

Kailani dips her head in a nod of acknowledgement to Karasu’s evacuation offer. From this point forward, Kailani makes a point to keep in range of Penelope. This not only to allow the two druidic women to work in tandem with one another should the need arise but also because Kailani was in general protective of the much younger and still learning druid. A brief glance over her shoulder is given toward Khitti. Kailani knew first hand that the red-head was a stubborn and formidable woman but the final glimpse of Khitti leaves a sinking feeling in Kailani’s gut. Still. Onward and forward. This would never be over if they all turned back now. One moment the group is pressing on to try and find this primordial threat so that they can presumably put a stop to it once and for all and the next minute they are falling. It’s one of those moments where reactions happen on gut instinct as everything is happening so fast. Kailani barely has time to act on what she was going to do let alone consider what was happening to those around her. The druid frees her grip on that buckler of hers and grabs hold of her ranseur, pointing its blade toward the writhing mass of roots and bodies beneath her. At least they were not falling on hard ground. She’d of preferred to go crashing into a pit of water if she had her choice though. If there was anything to hurt in that mass below her, then Kai was going to try. If not, then she would at least manage to break her fall and keep her colliding face first with that mess of bodies. While Kai may not be able to help Penelope maintain that double wall of fire wall they fall, she is able to at least the blade of ranseur to end up engulfed in flames. That might just hurt whatever is moving beneath her just a little bit more. Maybe. The roots were the last place that Kailani wanted to linger, so as soon as she was able to find her footing then she would do so.

Mathollak would boredly attempt to jump up and grab Karasu’s magelight fixtures as he walked under them, never knowing what would happen if he caught one. What does magelight taste like, for instance. Was it hot? Would his hand pass through? Should he just ask? He only knew the answer to one of those questions, so he kept trying to get them. He’s actually right about to get one this time…! But then the glassy bridge suddenly shatters (distracting him) as a tangle of burly roots compress it. Hoping not to tumble down into the blind eternity, he reaches for a gnarly trunk protruding from the ceiling and flowing into a side wall. A dangling loop for him to latch onto. He’d be stuck there…if he didn’t swing his axe against the bark and chop through one side. He dangles for a second before giving it a sharp yank, and then the root comes loose, uncovering itself from the tunnel ceiling like an errant embroidery thread. He plunges his gloved hand against the side wall to stabilize himself as he swings down into the atrium that Xicotl hides in, and…suddenly he just doesn’t feel like doing that much anymore. He’s so tired of walking, of traveling, of fighting, of trying…that he could just take a nap down there. With all the bodies. “Whaddya say Babe? Is it time to call it a day?” He asks this of the Dark Mother as he dangles from the ceiling of the cavern, hoping her answer would mean a reprieve. Instead, when he touches his fingers to her symbol embedded in his championship belt, he feels a screaming urge to shred this lettuce, with a chorus of voices in his head beating like thunder and easily drowning out Xicotl’s oppressions. He’s no strategist, but he knows what vines do (he thinks), especially when they’re all funneling toward a single grotesque entity. With one clean swipe he cuts himself from the ceiling and plunges down toward the mass grave, axe blade first, intending to chop through a mass of gnarled roots that feed Xicotl.

Khitti let out angry screams as she cut down the lesser thralls that came at her, even going so far as to use the hook end of her harpe to pull them closer to sink her gladius into their throats and behead them. Booted feet kicked away the bodies, letting them fall where they may as she charged into more, shadow-stepping here and there to get away from the stronger thralls that spit acid or avoid the spores when the corpulent ones exploded. Tiring of the short range fighting, she eventually threw her swords into the air, summoned up braided tendrils of shadows and a chain of light, and latched them onto the hilts of her weapons, turning them into a strange form of twin kusarigama. Khitti tapped into those ballet lessons she’d had a few years ago as she swung the chains about, alternating on and off between ranged and close-quarters to take out as many of the thralls as she could. Some slipped past her, of course, and headed towards those walls made by her magic and the druids’. For now, they’d struggle against it, so few having gotten through. And yet despite all this fighting, there were still no lieutenants to go up against--and it only pissed her off more. Soon there was a lull in thralls and she took a moment to breathe, her rage written clearly all over her features.

Karasu barely has time to think about anything aside from what was immediately in front of her, to keep focus on Kasyr and Mathollak's forms as half the group stays back to assist Khitti. She was mistaken to turn her eyes away from the writhing plant matter around them, though; as they break through the obsidian through their collective blind spots and only leave barely a heartbeat's time before the bodies hit the floor. Though the adrenaline coursing through her veins is high enough to allow her a breadth of not recognizing minor injuries, they still come as the glass shards cut away at her arms and legs before fading away to their original forms. As they fall, a ripple of psychic energy pulsates through the mass of writhing roots. The bronze and hematite scarab affixed in her hair jitters to life at the sense of encroaching mind-games. Though this wasn't the sort of telemancy the token had been created to repel, it serves its purpose just the same. Others, however, would not be so lucky. "Mathie--!!" The familiar voice of Papa Thurg would ring out, his voice frail, but clearly in pain as he calls his name again. "Mathollak, please!" The voice echoes out from a direction direclty behind where Mathollka would land, opposite from the vulnerable fleshy core of Xicotl lurking in the darkness. Kailani as well would hear the cries of Grimclaw shrieking in pain from somewhere opposite from where the fleshy core resides, shrouded in darkness. Was that Orion's voice begging for help from the east? Or Aspen's voice crying out for his mama from the west? Even Kasyr would not be entirely invulnerable in his new revenant state, as familiar pairs of eyes would be staring down at him from multiple angles. Karasu twists and contorts her body in mid-air to land squarely on a root. Somewhere from her right, she can hear Krice call out, but it's cut short by a gasp for breath. From within the mangled roots, a frost giant is impaled on the roots, with the vines having just narrowly missed his most vital organs. Unable to speak, the frost giant only groans, reaching his arms out towards Karasu in a desperate plea. Wherever Krice had landed, he would be met with a similar situation, with those poor unfortunate souls clinging to the last vestiges of life reaching for Krice as though he could save them from what is now an unpreventable death. Through the extended hands of the living come the extended claws of freshly turned thralls as well. They have awoken and are now looking to feed. In the low light, the faces would begin to look familiar, contorting between the faces of people Krice has loved and lost or fears to lose yet. Karasu wrenches her eyes shut as the bloodied face of her own child is presented to her. This was not the first time she had been forced to see such a vision, and it would not be her last. With the effects of the bronze-hemtataite scarab stone working, Karasu is able to remind herself that this cannot physically be possible. The smell of a disgusting cigarette forces her to open her eyes, and in the distance, she can see the lit remains of Kasyr's cigarette. "Kasyr!" She calls out. If he dropped that, he was sure to be in danger. The spellblade makes her way through the jungle of vines, detrius, corpses, and thralls, attempting to avoid them all to catch up to the brains behind this whole operation. A clawed hand wraps around her ankle and drags her down, prompting the girl to unleash a blast of firey red-violet breath that would be seen by the others in the darkness.

Penelope still could not shake the chill she was getting for a brief moment. Like something was watching her. Nerves getting the best of her was an understatement for that moment before it was like pressure lifted away again. Fading as she was heading deeper within the pit. Perhaps it was the nerves of bodies withered and entangled in roots. She would blame it on the guilt she felt for the innocent. People came and went everyday in her world. She could save some, but not all. It was a daily life skill in the medical field, but this battle was all intentional. All this crosses her mind as she mindlessly keeps the wall burning until the glass bursts and shards surround her and the rest of the group–making tiny knicks in her skin before she falls. The fire in her hand still burns, but the wall is not kept. Kasyr is taken in her view, but it was all a blur as she was falling into the trench of bodies. She lands, but not hard enough for anything broken–her glowing hands pressing into the roots below for damage. The wind was only knocked out of her briefly. Ruari had also fallen, and was scrambling to get to his own feet as well as help Penelope pull herself up to her own. Once Penelope is up, she looks more alert than she first came. Adrenaline had kicked in–waiting for what was about to come next. “I’m okay, we’re okay. It’s okay. This is fine.” Penelope, are you -really- okay? A small ‘woo’ escapes her mouth in a strong exhale to absorb the blow of falling. “I’m okay.” She was talking to herself at this point in a low voice, but the groans of bodies withered in roots had her head spinning for a moment before noticing the red-violet glow to find her stability and way with the rest of them.

The moment the Gloom was waiting for had come, a lull in the tide of thralls and a winded target. Using the same form of magic Khitti used to shadowstep, the gloom appeared behind the redhead, its shroud of silence keeping it from being heard. It could not, however, stop the surge of mana that exploded in its hand as a wicked ebon dagger glowing with purple, necrotic energy manifested, pulled from somewhere else in existence. The blade was teeming with magic- a familiar magic to Khitti; The Hexblade’s Curse. Should this weapon strike true a mortal wound not heal normally, requiring someone to break the curse magically before it could naturally heal on its own. Even magical healing might prove difficult but such things weren’t impossible. The Gloom has not calculated an escape attempt coming from Khitti. It expects she will fight to the death, and death, it plans, will only take this one strike. In a single fluid motion the Gloom raises the dagger and aims a clean jab intended to slide through her ribcage, collapse her lung, and penetrate her heart all in one strike. The Gloom doesn’t anticipate that Khitti is expecting this at all, so it makes no plans of avoiding a counter-attack or follow through. If the death-attack misses it will be caught momentarily flatfooted, leaving it open to retaliation.

Kasyr does not answer. In fact, -nothing- does. Within the tenebrous depths of that place, silence seems to spread like a virus, quelling out the sounds of each warriors struggle- even smothering out what should have been the deafening impact of innumerable tendrils converging in the rockface above. Neither the sweep of Krices blade, as he goes about the grim work of severing root, nor those pitiful bodies strewn within, make a single sound anymore- swallowed up just as readily as the motes of light that once may have hinted at a sky above.

Even the cries of those in despair and the screams of thralls grow more distant, leaving each of the living warriors to chase the ghosts they heard before. They are all trapped within Xicotl's domain now, and though they may not perceive it, they are sinking deeper by the moment, as its influence shifts from the sweet release that accompanies despair, to a feeling that may be more welcome to those few whose minds still war against it. To coax up the flames of indignation, of rage- and to shift their targets from its malignant forms to each other. To sow the seed of discord that another had succumbed. Indignation towards other members of the party for abandoning them begin to bubble up in some minds, resentment for having been allowed to walk into what was so clearly a trap in others. Now that they were alone in the pits of despair, how easy would it be to dispose of who they found most troublesome of all and call it a casualty of war?

Krice moved unharmed through the shroud of undead and living. If the faces of his loved ones on those fallen citizens affected him, he didn’t show it. Being witness to the suffering of those Frostmawians, he used his black katana and the white one to cut away efficiently at the roots impaling them all, simultaneously freeing them while also depriving Xicotl of a few more life-sources. As the citizens gave way to thralls, he dispatched by decapitation and skull-crushing via his swords and his booted feet, ensuring that the thralls couldn’t possibly rise to flesh out their ranks. Eager to continue the search for Xicotl while cutting back its numbers, the warrior pressed on - but he would double back where needed to bolster his allies’ successes and keep them free of extra burden, for this reason not venturing too far from them all. As he is crushing a quartet of enslaved enemies behind Kailani, that new psychic wave flows through the area but he once more seems unaffected. Of course, this meant that he was unable to warn the others, and equally wasn’t as watchful of any faltering of allegiance they might have had before they started to show it. Trusting his comrades in their various roles to put civilians out of their misery and cut away that which vitalized Xicotl, Krice continued toward the direction in which Kasyr had been pulled, assuming that perhaps the core of Xicotl was that way as well, but he would turn and regard the other combatants if they reacted to whatever psychosis hit them, to gauge their safety. There was an unsettling sense of loss that struck him around the same time, something he couldn’t shake or properly identify, but it troubled him enough that for the first time since their adventure began, his heartbeat quickened commensurate to a subtle uptick in anxiety.

Kailani had become at least familiar with the mindgames that Xicotl seems more than capable of playing. They were encountered during the battle she and Beldur had with the being. That time, they nearly got her. The pull is not any easier to resist this time, hearing the voices of the few people that Kailani holds dearest to her heart pulls at her heartstrings. Yet her last encounter was not wholly forgotten and Kailani kept reminding herself that Orion, Grimclaw, and Aspen were not here. They were back in Venturil. It was just her here. During was presently an incessant reminder running through her mind that what she was hearing was not real, Kailani takes a glance around the cavern to try and locate her comrades. Her goal was not to try and get close to them, she did not know what sort of demons that they were battling. Her intention was just to make sure that they were not near her. Could Kai even see them? She could not hear them. Were they even in the came crater they fell into? Kai didn’t know. Her intention had been to stick near Penelope, but now it seemed like it was every warrior for themselves. So much for working together to make a big fire that does much burning. Kai closes her eyes and begins to repeat outloud to herself, “It’s not real. It’s not real.” The last sense of reality Kai was confident in was that she had just fallen into a pit with a mess of roots wriggling beneath her. That still had to be the case, didn’t it? Kailani tried to maintain her focus on the element of fire, urging it to burn down deeper into the earth, to follow the roots back to their heart. Burn what they could. It was a forced concentration and who knew how long Kai would be able to maintain it before she completely succumbed to Xicotl’s games. If she hasn’t already. Was she really even burning what she thought she was?

Mathollak is swinging his axe like a maniac against this godlike shrub, such that he could beat danger to anyone around him should they step to near. Up, down, up down, chop chop chop. If he stops for even a second, the dark mother will flood him with an incessant and painful itch that seems to burn just under his skin. It's a great motivation to keep fighting. As one root falls flailing on the floor, another seems tunnel it's way through the corpses to feed its host, sucking nutrients or whatever from the bodies strewn about the cavern. Mathollak stomps it as it approaches, mashing a pulpy hole into the root. One hand grabs into the bark of another winding root, wrangling it under his arm while he pushes against the squelching floor to tear it loose. "Mattie!" He hears a low voice cutting through the cacophony of his goddess. "Help me!" It was... His dad? The momentary loss in focus causes the root under his arm to pull free and reattach. "... Dad?" How could he be here? Did Xicotl pull him all the way from Gualon? "Help son!" It didn't matter how he got there, Mathollak is going to get him out. The rest can handle Xicotl, Mathollak is going to do something right this time, even if his goddess has to punish him for it later.

Khitti felt that familiar surge of magic, the same magic she’d been allowed to pull from before in the Mage’s Tower. The very same magic she’d fought alongside so many times for over two years now. “You’ve betrayed me for the last goddamned time, daughter of mi--.” But she didn’t get to finish her sentence because as she sidestepped away and behind the Gloom, she caught a glimpse of the creature that sought to destroy her, the sight of it compelling her to shadowstep away to a safer distance. Her face contorted with confusion and then returned to the anger that had fueled her this entire time. “What or who are you?!” Despite the questioning, she still threw Embershard and its attached shadow tendrils at the Gloom, intent on destroying it regardless of whether or not she got her answers. A moment later, Sol joined its kin, aiming to latch on with its sickle’d end if the gladius did not pierce it. “You’re not one of Xicotl’s,” she said through gritted teeth…

The Gloom’s first attack bites nothing but air, Khitti shadow-stepping to avoid its blade and get a drop on who she mistakenly thinks is Quintessa, and in response the strange creature shifts in a blink to turn and face her without physically pivoting. Its eyeless face regards Khitti cooly, no words passing its twisted teeth as she retreats further to safety and demands answers from it. With a heavy, upward swing the Gloom knocks Embershard off course and vanishes into the shadows like Khitti had earlier to avoid the tendrils that followed, ripples of dark mana splashing up from the ground as Sol’s sickled end strikes where it was a second before. Instead of counter-attacking, however, an eerie binding of time takes place, the Gloom remaining hidden as another wave of thralls made their way to Khitti. Meat for the meat-grinder. It takes advantage of the moment, letting her fight them off before it strikes again, riding in the shadow of the last thrall before rising up to slay it and move on to the Gloom’s real target. Unlike the precise attack it had attempted before, it lets loose an onslaught of quick jabs, aiming for non-vital spots like the arms and legs, enough just to scratch her, to deliver the Hexblade curse that haunted its dagger.

Khitti let out a cat-like hiss as the creature shifted its form to face her again and eventually disappeared, leaving her to reel in her sword and take hold of both in her hands again. It wanted to play in the shadows? Fine. She took on the thralls as they came at her, more meat for the meat-grinder indeed as she left pieces of them scattered here and there to twitch somewhat before turning to that strange earthy dust. Her stomach lurched somewhat, as it often did when danger was near, and she was quick to enshroud herself in the blinding rainbows of her light magic, letting it do the work to sear away the last of the thrals near her, and hopefully the Gloom as well once it got near. Only moments would pass before the light was shifted from the glowy shield-like spell to a burst one, illuminating the area briefly with light, allowing Khitti to shadowstep away again. It was clear that she wasn’t going to be able to fully fight shadows with shadows and knowing the things Quintessa liked to experiment with, she did -not- want to get hit with that dagger. So, she leaned into both. The instant she was away at a safer distance, she sheathed her swords and started to conjure up a ball of both shadows and light, the two sparking and warring with each other as they were wont to do, before unleashing the massive thing in the direction of the Gloom, and shadowstepping away again to get further from the big, oncoming boom.

The Gloom couldn’t resist the rainbow hued light, its leathery skin sizzling in reaction though its sight wasn’t hindered at all. It continues despite the damage inflicted upon it, driven by the singular focus of fulfilling the order Quintessa gave it: Kill Khitti Herzegler. It draws its arm back to begin its onslaught a moment before the final burst of light showers over it and stuns it in place. It clenches the cursed dagger gifted by Quintessa, the one spot of darkness in a sea of light. Khitti’s light magic disrupts the necromancy used to create it, the same way Quintessa’s magic was disrupted by it once before. Shedding the stunned effect, it finds Khitti once again and prepares to shadow-step after her… but it fails. The connection to the shadow realm had been severed by Khitti, preventing it from retreating. Knowing it cannot avoid the power of the blast it stands up straight and takes it on full-force, the cacophony of shadow and light erupting into beautiful chaos. Bit by bit the Gloom decentigrates, leathery flesh reduced to ash and dust much like the thralls before, its grin never leaving its face. Finally, with the Gloom destroyed, it leaves behind a pile of debris and a hollowed-out husk, the shimmering dagger resting on the ground. As the remains of the Gloom rapidly decay, a small, leather-bond package falls out from the crumbling husk, rolling out and coming to rest next to the dagger.

Khitti watched as the Gloom took the full hit from her magic. She’d seen it try to shadow-step too and failed. As she stared at the ball of energy’s decimation, her adrenaline started to wear off. She may have fought off the Gloom and the thralls, but the Gloom had tired her out and drained the majority of her mana, and the thralls had left their marks all over her body. Blood seeped from her many lacerations and bites, while others were left to bruise her pale skin. She shuffled her way, almost somewhat like a zombie herself, towards where the creature’s remains lay, and dropped to her knees beside them. The redhead ran a hand across the dagger’s hilt, feeling Quintessa’s magic emanating from it, and all she could do for the moment was sigh. But then there was that package too, and a worry bubbled up in her stomach, though her curiosity was enough to get her to reach over and open it. Meanwhile, a certain darkly clad half-elf was navigating her way around the destruction wrought by both the Warrior’s Guild and Xicotl. Camina called out to Khitti, trying to find her friend and boss, but for the moment, her words were naught but whispers on the wind to the redhead.

As Khitti unwraps the leather it becomes obvious that there is an object held inside. Resting neatly within the protective package is more leather, these pieces black, and affixed to the pieces of leather are silver plates with runes carved into them. Upon further examination it becomes clear that these were a pair of fingerless gloves stitched together from leather of a questionable origin, fitted with small metal studs on the knuckles. On the back of the hands, larger silver plates were adorned with runes circled in an array to cover every element, indicating a channeling spell, one which will provide elemental damage on top of what a punch would do. Maybe Khitti would know from the imperfect stitchwork and the intricate runes used that Quintessa had made this, but how or why it got inside of the Gloom would remain a mystery for now.

Much like the dagger, Khitti ran a hand over the gloves now, pale, sore fingers feeling the etching of each rune and the stitching left by her daughter. She could feel Khitt practically vibrating in the back of her head as he too saw the gloves through her eyes. The redhead smirked somewhat, but the smile didn’t last long as her eyes started to drift shut. The cold was suddenly biting and her entire body ached. All she wanted to do was lay down, all she wanted was to sleep. And as she started to pass out, she could’ve sworn she heard Camina’s voice, and maybe even felt the dark-haired woman shake her. And when she eventually woke up, she’d find that dagger and those gloves on the table beside her bed and that hole in her heart from her daughter’s actions having widened just a little more.

Below the surface…

Karasu continues slashing her way through the rotting plant matter with open claws and bursts of her flames. For every pathway cleared, three more replace them, until realization dawns on the spellblade: They had walked into a trap, and it had gone perfectly to Xicotl’s plan. Only the pulsating stolen life from the shrinking cocoon can be heard over Karasu’s quickening pulse as panic starts to set in. “There is nothing you can do that I’ve not already done to myself.” She murmurs, as the last vestiges of light from her flames extinguish themselves without fresh air to keep them burning. Whether it was the work of magic no one in the group had ever experienced before, or Karasu’s own mind left to ruminate on her own, faces begin to appear in the darkness. No amount of magical items, even one crafted by the Archmage of Xalious himself, could stop the foreign magical energy from completely taking hold in the minds of those in the Warrior’s Guild, or overwhelming magical items on their persons. The bronze scarab clip in Karasu’s hair goes limp, seeming to accept defeat as it cannot ward off the energies forever. To her left, Kasyr lays with his innards spilled out, with no revenant magic able to regenerate the exposed shattered bones in his ribcage. To her right, Quintessa’s mismatched eyes stare at the ground unblinking as icy iron skewers impale her armor and flesh, her heart having stopped beating long beforehand. Karasu’s breath quickens as she moves backwards in the confines of the cocoon. A stumble of root causes her to lose her footing, but when she looks, she sees not roots, but deep red-wine hair and black clothing that should belong to Khitti. The corpse’s face is unrecognizable, though, as thralls had long since stripped the flesh and muscle from her skull, leaving only one glassy green eye staring directly up at Karasu. “Stop!” Karasu cries out, turning away and trying again to claw her way out from her confines. A wet gurgle comes from directly behind her as Kailani’s spine is snapped into impossible angles, as bugs convene on the remains of Mathollak’s crushed skull, and as Penelope’s heart gives a last weak pulse as it lays in Krice’s severed hand. Bloody corpses continue to fill up the rapidly shrinking space as Karasu’s desperation rises. Illusions or not, Karasu had to escape. “STOP!!!”

Elsewhere in the cavern, pulses of the foreign magical energies from Xicotl’s core start to overwhelm items held by Warrior’s Guild members that require inlaid magic of all kinds to operate, rendering them useless. With the ice, dirt, and roots blocking out the light above, magical lights of any kind are extinguished, finalizing the pitch darkness started only minutes before. In one corner of the crater, the roots that Kailani attempts to burn start to screech out in agony. This was a different cry of pain than what normally emanated from the wooden thralls; this was the screech of nature itself succumbing to inevitable entropy. “You didn’t protect me.” An unfamiliar voice rings out from somewhere behind Kailani. Should she turn, she would find the burnt visage of the Xalious Tree, its charcoal trunk blistering from fresh fire. Kailani’s fires. From the mass of desiccated husks that line the floors, a root of Xicotl slithers, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. “Why did you allow this?” The voice calls out again, but something in it is more sinister, more mocking. Behind the illusion, the core of Xicotl twists away, using the distractions to slither away from those who would wish to do it harm. A flake of burning ember falls to the ground, temporarily illuminating the serpentine enemy amongst the battered and bruised masses below. The moment the light from the embers dissipates is when the root strikes out, aiming to impale Kailani through the heart and add her powers to Xicotl’s growing collection. Elsewhere, those barely breathing mortals cut free by Krice’s hand emit agonized wails, their innards having fused to the plant tendrils of the behemoth. They scream curses at him with what little energy they have left instead of thanking him, but their so-called freedom is cut short as more tendrils rush in from all sides to reclaim what is rightfully Xicotl’s property.

Another pulse ripples through those corridors, and with it, those dire images grow all the more real. As Mathollak reaches towards Papa Thrug, he'd find himself assailed with the scent of blood. Injury to add to his urgency, to add that last bit of desperation so that he can reach his hand over towards the one outstretched to him- so that he can coil his fingers into the grasp so desperately awaiting him. A grasp which in truth cannot intertwine with the devouted sons- bearing only a single sharp ichor filled sting for it's would be rescuer. Which leaves Krice. As madness descends amongst those gathered, and the creatures dominion continues to expand, to shift further into a state of surrealness- he remains the one entity lucid enough to move. Even within the tumultous slurry of minds that defines the Primordial, a sense of indignation blossoms. A divine rage that contorts the form gestating within it's core, sending violent shudders down it's myriad roots and vines like the quickening of a pulse. But it's not merely anger which causes it's body to pulse and tremble- for as the enigmatic swordsman vivisects yet another tangle of victims, he's greeted with a fresh hell- noxious spores and tainted ichor alike jet forth. Xicotl's essence spurting in a geyser of infested fluid and gas to make a lie of his unnatural resilience, to whittle away at the man from within and without.

Penelope could barely hear the sound of her own feet as she tried to walk across the roots. Soft whispers that spoke of cries of the Ardelian were fading. Ruari’s call was fading. ‘Pen! Pen!’ Then… nothing. Quietness. The sound of cries begin to disperse and the world around her suddenly feels empty. Dark. Alone. The glow of her hands still guide her light, but she almost appears lost at this point because… the silence fills as if she is back in… that nightmare the night that Penelope touched Pakellin’s spirit the night Kyori led her to his grave. The dark, raging lonely feeling. She felt this feeling before. This emptiness. The girl does what she can only do and reaches out to burn the roots below her, she thinks before she is startled by the call of another voice. Another helper of the war. “Help me, Penelope. It has me, it has me!” … Ruari? She blows fire to try to see the darkness and to help her friend blindly before a root reaches and wraps around her arm–in her mind. She tugs and tries to burn the root wrapped around her. She is visualizing the vine, but what is really happening is that Ruari is grasping her wrist to stop the flame from hurting another. Currently, she is wrapped in the trap of Xicotl, and Ruari is trying to snap her out of it–leaving the healer stunned and the rest of the warriors to fend for themselves, until she can grip, if they were injured in the process.

Kasyr is dimly aware that things have gone awry- his empathic senses ironically dispassionate in their apprisal, allowing him a glimpse of how fear, desperation and confusion ripple through the strike team. And yet, he cannot find the will to move, to intercede. The strength is simply not within his limbs. Or perhaps, he fears to move- for the very vines which twine about his limbs carry a sickly familiarity- eyes of molten sap, amber, around a youthful visage that's been grotesquely extended along a section of vegetation. For all the world, it looks like Kirien- one of the lost, the missing coterie. Only, they looked so in pain, so broken- a grimace rippling through them at the slightest shift in the Kensai's position. Worse, however, is the red eyes which linger in the gloom. So many they could have been mistaken for a swarm of fireflies- were it not for the lingering malice within them, and the threatening ophidian shape. A multitude of gazes, and yet the Kensai was certain there was only one owner. "I shouldn't have come." He can't help the acknowledgement, because even as he remains locked in place, he can see the approach of a particularly delicate tendril- one bestowed with an jagged stinger which gradually descends towards him. "Does it always end like this?" Had this been what had originally been predicted, or had some part of his brain ceded prematurely- if only so he could lash out spitefully at the snake, while it gloated on the sidelines. The only certainty for the Kensai, is the distant sounds of panic, and a dull ache within his head- a throb which seems to intensify moment by moment.

Kailani was already struggling with the mind games that Xicotl was playing with not just her, but everyone. The druid has no solid awareness of where her companions are around her. They could be close enough for her to reach out and touch, or accidentally burn with the flames that she keeps willing into existence, but she can only see the illusions that are being conjured by their foe. Unlike some of the others, the druid has no wards to help defend herself against these illusions. She is merely armed with the knowledge that she has seen these tricks before but even that detail is not enough to permanently shield her mind. Her willpower was already starting to crack as a result of Orion and Grimclaw being used in this mental assault. Xictol changes it's tactics, pulling at another set of images that Kailani feels passionate about. The Xalious Tree. The events that transpired were still fresh in Kailani's mind and in her core the druid is aware that she did not want to see the tree burned. She was one of the few trying to douse the flames, going against the will and the want of everyone she had been fighting with. They were summoning the flames. Right? It is here that doubt begins to creep into Kailani's mind. "No that's not true," Kailani says to this voice. Kailani tries to keep her mind focused on the truth but in the end all that she can see is fire. While she may not have been the catalyst for the fire that burned the Xalious Tree, the way her mind has clung to this image is causing the druid to fuel the flames that she has conjured in a reckless and rampant manner. The flames grow size and intensity, threatening to burn everything surrounding her -- including those companions that she cannot see. Kailani is so consumed by guilt, rage, and flames that she does not fully process the attack that is coming straight at her. The roots threatening to penetrate her torso do so without any genuine attempt to dodge or deflect. The only reason that said roots do not penetrate Kailani's heart directly is because the woman lost her footing while standing upon the uneven and presumably constantly shifting floor of the sinkhole. It still makes contact with Kai's shoulder area, very near to her heart. If it keeps twisting around in the right direction...it'll make it's mark. The pain caused by this attack does not slow the druid's flames, it is just more fuel to the fire. For now.

Karasu feels despair sinking in as the confines of her cocooned prison render her barely able to move her arms now. Be it daggers, claws, or magic, the concentrated magic of Xicotl allows the creature’s injured parts to regenerate faster than she can damage it. Though they are but illusions, the spellblade feels the cold corpses pressing up against her in the darkness, silently begging her to join them in eternal sleep. “Mommy?” Karasu’s eyes snap open to see a perfectly illuminated dragon child standing in the middle of the darkness, looking at her with a gaze of pure innocence and joy at seeing someone he loves so much. His perfectly pressed black suit is a stark contrast to the mop of berry-red curls atop his dark skin. “Berrentram…” Karasu whispers, reaching her hand out towards him. It lasts only a heartbeat before the pulses of Xicotl’s magic wipe the memory from Karasu’s mind, forcing Berrentram away like a gust blowing away a pile of ash, but in that moment, it is all that the woman needs to ground herself. Her son was at home in Vailkrin, Quintessa was gone, but not in the way Xicotl was telling her, and the others would return from this if she had anything to say about it. “Feck you.” Karasu whispers for only Xicotl to hear. With a deep breath, the spellblade shuts her eyes, relaxing her muscles completely. One moment she is there, and the next, the spellblade has vanished into smoke. The cocoon snaps shut at the loss of a meal in its clutches, and the smoke drifts out into the empty space between the hanging roots.

The moment the tendril makes contact with Kailani, the visage of the tree disappears, but it is just a hair too soon for Xicotl to be anticipating the newest addition to its army. Having missed her heart, the root starts to curl inwards so it may turn Kailani into a thrall, then it stops and retracts. For just a brief moment, Kailani might see a cloud of black smoke weaving itself in and out of the flames, and the enemy surrounding her has taken notice. Another tendril from overhead attempts to impale the cloud to little avail, then as quickly as it appears, Karasu appears from the fires, slashing the root that has wounded Kailani in half. The spellblade lands and takes hold of the part of the root that remains lodged in her shoulder. “This will hurt.” It's the only warning she gives before giving a hard yank to rid the druid’s body of the parasite. It would cause more blood to flow from the wound if successful, but Karasu reasons at the moment that leaving it would pose an even greater risk. The orange fires burning underground turn a passionate violet-red as Karasu takes control and wills it to illuminate the way. “Fight on, Papa.” The two will hear from far closer than they expected. “With Rothik, for eternity.” As Mathollak plunges his sword into an empty hole in the dirt, Karasu calls out for him. “Mathollak!” Xicotl’s roots, temporarily stunned by the death knight's killing of his loved one rather than diving into the roots where a deadly trap had laid in wait, recedes into the darkness as Karasu’s fires light the way between them. Papa Thrug gives one last smile at Mathollak before fading into the light, Xicotl’s illusion shattered. No more than a hundred meters away, the core of Xictol pulses more quickly. This was not right, this was not the plan!

Penelope stares in sheer horror as she feels like roots are withering around her before Ruari’s face comes into her view. In her eyes, he is enveloped in a knot of tendrils, but as he comes into her light of flame, Ruari is staring back at her. A small visual of Penelope. The same reflection. As if they were both tied by Xicotl’s illusionistic clutch which would turn the duo healers against each other in their dire need to ‘save one another’. When Ruari is gripping one wrist, Penelope is using her other hand to press forward against the chest of her apprentice to burn through the roots. Instead, a scream pulses as Penelope is not burning roots, but pure flesh–the fire dies growing dark. The girl pulls back suddenly at the shriek she hears, and Ruari reaches towards Penelope to pull one of her blades from a hilt around her waist through the depths of black. The illusionary entangled man reaches out as if to strike her to ‘saw’ through roots. She, however, pulls away from him reaching for her waist which causes a quick dodge. What a wicked mental game of who can ‘save’ and ‘kill’ each other first–healer against healer.

Kasyr could not have fathomed the sheer anguish that tears through him when that stinger finally begins to burrow into the flesh of his arm, gradual yet incessant. And made all the worse when some conscious part of his brain recoiled at the horror of the situation, leaning on his affinity with electricity in order to prolong that instance- to try and postpone the inevitability of corruption, of his ego being crushed beneath a tide of primordial venom. His perceptions, augmented to the point that the world was a stagepiece in slow-motion, reeled as what should be a sharp agony, is instead stretched, seconds becoming minutes. Eldritch life took root within tainted unliving flesh- sinking bone deep as it sought to rewrite his flesh into a grim parody of what his sickly eyes thought they beheld. And again his skull throbbed, not from where it pressed against the cool earth and stone of the chamber they were in, but from something insistent beneath. Something that took in the sight of Kiriens idiot gaze- that revolted at the expression of sheer acceptance contained within the Coterie mates gaze even as Xicotls' noxious infection spread through the flesh of its sire. Another sharp pain, and this time, one of the red eyes watching him winks out- the colours as mute as the lack of taunting voice. And now the Kensai can feel more acutely that this sting is an actual pain, an incessant prod of something sharp to flesh- and in the periphery of his gaze he can see it. A queerly luminescent hawk perched on his shoulder, hammering insistently at his temple- grounding him in the moment. The damnable bird that had come back to him when he'd gone to the Archipelago- which had turned alcohol to poison, and which now sought to bring him back to the moment. Away from the terror, from the promise of relief, and a lack of responsibility. It promised suffering, and difficulty. A never ending series of challenges- but in that same breath, it highlighted those feelings of defiance which hung now palpably in the air. He looks at the vestige of Kirien, still unsure if it's a bitter reality, or some ghastly phantasm, before finally saying the words that need to be said, "I'm sorry." That horrifically extended moment ends in the span of those words- the swordsman's tainted arm abruptly vaporizing in a shock of electrical energy- sacrificed in order to deprive that vile miasma of flesh to take residence in- and affording the swordsman just enough room to abruptly materialize a blade with which to -obliterate- the tendrils twined about his person. And then he's descending, falling into the guts of the place, even as a deadly arc of light briefly sets a play of shadows dancing along the walls.

Krice caught a whiff of blood, lots of it from a variety of people known and unknown to him. He knew that at least some of his current experience was illusory, but he could barely distinguish what; somewhere in the darkness, Kailani at least was bleeding, and behind him lay the vision of his deceased companion - though he knew her to be alive. It was one of the few anchors that kept him in reality, since the spores and ooze had found their way under his defenses to weaken them from within. He hadn’t swung at the walls again, unaware of what other boobytraps lay in wait for him - in the form of more infectious substances, or the reality of undead victims that illusions might tell him were enemies. He had fallen prey to that trick once before, and in that moment had pledged to himself and to the ghosts of his victims that it wouldn’t happen again. The warrior halted as Karasu broke free of her arboreal shackles, though he did not know it, and gazed ahead. By factors unknown, the cavern in which they traveled and suffered began to lighten, and he thought he could trace its origins to a point somewhere up ahead. The light expanded and hastened until he could barely keep even one eye open, a physical rush chasing its progress. Thus he knew it not to be merely an illusion and sheathed his white katana in preparation. Krice didn’t possess any magic, so all he had to offer was defense through his preternatural abilities and whatever tools he had brought with him. In this case, his black katana was at the front of his defensive stance, blade pointing into the light, hilt grasped by both hands. As the light spread outward from Xicotl’s core, Krice steadied himself and allowed his sword to connect with and dispel the photon magic. It couldn’t possibly gather every aspect of the Primordial’s attack, but it protected him from harm as well as those who were at or below his height and close enough that standing in his shadow would keep the light from bending toward them. Whatever allowed his sword to dispel the magic, its protective qualities extended to the warrior’s body, allowing that powerful light to touch him without leaving injury. Ultimately, Xicotl’s attack arced upward and away from the cavern, leaving the enigma at the center of the path a little puffed for breath but none too worse for wear. He shot a glance upward, as if watching the light vibrate its way through the ground. Of course down here, he couldn’t track its trajectory but his main concern was the allies with whom he had come down here. Twisting, he looked past a shoulder where last he knew his comrades to be, but his search for them was short-lived. If so powerful an attack used up any of Xicotl’s energy to produce and expel, it would undoubtedly be weakened or at least a little less defended. Turning again to the front, squinting in the light remnants of the attack, Krice rushed ahead for the core. Even if he was the only one capable, even if his allies needed help, he had to risk it all if there was a possibility of dealing a fatal blow to the core.

Kailani would have been made into a thrall were it not for Karasu as the druid's mind is plagued with Xicotl's illusions. It's not until Karasu severes that root from Kailani's chest, causing said illusion to shatter, that she realizes the dire situation she was in. Kai barely has a chance to acknowledge the warning that Karasu gives her before the rest of the parasite is ripped out of her chest. It hurt, yes, and it would cause her to bleed even more profusely but it was far better than the alternative. At least they would have a chance to staunch the bleeding, at some point. Until then, Kai would be left on her hands and knees on the floor of this abysmal pit while trying to not give into unconsciousness. Her vision was already fuzzy and reality was beginning to fade in and out. Kai could not fully discern if that was because of her loss of blood, or if it was Xictol trying to haunt her mind again. As a druid, Kai could have selfishly turned the focus of her magics to herself to heal her injuries. To complicate matters, Kai recognizes that she is already running low on energy, having expelled so much to even get to this point. The choice was between healing herself or dedicating the rest of her energy reserves to making sure that Xicotl was destroyed. The right path was obvious to Kailani and it meant that she needed to push forward and fight on. The druid continues to impart the last of her will onto the flames, trying to push them just that much further towards Xicotl's core so that this can finally be over...And that is what she will continue to do until the darkness inevitably claims her and she fully collapses.

Mathollak wrenched his tomahawk out of the orc’s head and stepped back. Despite the gaping wound, the undoubtedly mortal blow, its hand still flailed at him. The eyes still sought comfort. Behind him, he thought someone called his name. So many voices, ringing in his head. So many visions, laid over one another. He turned his back toward the latest one calling him, and thought he could see people behind him, but that was impossible because he had been walking for so long. It took him so long to find Papa Thrug and it was too late. He returned his gaze again to his father, and he was gone, instead it was the truth. A tendrilous vine tapering into a dripping needle and connected to his arm. He quickly rips it out, and carves a gash into his own arm, letting the blood flow freely. He returns his gaze to the core, and the entire room is covered in a light so blinding he can’t see anything, until eventually it dissipates. There’s a massive hole melted into the rocky ceiling above where the light beam was deflected, and a smoldering trail leading directly to the core. Mathollak draws his axe from the withering vine and treks after it.

Flames lap at the cavern, traveling in chaotic pathways along roots and vines drained of their essence in order to fuel the cleaving beam of light, which even now drew a second pattern through the ceiling high above. In its wake, molten earth and hunks of city rain down- in a desperate effort to impede the warriors as they advanced. Its gaze, once focused, begins to widen- whispers of light flickering away to irradiate the room in wisps of scalding sunlight and swathes of cooked earth. In the midst of this chaos, Kasyr's landing goes almost unnoticed- even with the unnatural manner in which it hastened. No doubt, it was tied to the static coursing through his form, the excess of which spewed like Vitae from the collapsed right sleeve of his coat. In any case, it added a certain degree of fluidity to his motions, for when he moved- it was in defiance to the chaos of the room- an uncanny grace which saw him skim through his allies with barely a trace, save for the invasive scent of ozone that would linger near each one. All so he could put his unnatural strength to use, and rather literally move to sweep Karasu off her feet in order to weave the pair of them past Xicotl's tantrum. "Je m'excuse. But, I need to borrow your concentration." He's prepared for a bristle, for some trademark tinge of defiance- but his attention is elsewhere, on putting every once of unnatural haste, electric or vampiric, into closing the distance. "We can't last much longer- so I need you to cast something. With -every- ounce of magic you have, and then some. I need you to try and pull in as much as you can." As far as plans go, it's simple enough- a replication of what Kasyr & Magik had done to sever off Xicotl's tendril, save for a particular detail. He didn't have the luxury of debriefing the demi-feline on concentrating, on taking their time to focus, and to properly take hold of those energies. Because not only was Karasu going to find herself abruptly subjected to an overwhelming tide of magic in a similar vein to that event, but other forces besides. Shocks of pure elemental energy would leap through mana channels that had spent years stymied, followed in turn by the revenant's particular brand of darkness- each one an overwhelming cascade which seems to go on. Distantly, some morbid part of the kensai can't help but wonder as to whether or not it might serve to ignite some potential within the swordsman . . . or simply exhaust her until she's left a husk. But always, always- the work comes first. It was time to kill (demi-)god.

Karasu only has a moment’s relief to see Mathollak broken from his stupor before the group are plunged into the light. The spellblade’s slitted eyes quickly adjust before she can even process what has happened, turning from nearly black orbs to pinpricks in her irises. Still being half-human, Karasu winces and is forced to turn her head away. She had seen just enough to know there was room to swing her sword in case anything made it past or around Krice. With a quick reflex, the spellblade snaps her sword to attention from its resting place around her waist and digs it into the ground. “Get behind!” Karasu opens her eyes just enough to make sure Kailani, and just a few paces away, the ragged form of Penelope only seeming to just now come out of her own personal hell. Mathollak was ahead of them, but she had faith that he would be safe. A blue light erupts from her sword, a small protection, if it could provide any, for the battered Kailani and Penelope. The moment Karasu releases her grip from her sword, she feels herself being lifted from the ground. Her instinct propels her claws outward as she turns to face her assailant. “Kasyr!” The steel spikes encompassing her fingertips stop just short of his jugular, not that it would have injured him too grievously regardless. She only has the moment when he speaks and tells her she needs to cast with all of her concentration. “Cast what?!” Karasu does not get her answer, though, as Kasyr imparts his abilities onto her. If the light from Xicotl tearing away the darkness had been painful before, then Karasu was sure she would go blind now. Sparks fly behind her eyelids wrenched shut, as the foreign energies course through her body. Though it lasts only for a moment in mortals’ time, those few seconds are pure agony as the Kensai forces Karasu’s hands up against the fleshy core of Xicotl. Karasu forces herself out of Kasyr’s arms and digs her claws into the core as she tries to keep herself lucid. The magical energy was awakening things inside her meant to remain dormant, that her father had meticulously gone through her mind to ensure Karasu could never become more powerful than his own abilities. The spellblade’s eyes open, and red-violet fires burn through her scleras. Embers fall from between her lips as she parts them to release a feral growl. Flames burn their way throughout every muscle of her body, and the deep violet curls of her hair smoke before shifting into flames themselves. Xicotl could sense it as well, this was something no otherworldly magic could decipher in time to prevent the inevitable. As Krice deflects its most concentrated attack, woody tendrils stab away at the pair in an attempt to stop the build-up. The swing of Delisha’s Axe makes the serpentine roots stop just short of their mark as Mathollak keeps them at bay. Coursing with power Karasu cannot yet control nor understand, the red-violet flames engulf her form completely. Releasing the roar of a true wildcat, Karasu peels away the fleshy core, and throws herself into the fires. The fleshy core momentarily relapses, seeming to swallow her whole. Then the core blackens, then bubbles, as it begins to burn from the inside out. Xicotl’s core, sent all the way from its safe refuge in Xalious through thralls because its victory in Frostmaw was supposed to have been completely guaranteed, erupts into the same red-violet flames, with the damage spreading outwards, root by root, through the desiccated bodies, the barely breathing, and the thralls that it had spent countless time creating. In a last momentary effort of self-preservation, the roots sever themselves below the ground, breaking the tether to its original resting place, leaving seedlings for the next few millennia of growth. Of course, the heroes would never know this, but what they would know was that Xicotl’s time in Frostmaw was now at its end.

Krice still intermittently coughed as he ran, his lungs working to purge what remained of the spores that had weakened his mind. With his katana held in a reverse-grip behind him, he didn’t notice the blade’s disintegration. Metal disbanded from metal, unwoven in seconds, a blacksmith’s craftsmanship revealed in the layers that emerged as the ones above them dispersed and disappeared - until no steel remained at all. It was a silent, slow-motion departure of the blade that had served him for years, a magic-negating bulwark so overwhelmed by Xicotl’s attack that it literally ceased to exist. Krice felt the lack of weight in its remaining hilt and he brought it forward to see. Shocked, crimson eyes gaped at the empty space where once steel curved outward and his trajectory slowed. The warrior had all but three seconds to lament the loss of such a useful weapon before a blob of molten rock fell on the untouched side of the hilt, singing the outer edge of his hand. He grimaced and thrust his hand downward, dislodging the bulk of that lava so it couldn’t spread to do more damage; in the same motion, he discarded the hilt to disintegrate wherever it fell, focusing now on evading the chunks of rock shaken free by the collapsing cavern ceiling. He squinted whenever Xicotl’s light rippled across a wall closer to his path, leaving a ghost-image like lightning in his periphery. As he dodged closer to the center of the path to avoid more falling debris, Kasyr passed him with a passenger in tow. He watched their progression toward the core and slowed his own, sensing the build-up of magic that followed them. He continued moving to avoid the heated debris from above and hung back in case the Primordial unleashed more hordes--did it even have any left?--in a last gasp to protect itself. The fire that followed Karasu’s transformation erupting outward along Xicotl’s veins kept the enigma on his toes, agile and swift where needed to ensure he never stood close enough to any aflame pathway that he’d be burned. Karasu and Kasyr seemed successful at the core, so Krice spent a moment glancing back toward his other allies, to gauge their health and status in the fiery chaos. His lungs felt as hot as the air that surrounded him and the sensation triggered more coughing, but he pressed his lips to stifle the spore-symptom in favour of focusing on his allies.

Penelope felt the swift air in front of her of the blade, but she could not decipher that it was, in fact, a blade. Xicotl… was a root reaching for her? The blindness was overtaking, and a shaking sensation pulses through her back. The nausea crept, as she was experiencing… the mentality of it all. The unknown. Abyssal unknown. Ruari was there. Somewhere. “Ruari!” She calls out, but she can only hear his name in her own ears, and with the calling of the name, gives Ruari a hint that Penelope is deeper in the dark–assuming she was pulled by roots, so he lunges forward for dear-life and slams her against the rooted floor. The impact takes the Ardelian’s breath away and the force against one of her arms makes a bone crack, and it was then the large light flashes and grey stormy, concerned eyes stare into a blinded, mossy, sun-glared gaze. The woman was staring into the sea of spots due to the brightness of the area. With Ruari’s realization of Penelope not being tethered and the sound of her arm, he swiftly pulls his own arms around Penelope to pull the healer up and back to avoid the attack that Xicotl was advancing and, in Penelope’s mind, roots are taking her into the depths of the core where Ruari is backpedaling to, so her free arm is reaching for the other blade in her belt to cast forward. In the midst of the pain that shoots through the grinding bone in her arm and a gust of fire pushes forward where Ruari backpedals in agony as a blade digs deep into his shoulder. “Penelope!” Ruari yells to disarm the dagger. Penelope drops the blade before being carried further to the core where a scent of ozone reaches her to snap her out of the trance. Was she in… what…? The Ardelian’s shocked look falls to the floor where Kailani is unconscious from the blow. “Stop! Stop! No! Kailani!” And Ruari abides and comes to a halt, and what flashes forward beyond Penelope, Kailani, and Ruari is Karasu’s magic. Because of the impact of the red-violet flames and the bubbling of Xicotl’s core, Ruari lifts another shield beyond with his own white, light source of magic to double-protect the two druids from any of the damage of the blow the spellblade causes, especially with Kailani’s passive state. The half-elf kneels to create a bubble of protection from the final attack. Penelope and Ruari shield their gaze, as Penelope is still stunned by the brightness of Xicotl’s light and trying to regain vision, and Ruari is blinded by the red flames before them--the action takes it's course.

Kasyr feels some degree of grim satisfaction as the core ruptures, jets of scalding sap spurting out as its mass implodes due to the living furnance walking through it. All around him, he can see it's handiwork immolate, tightly wound roots that had once pulsed with malicious life now withering beneath a heat that seems more voracious then it's continental appetite. He doesn't not appreociate the destruction for long, however, and not merely because the instability of the chamber grows by the second- intensifying as their surroundings grow further moored in a reality where gravity matters- where they need to take into account just how much damage had been down to the crater they sat within was. No, what arrests the kensais attention is one last decisive throb of his head- a reminder from his virtuous familiar that there was something amiss- a menacing familiarity that still lingered, even as it's body collapsed. It's not the seeds, whose countless multitudes lay scattered abroad in order to pave the way for a future vessel- but the thing itself. Even as it's body curdles into so much charred compost, some vestigial remnant of the thing remains- a spiritual echo that seems to persist. The very spirit of the thing, poised to spitefully linger on- and one day return to what it started.

At least, until the Kensai staggers forward- Vesper unsheathed in one smooth stroke and sent crashing through the spot he can feel that malign essence. Vesper, the sword which had made a feast of countless spectral entitites, carves into that immortal essence with a sound like metal straining under pressure. It's no common Ghost that the blade consumes, and it shows in the way the blackened steel begins to shimmer and shift, struggling to fully take hold of the Primordial creature.

Yet as quickly as that struggle starts, it ends- Xicotl's essence losing it's hold on the material world in the face of that surprise assault, if only to abruptly find it's new home within the sword. Which is about the point the Kensai finds himself -rudely- surprised by the literal gravity of his action. Without a single iota of warning, Vesper plunges into the ground and promptly craters it- the sheer spiritual weight of the entity reflected in the physical world, to such a degree that it -effortlessly- denies the Kensais attempt to lift up the weapon.

"Calice." They don't have the time to mess around with the freshly made immovable arnament, and so, with a simple nod he makes a left handed gesture to those still conscious, "We're getting out- now." Whatever way they can. In the Kensais case- this requires a rather gory sacrifice of the tissue of his internal organs- flesh turned to power in order to replenish some of the reserves he'd burned away- all so he can provide a quick lightning charged hop for those closest to him, Likely Mathollak & Karasu. Krice, likely- would help retrieve the rest.

Krice took note; Kailani was unconscious and grounded, Penelope a mess, Ruari panicked but keeping it together for Penelope’s sake, Karasu on fire. This close to the erupting core, the heat was uncomfortable and at times intense, but once it was clear that Karasu and Kasyr had succeeded, he turned to retreat. Leaving his white katana sheathed against his back, and his black katana lost to lava and overuse, the enigma rushed forward from the core utilizing his quick-steps to cover more ground in a shorter time. When he arrived at the fallen Kailani, he slowed to scoop her up in his arms and secured her against his chest, lessening the whiplash she might otherwise have suffered as a result of his speed. He had a brief conversation with Ruari and Penelope that resulted in the former agreeing to follow him out with the healer in hand. The enigma led his companions up an incline, maneuvering along a path that seconds later was flanked by lava or debris of some sort. He kept them clear and safe from debris only in the path that he chose for them all--it was harder to help Ruari dodge anything that fell after the fact. Though he was fast, he did not leave Penelope and her companion in the distance, staying close to them until they could all climb free of the crater into the world above. If he was in pain or exhausted from the battle, he didn’t show it. Whether or not his other allies sought clinic visits, Krice would carry Kailani to the nearest functioning triage location (unless she woke up and protested before then) and stay with her until assured by staff that she was fine.

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RP:Xicotl Frostmaw Battle - Uprooting the Enemy

Walled Courtyard

The Frozen Maw

Below the surface…