For a moment the battle appeared to be going their way again. The inital shock caused by the prowess of the Greens was pushed aside and be it numbers or skill, Kilgim and his companions managed to drop the second one as well.

But the green-skinned men had a twist of their own to change the flow of things. Apparently the weapons of the group were not potent enough to damage them. First Char threw a perfect blow into a mutated man's side - a blow which should by all books have been leathal. But the blade didn't even bite. Then the bald dwarf dodged a blow and moved in bringing both his axes down in crescent-like swing, but the magically empowered edges of the weapons seemed to hit an invisible stone wall where the skin of the creature should be. "By the Fires o'Moradin! What 'r ye made of?"

Arien appeared to have some more success with the fiery blade of his and both Dapple and Adrian were offering more sources of fire to battle the green-skinned men. But before Kilgim was able to change his tactics from attack to defense and grab a torch or lanter, the battle took another twist - another nasty twist.

Apparently covered by magical invisibility like Kilgim's two companions before, another imperial appeared. And this time, it wasn't "merely" a green, but a blue guard - one of the powerful warriors whose lives were dedicated into protecting the high-ups of the Empire. And this one didn't seem to be lacking skill either. Before the cleric had time to swallow, his friend had his sword thrown off from his hand and the blue was about to finish Arien off.

He had to do something... There was a prayer that might help, but as Kilgim blocked another blow from his own opponent, he witnessed another of his companions go down and this time accompanied by a gush of blood. "Maximus!"

At the very moment Char and Valentine moved in with the fire, and Dapple was nearby as well. It gave Kilgim the break he needed. There was no time to worry about Arien now, the knight would have to manage another heartbeat. Maximus's arm looked bad and the big man was gagging for air.

Hope me prayer's are powerful 'nuff, laddie. Kilgim dropped on his knees beside the former gladiator and called for the powers of Clangeddin..

---

OOC: Plan is to at least stabilize the big guy and perhaps heal him enough to take part in the combat again. Not holding my breath here. :/

Maximus’s happiness from but a moment before was shattered as if from no where yet another Imperial appeared and this time no green but a dreaded, and by the Ex Gladiator, a much hated blue.

As he turned to meet this threat his face and mouth were suddenly filled with a greenish sap and just like that he could not breathe. A second later pain as he had never felt in the arena or as a free fighter overtook him and he crashed to the floor, his arm nearly severed from his body and his cognizant mind fading fast, his lungs desperately in need of air.

His mind on the verge of blacking out and his body on the verge of death from no air the big fighter was unaware of the dwarf Kilgim at his side.....

Dapple had been watching for her chance to dart in and attack either of the green man-things when Arien cried out and moved sideways in a way that defied logic, at least until the Blue materialized. Then, the sudden change in direction, the loss of his sword and the stricken expression on his face made perfect, if horrific sense.

Dapple launched her remaining torch at the nearest greenie (OOC: DM’s chance roll, I suppose) as if it were a thrown dagger, then moved to interpose herself between the Blue and the fallen Arien. She watched the Blue closely, trying to gauge any weakness in his attack style, but knew it was likely futile…such weaknesses would have been trained out of him before he could shave. Still, such training could create opportunities for a clever monster, if she could think of a way to use it to her advantage. Blues were rigidly trained from an early age, and their skill with their chosen weapon was legendary, as was their mindless devotion to their assigned “master”….

“Slipping out to have a little fun?” She taunted the Blue in a voice dark with menace,” Guarding can be deadly dull, but how can you be sure you’ve found all of us? If we’re the distraction, one of my brethren could be cutting your master’s throat as we dance. Such dereliction of duty!”

OOC: Not sure if you would consider the torch toss my attack or not. If yes, then remainder of round is spent getting to Blue and taunting as above. If I still can attack, Dapple will watch for any reaction in the Blue’s manner to her words, fake a punch from the right, then kick for his torso from the left.

One moment, the battle was going so well. Arien had stepped into the fray, armor shining, flaming sword held aloft, and had helped to change the tide of the battle. Heironeus was smiling upon thier efforts this day; good would triumph over evil, and all was right with the world.

In a heartbeat, everything changed. The heir to house Thedell is struck in the side by a cowardly attack, knocking him to the ground.

Arien is no stranger to battle or to wounds, and knows that this is no skinned knee or broken rib - the damage is serious. Before he can fully recover, the Blue has disarmed him, and Maximus is greivously injured by one of the tree-men.

Nothing is right with the world. The possibility of defeat suddenly looms large, and the knight feels sick to his stomach. Is this how it will end, then? Dying for what? There will be no songs about this. No one will know, or even care.
Suddenly, Dapple makes a move to step to Arien's aid. Dapple - unarmed, and surely no match for the Blue - apparently experiences no fear, no hesitation. The knight steels himself. If the little rogue can show such courage, why is he stroking his own self pity like this?

Live or die, Arien will fight the good fight.



OOC: Arien will use the time Dapple is hopefully buying to retrieve his sword. Who knows? Maybe Dapple will snap the guy's neck and Arien will look really silly. However, the plan is to get the sword, ignite it, and attack the Blue all out. If this guy lives, I'm betting we all die.

Char continued to dart in and out, away from the arms and legs, but trying to score another, good, solid strike with his fire.

"Kilgrim! Arien needs ya!" Char had caught but a little of the interaction, and, in fact, hadn't really seen what had caused the big knight to go down, but he'd heard the gasp of pain and the clatter of the knight's tumble to the floor and he had seen the twisting fall.

Ducking in again, the ranger felt urgency swell inside as he slapped fire at the beast once more. They needed to end this as quickly as possible. He didn't know how much more they could take.

Something had bitten him… a big something by the feel of it… and whatever it was, its bite was affecting him at the last, crucial moments of his casting and it was all Jal could do to finish the incantation and secure the tree-men. It hadn’t occurred to him that the “bite” was actually a poisoned bolt from one of the Green’s crossbows, nor did it occur to him that this could possibly be the last spell he would cast and, in his inexperienced excitement to help, that he may have doomed his new “friends” to death because of it. All he could do, even as the poison started to sap his consciousness, was finish the spell and hope it was enough… there wasn’t enough left of his sight, though, to see whether or not the web had cast… and then, darkness.

The afterlife looks curiously like a tavern, Jal thought, his expression extremely puzzled as he attempted to blink away the gauzy haze that must have been an after effect of death and surveyed the strangely presented hall of the dead.

The spellbinder’s face contorted into a mask of deepening perplexity when he realized that one of the patrons of this place was none other than Arien. The knight occupied a booth not far away and was drinking ale with a woman who could only have been his sister and another demonic looking woman… Jal’s heart sank and he took the knight’s presence here to mean that, not only had he been killed, but so too had Arien. He glanced over his shoulder, afraid but all but expecting the ghosts of Dapple, Maximus, Kilgrim, and Valentine to stride in at any moment, too, before turning a befuddled eye back to Sir Thedell.

You should not be here, Sir knight, he wanted to scream at the mirror armored ghost, Dapple is alone in the corridor with the Greens and Iuz only knows what other abominations! He needs your help!
He wanted to shout those words but found that the sight of his old master tending bar had effectively stipped him of his voice. The ancient and vile sorcerer was cleaning a beer mug with a dirty rag and looking at the crowd with as much contempt and disgust as he ever had when gazing upon his former pupil. No, he thought, unaware that he had taken a few cowering steps backward at the sight of the Master, how can it be that Sir Arien and I have been sent to the same Hell as him?!? This cannot be… cannot be… real... Jal turned his head, repeating the words ‘cannot be real’ over and over as he willed this afterlife to be gone. It was then that he noticed the two dead soldiers he had just seen in the stairwell. They were dressed like workers and busied themselves fixing a wooden beam support in the ceiling. Why he found that curious, Jal couldn’t quite fathom, but for the moment, it had served to distract him from the evil glare of the bartender and drawn his attentions even deeper into the place. He spied a waiter approaching and, as the stout little man approached was both amused and horrified to realize that the waiter was none other than Dwan Granitecrusher.

“Table for one,” Dwan asked as Jal blinked dumbly at him.

“Jal!” Before the urchin mage could find the words to reply to Dwan and all to familiar voice assailed his ears and set his eyes out in search of its source. “Jal! Over here!”

And there she was… Wynter was waving at him from across the room; that beautiful smile providing the light that he had imagined he would find when he at last met his end. She beckoned him gleefully and his heart fluttered when he recognized her… even though he knew now that it was impossible for her to be here. Even if I am damned to the same hell as the Master, Wynter cannot possibly be condemned to that fate… His gaze ticked nervously to the old wizard at the bar, hesitant to look too long lest the Master recognize him, then back to the lovely girl who demanded his attention.

“Oh!” the Lord of the Iron League/waiter chastised, “You are with her? You have kept the Lady waiting for a long time sir. That simply won’t do.”

Jal grinned sheepishly at the dwarf and nodded his agreement. “Much too long, my lord,” the spellbinder acquiesced before padding towards the table where Wynter sat, “far longer than you could possibly know.”

Almost hesitantly, as if expecting that the girl might vanish with each footfall that brought him closer, the urchin mage crossed the room and released the breath that he had held hostage behind a tight-lipped smile. “Wynter? Is it really? You are here,” he sighed, still not quite believing his eyes. He wanted to pull her from her seat and wrap her in his arms and smell her hair and…

“Of course I am here, my love,” Wynter smiled brilliantly and gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the table, “Where else would you expect to find me?”

He was at once transfixed by her smile, confused by her question, and, in his hopes to make her happy, almost bungling as he tried to seat himself across from her. Jal blinked rapidly as he almost fell onto the chair and then, just as quickly and clumsily, nearly toppled off the other side. Only the brief sense of vertigo as he caught himself was able to break the spell her smile had on him and able to temporarily dismiss the dopey grin that had thus far stretched his lips from ear to ear… It was enough, though, to at last find a reply to the query she had just posed.

“Well,” he murmured, somewhat nervously scanning the barroom before returning his pale eyes back to here, “I would not expect to find you in a tavern, my love…” his gazed ticked towards Arien, then, and for the briefest of instants, at the Master “…and certainly not among the likes of this. Well, Arien perhaps, he is a noble man, in title as well as character, from what I can tell and…”

Wynter’s slender fingers stroked the back of his hand as she leaned across the table and whispered; “Haven’t I always waited here for you, my Spellbinder? For as long as we have known one another, is this not always where you find me?” She withdrew and, as her hands drifted back across the table, Jal saw a pair of glasses and a bottle of wine that he didn’t recall seeing before. She smiled sweetly at him again and, awaiting his answer, poured each glass half full. The questions must have etched a mask of puzzlement on his features because, as Wynter slid one of the glasses across the table, she giggled at him, shook her head, and patted his hand before she sat back again, claiming the second glass for herself.

“Am I… am I dead,” he managed to ask, almost as baffled by the sight of Wynter drinking wine as he was by her questions and the presence of all theses others in this place… whatever it was… “What is this place?”

She giggled again and lifted the wine glass to her rose petal lips. “No, my love,” she cooed, “not dead… not quite…”

((OOC:Not going to assume much more past that but, for some reason, I’m getting the impression that there may be a “learning experience” in here somewhere so… I imagine Jal questioning Wynter as to what she might know about each of the “familiar faces” (Arien, Dwan…the M-m-master… eep!) and, perhaps, as to where she has been for so long… DMs discretion as to whether anything comes of all this, of course. Anyway, I imagine the “dream” ending a bit like this…))

“Perhaps you should have a drink of your wine, my sweet Spellbinder,” Wynter smiled, brushing her fingers across his cheek and nodding to the as yet untouched glass before him. There was a hint of sadness in her eyes, he thought, as he smiled back at her; “Leave these other mysteries for another time and turn your mind to other things.”

His ice-colored eyes dipped to the glass and the shimmering liquid within. He though he saw the flare of a torch in the surface of the wine and, from outside the tavern, the sounds of a fight. The sounds were faint at first but, as he watched his fingers curl around the stem of the glass and lift it, it grew louder and louder.

“That’s it, my love,” he heard Wynter’s voice whisper, “drink your wine and then we must go… you have friends to attend to… and I have…”

~~~~~~*****~~~~~~

The sounds of battle were all around him, now. Clanging and shouting and the sickening sounds of rending flesh; he could almost feel it vibrating through him. He could almost smell it… he could almost recognize some of the shouting voices… but none of them were Wynter’s and she hadn’t finished telling him where she would be. That angered him and, as he gritted his teeth to keep from cursing and cleched his fists in an attempt to stifle an enraged scream, he came to the realization that he did recognize the voices weaving through the din of the fight – Arien… Dapple… Char… – and that he was lying face down on a cold and fetid dungeon floor. He realized that he wasn’t dead and that he had awoken in the midst of the fight…

As frightened, now, as he was angry about losing Wynter again, Jal scrambled to his feet snatching up his staff as he went. He spun around and, wide-eyed for a long moment, took in the carnage that had erupted around his still form in what could have been only minutes. There were bodies and blood and… sap?... everywhere and, while it looked like his friends had done well enough, the situation didn’t look as if well enough might do. There was something burning still shambling about and a Blue in the midst of his party a great number of whom appeared to be near death or worse… He blinked.

What do I do?! the urchin mage nearly lost his composure… he couldn’t believe that he was standing here gawking at the unfolding massacre and doing nothing to help his friends but an appropriate spell wouldn’t come to mind and even though Arien’s sword lay close by, even Jal wasn’t mad enough to pick it up and try to weild it against an Imperial Blue… Arien’s sword, my love? Why wouldn’t he have that?
He blinked again. Arien’s sword!!! Even as he stooped to retrieve the weapon, Jal’s eyes sought out the mirror-armored knight and he knew then what he had to do. “Sir Thedell,” he shouted, hoping he would gain the knight’s attention for at least a second, “Your sword!”

((OOC: Okay, I guess Jal’s going to try and toss Arien his pig-sticker and, if he’s got it in him, let’s see if he can’t cast Light on the Blue’s eyeballs… then, I suppose, we’ll see what happens. P.S. My sincere apologies for the extremely long absence… Hopefully, I’ve got things worked around so that I can become a “regular” again. ))

(A bit of liberty with kilgim. I rolled a perception to see if he'd figure out what to use on the tree sap)

Kilgim watched with fear as the green goo on Maximus seemed to be growing, as if spreading to pour itself into the orifices and wounds of Maximus. He had to react fast and Kilgim knew in an instant what he had to do. No time for spells, the dwarf took his handkeg from his pack and poured the dwarven ale onto the gladiator. The green goo immediately shrinks back and begins to dissolve. The choking threat now over, Kilgikm began his prayer asking his god for healing power.

Char attacks with the burning torch, striking hard and into the face of the green monster. After a part strike to the face, the creature seems to falter, then collapses to the ground.

Valentine drives his glassteel blade deep into the open wound of his opponent and it staggers back, also falling to the ground almost exactly at the same time as the other one.

Dapple calls out to the blue in an attempt to distract him, but the focus of the warrior is unbroken. He moves in to strike at Arien, who blocks the sword with his shield. Dapple moves in and hits the blue with a solid strike to his side. The imperial rolls with the blow and comes up again, ready once again to focus on Arien.

“Sir Thedell! Your Sword!” a slurred voice calls and Jal managed to toss the sword towards Arien. The movement is too much for the still drugged mage and he falls to the floor, but not before the blade goes end over end towards the knight.

Arien grabs for the sword with a mailed glove and does not hesitate. His finger close around the hilt and he spins to strike, just as the Blue was moving in for the kill. The blade cuts a deep gash across his belly and up his side. Dumbly the imperial guard staggers back, to be kicked once again by Dapple. No longer able to use his fancy moves and overlong sword, Arien dispatched him with a thrust through the neck.

The burning creatures are merely smoldering now, whatever fueled the flames has burned away. There are sounds above you of soldiers moving in haste, and way above, the sound of wood and stone being shattered.

Valentine is seriously wounded.
Dapple’s wounds are minor
Maximus is seriously wounded and smells like strong beer
Arien is seriously wounded

Kilgim had no clue where the sudden flash of an idea had come from. He certainly had had no previous meeting with such creatures before, but something in the back of his brain had urged him to try the beer. The cleric risked another beat of his heart to watch the alcohol take effect on the green goo before grabbing his twin-axe holy symbol and starting the chants of a healing prayer.

Char's call caught his ear, but there was nothing he could do. Arien would have to survive on his own, or with the help of Dapple at least. And after all hell had broken loose and taken the lot of them by surprise, the group suddenly started being just that - a group.

With most of his concentration aimed at Maximus, the bald dwarf cast a couple of glances at his other companions and allowed himself a little smile. They were going to make it through the day... or at least this fight. Dapple and Arien, with the help of the still sleepy mage worked like a team and dropped the Blue without further damage to themselves.

And then the fight was over. Smell of burning flesh, dirt and blood mixed up into something quite unpleasant, but at the same time an all too familiar smell from the battlefields of Kilgim's past. In another situation, the priest would have allowed himself to be taken over by the memories of past glory and loss of friends, but now was not the time. His companions needed him and his God.

All in all things were not going too well. They were barely into the ruins and already more than half of their number were seriously injured and in need of immediate attention. Moving from one patient to another binding wounds, but still withholding the magic of Clangeddin, Kilgim cleared his throat.

"Lads. Me thinks we might need t' pull back fer 'ealin', fer me spells are runnin' out soon. Or if ye wish t' move on, usin' Dwan's potions could be wise now." Letting the others think awhile, Kilgim adjusts the bandage on Arien's wound.

"But if'n well run now, the Imps'll 'ave time to rearrange their defense or flee. Your call."

The gods themselves were watching down on this group - of that, there could be no doubt. Things had gotten very ugly very quickly, and Arien knew well that it could just has easily been his own body slowly cooling on the floor, rather than that of the Blue. Accordingly, the knight spoke a prayer of thanks under his breath to Heironeus.

After ascertaining that no immediate threat remained, Arien checked on his companions. Valentine and Maximus bore wounds as serious (or more so) than his own - not a good sign, and Dapple was less than hale.

He moved to help Jal to his feet, making a point of thanking the strange mage for his assistance. The knight knew well that without that toss of his sword, he would liely be dead right now. Arien had trusted Dwan's judgement on the man, and Jal had proven that trust well-placed - let no one doubt his sincerity or trustworhthiness, no matter how strange his habits might be!

Kilgim made valid points about the extent of their wounds, but even in a normal situation, Arien would have been loathe to back away at this point; doing so would simply give the enemy time to regroup and prepare for them. But with Alloryen in the picture, there could be no other way.

"Friend Kilgim," Arien stated, "you are correct that we would benefit from some rest and healing - but you are also correct that our enemies would do the same. I fear that if we allow them to prepare, we may find ourselves in an even worse situation."

The knight paused. "However," he continued, "I may be allowing my own personal feelings to cloud the matter. The fact is, Kilgim, I cannot retreat from here - not with Alloryen being held prisoner. I will not compel - or even ask - any of you to accompany me further, but I cannot, will not, leave."

Arien unstoppered a healing potion and took a draw. "I will listen to your counsel, friends, but you must understand that I can but stay the course."

Dapple saw how her words to the Blue were completely ignored and felt herself go cold inside. The Blue was focused on Arien, and she couldn’t distract him, she couldn’t stall him, she’d have no choice but to kill him, or watch Arien die at his hands.

A solid kick in the ribs barely deflected the Blue and Dapple considered her next attack since he had no interest (or fear) in her. That’s when Arien suddenly had his sword again and sliced the Blue across the chest, staggering him. Startled, Dapple managed a weak kick that pushed the Blue back into Arien’s weapon reach and the knight finished him with a thrust into the throat.

Lifeblood surged from the man’s throat and he fell to the ground between Arien and Dapple. She fastidiously avoided the spreading pool of blood and began searching the body. The Greens were bastards, and her nemesis; what lay between her and peace, but they were merely soldiers. This Blue, however, had been sent, and Arien had been his target, so he’d be more likely to carry something of use, like keys.

"Lads. Me thinks we might need t' pull back fer 'ealin', fer me spells are runnin' out soon. Or if ye wish t' move on, usin' Dwan's potions could be wise now." Kilgim spoke and Dapple blinked, just now noticing the carnage about the room and the sorry state of her companions. "But if'n well run now, the Imps'll 'ave time to rearrange their defense or flee. Your call, " Kilgim concluded.

Dapple tilted her head, listening to the noises coming through the stone and wood above. “We’d best move, if we can, “she stated in a matter of fact tone, as if commenting on the weather,” This one was sent specifically for Arien, and that noise above us is either the rest coming for us, or a serious distraction that can tip the scales in our favor.”

Her search concluded (OOC: Let me know what I find, oh DM), Dapple straightened fluidly, her pierced thigh scarcely protesting. She’d done worse to herself squeezing into small places on her night haunts, an if her jaw throbbed from the Green’s kick, she gave no sign.

Too fast, Jal thinks as Arien’s sword leaves his grip. The momentum of the toss combined with the grogginess that still lingered prevented the urchin-mage from being able to cast even the simplest spell at the Blue and, instead, sent Jal tumbling back to the floor; too soon…
Even as he scrabbled weakly away, though, and despite his inability to bring any arcane power to bear, it appeared that tossing that sword had been enough. Arien had caught the blade with apparent ease and, between he and Dapple, was able to bring down the elite Imperial bodyguard. For the better, then, Jal decided, I fear that I’ll have need of all the mana I can muster before we have the chance to rest again and I’ve already used much more than I likely should have… He stifled a yawn and tired to will away the sleepiness that still clung to him like a heavy cloak and, as it was all he could manage at the moment, scooted to one side of the corridor and propped himself against a wall before allowing his bleary gaze to take in the aftermath of this latest battle.

Kilgrim was busy tending to Maximus, whom, amongst all the rest, seemed to be the most seriously injured, and, if Jal was seeing properly Valentine and Arien seemed to be vying for the next spot on that list. Char and Dapple, too, seemed to have taken their share of the beating but neither of them seemed as bad as the others. The rogue, in fact, had wasted precious little time in removing anything of worth from the slain Imperial. And the ranger, Jal had determined in the past few days, had to be the toughest and most determined soul he had ever met; the man faced whatever was thrown at him with the same iron-set determination and stoicism… Wood and stone, Jal thought, recalling the snippet of a rhyme he’d once heard about woodsmen, flesh and bone… Aye, and so it would seem, my love, he muttered as he rested his staff across his knees and his forehead against the staff. He hoped that Wynter was close by and was listening. Hoped that he hadn’t left her in that place, alone with the Master. Flexible as the willow and steadfast as the mountain…
His eyes closed and he waited for an answer… or hoped to slip back into the ‘dream’ and find the girl again… but none came. “…Wynter?”

The Spellbinder’s eyes shot open and, initially, he cowered away as if having been startled from sleep when Arien approached and offered a hand to help him to his feet. Jal blinked at the knight for a moment as if somehow surprised that Arien was actually standing there – at first, there had been faint images, recollections, perhaps, of the sister and the demonic woman standing there with him but they soon faded away. Jal offered a weak smile, then, and accepted the proffered hand. His smile widened a bit and his cheeks warmed slightly when Arien expressed his thanks.

“Indeed, my lord,” Jal replied, pushing aside a tangled lock of hair and tentatively met the man’s gaze, “would that I could have done more. When I saw you with your sister and that… woman… I feared the worst...I…”

Jal blinked again. None of them shared that dream with you, Jal, muttered an inward voice, you, perhaps, share too much... The mage’s ice-hued eyes flicked downward, then swept uncertainly over the rest of the party before returning to Arien. “…I am glad to see that you are still among us, Sir Thedell.”

Kilgrim, dutifully tending the parties wounds, had moved closer and was examining Arien. "Lads,” the cleric stated, “Me thinks we might need t' pull back fer 'ealin', fer me spells are runnin' out soon. Or if ye wish t' move on, usin' Dwan's potions could be wise now." He adjusted the bandage he’d just placed on Arien’s wound before continuing; "But if'n well run now, the Imps'll 'ave time to rearrange their defense or flee. Your call."

Dapple tilted his head, listening to the noises coming through the stone and wood above. “We’d best move, if we can, “she stated in a matter of fact tone, as if commenting on the weather, “This one was sent specifically for Arien, and that noise above us is either the rest coming for us, or a serious distraction that can tip the scales in our favor.”

Leaning on his staff and still trying to shake off the effects of the green’s poison, Jal listened to the recommendations, and though it seemed to fly in the face of all things logical, he couldn’t help but sypmathise with Arien’s position.

“…The fact is, Kilgim, I cannot retreat from here - not with Alloryen being held prisoner. I will not compel - or even ask - any of you to accompany me further, but I cannot, will not, leave," Arien had concluded his reply, unstopperting a healing potion. "I will listen to your counsel, friends, but you must understand that I can but stay the course."

“Retreating now would be a mistake,” Jal agreed quietly, “Our presence has already been made known and, were we to leave, they wouldn’t be so foolish as to think we would not return…” His fingers moved to draw his tattered cloak tighter about his shoulders and his gaze drifted first towards the staircase and then upward as if trying to peer through the ceiling; “…there are spirits here that cry for release,” he whispered, “I cannot hear them, now, but they are here… Wynter is here… I cannot go back…”

((OOC: Okay, then, we’ll just let ol’ Spooky drift off into his mutterings for a while I suppose. Should Arien or anyone else ask “what the hell are you talking about, Spellbinder?” in regards to anything Jal’s said, he’ll share what he can of his ‘dream’ in hopes of explaining his “madness”… The urchin-mage is now really concerned not only about Wynter but also about Arien and the “meaning of” those other spirits he encountered in the ‘bar’))

Char stood over the fallen form of the abomination with the fiery weapon in hand a moment longer than, perhaps, necessary. He sensed more than saw the abating battle around him and a quick glance about had proven his assumption correct. He’d been lucky enough to remain untouched… the only one in the party it would seem, and the noise from above echoed much more loudly in his ears for the danger it proposed. His heart still raced and anger was slowly churning his insides—he’d never been one to quick anger. The fell magic used to transform these bodies had a touch of nature in them, and the fact that such pure and neutral sources were used for such evil did not sit well with the ranger.

As Jal quietly agreed that they should not retreat, Char dropped the fire on the corpse and moved quickly to Arien’s side. There, he paused long enough to place a grimy hand on his friend’s armored shoulder.

“Goo’ t’ ‘ave ya back wit’ us, frin’,” said the woodsman. Then, with a quick nod, he moved to the foot of the stairs, drawing his strangely curved blades. Some scouting needed to be done and Da’ Moon was bleeding from her leg. Though the inside of a crumbled keep wasn’t his forte, Char was the man for the job. The others would search the dead, he was confident in that. He’d let them clean themselves up while he assessed the danger.

Creeping along the inner wall of the stairwell, the ranger crouched low, moving as silently as he could (Move Silently check please), while keeping his narrowed eyes peeled for signs of any more invisibility, and his ears open for sounds of danger approaching. His intention was to get an idea of what they faced before it became a real threat. He was not completely oblivious to Da’ Moon’s assessment that Arien had been the target of the legendary blue, and while he crept along like a lynx on the hunt, he pondered the situation a little further.

There was no doubt that either Alloryn was being held—or had been held—here in the keep. That keepsake now in Arien’s possession was proof enough of that. Then there was the apparent attack on Arien when any of them could have been equally appealing targets. O’ course, Char-lad, the ranger found the voice of Eftari covering the opposite end of the argument as though his mentor were still training him in the ways of man. I’ could-uh been tha’ da knigh’ appeared t’ be da mos’ dangerous wit’ dat flamin’ sword an’ such. But then, Char had been the one shoving fire in the faces of the abominations, so he’d have been just as likely a target. No, the ranger reasoned. Dey were afta’ Arien, fer sure. So, as near as he could figure, this whole operation had something to do with the twins, whether it had begun that way or not, it was certainly working out as such. Dwan couldn’t have known it, but it seemed odd that they were the company sent none-the-less. Another disturbing thought was that Alloryn was something of a prodigy when it came to magic—at least that’s what Char understood from the short time they’d spent together. He understood the use of magic about as well as he understood the desire to dress up in silks and parade oneself around like a peacock at a formal dinner, but he’d gathered that she was good, and had a lot of potential. If that were the case, then the capture of the lady could very well have something to do with tapping into that stream.

As his mind worked over these various aspects, Char continued his ascent as quietly as he could, using the shadows to the best of his ability (Hide in Shadows too if you will), though he wasn’t fooling himself that he was as good at it as Da’ Moon, and this knowledge made him proceed with more caution.

No matter how one looked at it, he had friends in danger and that made this mission all that much more important.

Maximus was the last to slowly regain his feet, though somewhat healed and once again able to breathe his body was yet in pain. The large warrior knew from his many years in the pits that he was still seriously hurt and in need of more healing, so reaching into a pouch he removed one of the 3 Healing draughts given to them from Dwan and proceeded to drink himself to full health.
As he did so talk amongst the rest of the party turned to a choice of continuing onward or retreating.

Kilgim
"Lads. Me thinks we might need t' pull back fer 'ealin', fer me spells are runnin' out soon. Or if ye wish t' move on, usin' Dwan's potions could be wise now. But if'n well run now, the Imps'll 'ave time to rearrange their defense or flee. Your call."

Arien
"You are correct that we would benefit from some rest and healing - but you are also correct that our enemies would do the same. I fear that if we allow them to prepare, we may find ourselves in an even worse situation."
The knight paused. "However," he continued, "I may be allowing my own personal feelings to cloud the matter. The fact is, Kilgim, I cannot retreat from here - not with Alloryen being held prisoner. I will not compel - or even ask - any of you to accompany me further, but I cannot, will not, leave."
The Knight then did as Maximus himself had just done and drank of a Healing potion.
"I will listen to your counsel, friends, but you must understand that I can but stay the course.

Dapple
“We’d best move, if we can, this one was sent specifically for Arien, and that noise above us is either the rest coming for us, or a serious distraction that can tip the scales in our favor.”

Jal
"Retreating now would be a mistake, Our presence has already been made known and, were we to leave, they wouldn’t be so foolish as to think we would not return …there are spirits here that cry for release,” he whispered “I cannot hear them, now, but they are here… Wynter is here… I cannot go back…”

He knew not the Knight’s sister Alloryn but he himself had endured bondage and slavery at the hands of the same captors. The Ex-Gladiator/slave could not, would not stand by and allow anyone to suffer such if he had the power to free them. In this case, with this group, he felt he had such a chance to do so.
Maximus he of few words now fully healed, his vorpal sword once again held firmly in hand, stepped up to Arien and placed his left hand upon the Knights shoulder.

“We shall not leave your sister in bondage Sir Knight on my sword and life I swear this to you, we will get her back or die in the attempt”

With Char moving towards the stairs in recon Maximus moved to stand slightly behind him ready to charge up the stairs like a human battering ram. With his large size, large shield and Boots of Speed he knew he could provide cover and get up the stairs fast. Then hold a foothold and allow the others to gain the level with him, relaying his plan to Char he just waited for the Ranger to give him the go ahead....

The battle was over for now and it was agreed by all that recovery must be quick, as the war was still going on above. Potions were brought out by those who were wounded, and quick bandaging to the few with minor wounds.

Char went to scout the stairwell, hugging the shadows to look up the passageway to see what was going on. Just as he did, something came hurling down the stairs. It wasn’t using the stairs though; it was passing over them in flight as it hit the far wall with a wet spatter.

It is the body of a green Imperial. His body looks like it was crushed under a massive amount of weight or a great pressure. The body slips to the ground at the bottom of the stairs like a boneless piece of meat, tossed by some butcher. On thing is sure though, he was like that before he hit the wall.

“I SAID STAND YOUR GROUND MEN!” rang out the shout from above - a commanding voice with a vague coarse echo to it. Whatever else the commander was ordering is lost as he switches to a lower voice and the sound above of footfalls and furniture moving becomes more pronounced. The ground shakes beneath your feet and dust falls from the beams above you. Something is shaking the tower enough to move the entire building.

Dapple was about to move on, scouting ahead when Char glanced her way then made for the hallway. She blinked a moment in confusion then realized that he’s not looked her in the eye, but lower. She looked down and realized that her leg was bleeding enough for the blood to be visible, a darker patch spreading over her mottled leather breeches.

Muttering a curse, she cut a strip from her cloak and bound the wound hastily, enough to put some pressure on the wound without hampering her movement. The binding throbbed, but she pushed away the pain, tucking it neatly back into her icy core along with he rage she’d felt when fighting, the sick triumph when the Green fell, the relief at seeing Arien survive ….

Push it all away, little monster. Leave yourself cold and clean, invulnerable and unassailable. You have work to do.
Clear eyed and stone faced, Dapple flowed to the stairwell, dodging the airborne mass of soldier as it flew by. The shouting from above increases as the floor and walls begin to shake.

Confusion is as good as a dense shadow…go now urged the dead voice within, and Dapple slipped past Char to run lightly up the steps, crouched low and daggers drawn.