Partners in Damnation (yangwolf2019 & Morris)

[Morris]

In the medieval era of the world of Vaylis, grandiose schemes and conspiracies, magic, great battles, lost treasures, secret orders and forgotten kingdoms filled a historical period, of which we now possess only a distorted picture.


Yet amidst the rapturous ravages of ages, one legend persisted forevermore, rooted within the myths and songs of all races and nations. A tale of the mythical place named the Graveyard of the Gods. With surprising degree of coherence, each version remarks how it is the one place, the only place, where mortals may truly tap into divinity, and ascend themselves.


This is the chronicle of two individuals who fancied to reach for power unimaginable. Little did they knew of the frustrations that inevitably befell them.


...


Crimson blood and grisly viscera imploded from underneath the shrieking axeblade, splattering all over the moss-overgrown walls of the abandoned monastery, as well as a faded and crumbling stone idol appearing uncharacteristically joyful over its new paint layer, its ever-unchanging soft smile dripping with red.


The hulking brute who was felled dropped to his back, already dead. His companions ran about, taking cover and trying to retaliate from safer positions, out of the axe's reach.


Said weapon's wielder was hardly disheartened. His large, dark grey lips revealing a sadistic grin as he himself abused his surroundings, knocking over a halfway eroded column with his lean yet densely muscular bulk, making it fall in an angle as to drive his prey out. He succeeded; the column destroyed the safe cover the marble altar of the temple provided, sending one attacker fleeing left, the other right.


What he could not anticipate was the random falling of debris which came down from the ceiling following the massive impact, some of which promptly landed atop of his back, shoulders and head. Hissing curses and cussing, he was now the one exposed. Two arrows whistled towards him; one flew by, the other lodged itself within his thight. Dropping to knee in pain, he tore it out with one hand; it didn't go very deep, thanks to his skin's inhumane thickness.


Three more disdainful dogs remained yet to face the warrior's wrath. A hooded elven ranger, its features as unrecognisable as its gender; some mercenary woman with a repeating crossbow and stout blade on her side; and a sneaky, short statured human treasure hunter, who would have dived in to stab the fighter had he not recovered so swiftly; menaced by the axe's wailing passage through the air, the marauder was taken aback, leaping behind some obstacle. To evade further projectiles, the warrior rolled behind a row of bug-chewed wooden pedestals, their content long gone.


He grunted in anger at the turn of the situation, yelling out to someone farther away from the ensuing mess: - "Dammit, Vylicia, what's taking so long?!"


All in all, Orobas Ixorth, bloody-handed rebellious gladiator from Gvar Nazruh was in the middle of a very ordinary day.


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

Off into the distance, there a fair skinned female stood her arm outstretched and grasped in her fingers was a brown wand with a glowing red jewel. The air around her was heavy, the very stone and remaining vegetation around her was crumbling from the weight of it. The red jewel grew brighter, illuminating the darkened entry to the point one would think she had ignited a fire.


In truth, those who thought that were not fire off. At the tip of the jewel the air rippled with heat waves as a small ball of flame formed, growing larger with each passing moment. As the raging ball of inferno grew, the woman sneered, hearing her name called into the air with an impatient tone. Her piercing blue eyes hardened and her entire body grew rigid and released the ball of flame. It traveled quickly, as though she lobbed it like a stone. The large ball gained speed as it traveled, leaving a path of scorch marks as it traveled.


The burning inferno collided with the crumbling clearance though it did not simple hit the structure and start the burn, instead it broke apart, turning into thin columns filtering through available openings and traveling as independent tendrils towards it's target. The burning columns came down upon the ranged attackers, the bright orange flames elegantly fell upon their flesh and bone.


The screams of the two punctured the air with a grisly symphony of sizzling flesh and bone popping from the heat. Soon the screams fell into hushed dry heaves, and silenced followed along with the putrid smell of charred human flesh. The flames dissipated as quickly as they were made, the red wisps leaving blackened bodies that crumbled into ash. Vylicia holstered the wand, and bent at the waist to catch her breath. Controlling the fire in such a way was taxing on the former expert mage, though she did her part.


"You realize how hard it is to generate flame from nothing!? I'd like to see you try it!" She spat between heaves, before she finally stood wiping the sweat from her brow and laid her icy eyes on the remaining assailant. "Besides, what have you been doing? I'm one up old man." Her words were hardened with poison, a tone that had been reserved just for Orobas. Though she silenced herself as the final assailant charged forward, at her of all people. The cretin, had he never learned to charge a lady? The human held the blade preparing to skewer her, his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and fear. It was an expected reaction as he had just watched his adventuring companions slaughtered by the two newcomers. Though, Vylicia had no sympathy, he was a fool to trust them. She lunged to the right, avoiding the sword's lunge, and she ducked to avoid the following counter. Though she did not dodge fast enough, as the sharpened blade cut through her hair, effectively slicing a good handful of hair from her treasured black locks.


"You bleeding whore! Do you realize what you have done!?" She had shrieked these words, the sentence itself coming out almost inaudible from her brooding hysteria. The bastard had dared to cut her her hair!? Her lips arched into a snarl and she held up her hand, a gold ring with twin black gems glinted and shed an ominous light, her hand was engulfed with visible white energy. "You'll pay with your damned life!" Of course, in the heated moment Vylicia had slightly overlooked how much magical power she had in reserves, and instead of throwing a concentrated bolt of energy into the man's face, instead a large cloud of mutli-colored was expelled from her hand. It landed in the man's face, getting into his eyes, nose, and mouth making him choke. "Damnit! Of all times, now the glitter comes out." She back pedaled away form the temporary blinded man who was desperately trying to free his eyes of the glittering dust. In these times, she envied those who could wield a blade, she would have loved to cleave the man in twain for touching her hair.


@Morris

 

[Morris]

Vylicia's assistance and spectacular fireworks were both welcome, and it was marvelously relieving to hear the resounding screams of the two shooters as they were reduced to charred cadavers. If only she hadn't followed up with her usual complaints and petty boasting, he could have enjoyed the moment a while longer. However, with the fiery doom came an unwelcome side effect: the fire had to be put out immediately, lest it spread across the wooden furniture and decorative woodframes lining the walls.


Grabbing some moth-eaten drapes - formerly a banner of sacred symbols - and tearing them off, Orobas swiftly lashed out on the flame tongues, pummeling them with the heavy textile. He had acted in time, thankfully. Getting this ruined wreck of a holy site collapsing on their heads was the last thing they wanted.


It was then that Vylicia was confronted by that dexterous little sneak, who previously vanished. Orobas presumed he'd have ran off after the death of his companions, but the diminutive bastard attempted one last attack to take the sorceress down at least. Grabbing into his sizable double-headed war axe, Orobas rushed to Vylicia's aid as her attempt at self-defense amounted to conjuring up sparkles. Sparkles. For all her bravado, Vylicia has fallen really low for someone of her talents. It wasn't exactly her fault, but it was sure as hell inconveniencing for both of them.


As the rogue was trying to clear his eyes, Orobas swung his weapon; as the air yielded a yelping sound, the rogue figured out trouble was coming, dodging to the left - only to trip over some debris which fell down earlier. This sealed his fate. The axe screamed for blood, and as many pounds of its steel descended, its desire was drowned out.


"I believe we're even now." - Orobas concluded as he lifted his axe from the hapless man, turning to the sorceress, casting a mischeivous glimpse. - "And might I remind you, you're the older of us, woman. Seems it's catching up." - he muttered the last part more to himself than to her. She was very clearly distraught over her hair still, and there was no more need to add fuel to her feminine frustrations, even though he was tempted to remark how her new, uneven haircut wonderfully underlines the charms of her bipolarity.


"Lament your mane later, Vylicia." - he tried to direct her attention to more relevant matters. - "We trampled these vermin underfoot, you can kick their corpses or raise them if you'll feel better from it. But for now, remember why we're here. The library and the relic."


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

The screaming of the ax was a comforting sound, along with the silence. She stood, staring down at the man that was cleaved, her head tilting to look at his wide eyes, glazed over with death. Though it was comical in a way, seeing as glitter still twinkled on his face. What a glamorous death. Of course, she held no sorrow for the grisly way the man died, he deserved worse. Orobas was merciful compared to what she had in mind to do. She half listened to the gargantuan man, her face falling into a pout as she observed her hair, the uneven strands were so barbaric and unpleasing that she almost dipped into her remaining pool of magic to fix it there and then. Priorities in her world were often skewed.


She turned her cool glare onto him when he undermined her current sorrow. She rolled her eyes, and flipped her uneven hair to continue along the journey they had embarked on. As usual, she would never admit when he was right as such would be admitting she was wrong in a way, though to redirect her attention to the task at hand was more important. "I will not waste my necromancy talent on such weaklings, that in itself would be insanity. Though in this moment I wish I could have cultured something a little more terrifying for the bastard..." She trailed off, her lips turning upwards in a small smirk as the ideas that flooded in with the comment. If only she had not wasted a good bulk of her magic on dispelling the traps that had been set by the mages that inhabited the manor, along with a good fireball spell from the wand.


"Now if I remember correctly, we are looking for seals, big or small. Probably a triad, or a double folded pentagram, really the more circles it has the better the relic is." She swept through the charred room quickly, not sensing any magical presence other than the lingering resonance of her own magic. She stepped out of the room, into the adjoining hallway where she had cast her spell to burn the two ranged attackers. The manor was dark, as the day light was slowly waning into dusk. Though being a half-elf she had been bestowed with low-light vision, so she could still see clearly. Well, until all the light dispersed and was replaced with the dark. "Orobas we have to move fast, lest we have to spend the night in this ghastly place." He rnose crinkled in disgust at the thought of having to spend another night not in an inn. She wanted a bath, and well cooked food. Not just hunted meat and gathered fruits.


She walked quickly, her stride long as her head turned back and forth looking for anything to clue her into where the seals were located. She reached out her senses as far as she could, trying to touch any sort of presence of a magical seal. Though she even doubted that she would find it through seeking it out through senses, these mages knew how to hide important objects. At her novice ability she doubt she'd be able to find it. "Maybe we should have killed them a little later, at least the rogue could have been useful with his dexterity, or all of them. They would have been useful as trap-testers." She paused in her walk, her arms crossing as she thought more deeply on the history of this temple. Her mind filed through the pieces of information she had gathered in her life, on the Testile Manor, and it's history.


A war-king with his purpose being to win wars and spill blood. It was said that with every war, his bracers that he brought to battle had been soaked with the blood of his enemies, and thus their fear and rage. Battle after battle did the bracers gain more power. The bracers could send enemies into a blood thirty rage, forcing them to attack their very comrades, or instill such fear and anxiety that the enemy would hallucinate and also attack anything in front of them, including comrades. Though the bracers had a side-effect, the wielder would be driven into madness from the rage seeping from the braces. Magic was not a one way street, it effected the user as well.


There was the library as well, a collection of historical parchment and references from the ages that the war-king plundered from old empires. These books held secrets from the past, and hopefully a way to restore the stripped magical power she had lost. There was also hope that there was literature on the Graveyard of the Gods, anything to point them in the right direction or warn of the dangers. "Now, if you were a war-king, where would you have your mages hide your most precious treasures?"

 

[Morris]

Orobas offered no commentary over the early end of their one-time compatriots. Vylicia agreed to this after all, and it was her snark-to-snark duel with that oversized brute of a warrior that escalated things prematurely, and he had to step in. The rest is history. He was also in silent agreement over not spending the night here, though his reasons for avoiding lingering were of a more pragmatic nature; they had no way of knowing whether there were still protective enchantments in place. In ages past, it was a favoured method to tie the triggering of magical traps to the day-night cycle, as far as Vylicia told her. And while she was impulsive in nature, Orobas had the gift of keeping a clear head.


He went on to look for the binding seals Vylicia made mention of. She showed them on drawings before, he knew what to seek as thus. The history of the place held little relevancy to him - once someone is dead, his or her part in the great stage of the world is concluded. The only use of knowing the past is to learn from it, not to be bound or be led astray by it, and even so, one must be careful with the little details. History after all is written by mortals, and there are so many mortals those seek to surpass their limited lifespan by imprinting their lies and false convictions on works that outlast them.


He turned to Vylicia at her rhetorical inquiry. - "If I were war-king, I'd have picked a successor in advance and told him or her to continue my legacy, not to let precious and powerful tools go to waste in some withering crypt." - he told with his usual unsubtle honesty, mockery in his voice, not so much towards the sorceress, but the stupidly selfish traditions which were maintained and enforced by past rulers. - "But... were I a superstitious and paranoid wretch, I'd deceive robbers with an illusion of straightforwardness. Show them something that lures them to certainty, guide them down a track which leads to inescapable traps. And build the actual crypt with the treasures somewhere entirely different, deep underground, potentially with the passage sealed permanently and no trace of artificial craftsmanship."


Orobas kept a pause, his eyes widening with the unfortunate implications. - "I sincerely hope this... war-king wasn't that smart. Let's tread with care." - he suggested as he went back to looking about for clues.


The muscle-bound, grey-skinned warrior examined the altar that was smashed previously by his actions. While the upper part was smashed apart, and rubble covered the surroundings, the base of the altar remained remarkably intact. This seemed unusual. He pushed off the debris from the top, realizing the altar was hollow within. Gritting his teeth as his muscles strained, removing the heavy leftover marble pieces, he made a discovery. - "Vylicia, come. I believe I found something."


Within the base of the altar, there was a silvery plate embedded, and inscribed with a double-folded pentagram along with a multitude of runic gibberish that Orobas couldn't quite make out.


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

After Orobas described his in-depth thought of what he would do with his title, she simply stared at him. It was a rare moment in which she was speechless, it did not happen often. She chose to drop the subject, unsure whether what perturbed her more; the well thought out plan of Orobas or whether or not the war-king had the same line of thinking. It would mean the raiding of the manor was a pointless endeavor and the true location was somewhere else, probably way far out, and underground. That meant they would have to find another party and it would probably end in the same manor. Some giant human making some aggravating comments about her being a half-breed, a mutt, and the list went on. She had tried to contain her temper, but at one point she saw red and assaulted the man after his constant jabs at her race. It was a sensitive subject, and no one made fun of her.


His beckoning brought her from her thoughts, and she inclined her head to look over her shoulder to where he was standing. She lifted a finely groomed eyebrow and turned, moving over the floor quickly. She did make sure to avoid the pool of coagulated blood that was seeping into the wooden floor. She did not want peasant blood staining her shoes. She approached the moved pedestal, her eyes casting downwards on the shining silver platter. That was a good sign, a very good sign. She knelt to the ground, her right hand coming to hover over the platter, and almost instantly did a electric arc jump from the plate onto her hand. It burnt her flesh but instead of cursing she smiled and stood up, rubbing the burned spot the arc had burned.


"This is it! Did you see that reaction!? It has to be it, or something better. Though we are going to have to wait until tomorrow. I can't break that seal without my full power, I need to scribe a scroll as well to assist with the break. This one is going to be a challenge." She clapped her hands together as to close the conversation there. She took a mental note of the specific ruins that were carved into the silver, she was admiring the elegance and complexity of the seal. Down to the very body that held the seal was brilliant. The silver was a solid base, both pure and high in the conductivity of magic. Even the majority of her items were made of silver because of the way it conducted magic so seamlessly without needing much energy.


Then there were the runes, they were old magic, very old magic. They were for protection, and destruction, the mixing making for an unstable spell. Like mixing electricity and water, it was doomed. Though then there was the double folded pentagram, rerouting the energies in a way that they threaded together to make a stronger protection. If any other mage were to look at this, it would appear to be a convoluted mess, to which if tried to be untangled it would mean certain death. Though Vylicia prided herself when it came to complexity, though she had never come near making something so brilliant, she was pretty sure she would be able to untangle the mess safely. If not, well it would make for an interesting day.


"Go ahead and replace the base, that way no one else attempts to deconstruct it, who knows it might have a fail safe if exposed for to long. I need something to eat, and I need to fix my hair. You know how long it takes to make a restorative hair treatment? I need to go shopping..." She trailed off, mentally counting off the ingredients on her fingers. She also needed parchment, blessed ink, and a silver dagger. "Though I hope you know I'm going to cut you for the scroll. I need warrior's blood, and as you killed the last one I'm glad you volunteered." She looked at him as her matter-of-fact statement left her lips before she walked towards the exit. So much to do, so little time.


@Morris

 

[Morris]

Orobas nodded in silence as Vylicia got her palm scorched as part of her demonstration. Her ensuing wish list, however, were far less merciful on his nerves. She knew the potential challenges, having patched together all she could from tomes and scrolls of yore, yet only now does she think of these requirements?


"Shopping?" - Orobas sounded up with an annoyed grunt. - "Where and from what, exactly?" - he inquired dryly. - "The last semblence of civilization we passed through was that ramshackle tavern at the forestial crossroads, and that's nearly two days of distance in itself. No, Vylicia, we will make use of what we may. It makes sense for the tomb to be located underneath this part of the manor, the very heart of its sanctuary. But as far as I'm concerned, kings seldom bothered reading over arcane matters. So the library itself likely lies elsewhere within these halls. With some fortune, we may find what you need." - he elaborated on his thesis. - "Blessed ink does not expire easily, if I recall right. I can fashion a dagger if we happen upon some silverware. As for my blood..."


He kept a short pause. He did not particularly enjoy the idea of a sanguine ritual with his life's liquid as its component; while he and the sorceress more or less got along, there was nonetheless a layer of mistrust between them. They were both ambitious and hardheaded individuals, whose relationship began on the basis that they had the same favourite color: the blood of their enemies. That, and after a rather spectacular tavern brawl where they burned down a city quarter, they discovered they make an excellent duo, each using the other's abilities to compliment their own.


Still. Such a partnership was fickle, and he required something in turn for vulnerability. - "You shall have your droplets, sorceress. However, when you'll attempt to break the seal, you'll forego holding your wands, just as I will lay aside my axe, and concentrate only on breaking the seal. That is my condition." - the underlying intent was clear: should Vylicia attempt sacrificing him to break the seal and get everything for herself... she'll be exposed without her wands, and her life can end in an eyeblink by Orobas' iron-grip hands.


"But all in due time." - he drove the conversation to a different direction, head tilting towards their freshly incinerated and slaughtered companions. - "Let us loot these worms' pockets. If you desire rest, go on ahead. I'll take a look around the surrounding chambers, see if I unearth something of use."


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

Vylicia cast a half-lidded look at him as he stated his conditions for her to receive his blood. It was an unspoken deal, of course she gave him a coy smile, her full lips pulling upwards. "What? Still sore of that? Come now, that was ages ago, we are much closer. I would never even think about doing that again." She used her charm, dripping the words in honey. Of course it would not work on Orobas, not that she expected it too, but it was more of a way to poke at the warrior. It was true she had attempted to sacrifice the man in a way of getting into a cavern that held an enchanted blade. Though, whether do to his luck or lack there of hers, someone had already raided the cavern thus there was no need to sacrifice the man. Of course there were words, and a good period where they clashed. Though they overcame that slight miss-footing, at least enough to stomach each other once more.


Vylica sighed heavily, resting herself on one of the pieces of falling rubble that had crumbled during the brawl. She observed her nails, though she was thinking over what she could come up with to break the seal. It was a habit, to cast her gaze to her groomed nails while she was in thought. It was the closest she could get to meditating without actually stepping into the awake slumber of actual meditation. Even though the main reason for her want to travel to a town was for pampering and proper relaxation, she did need some crucial items. She supposed she could make enchanted ink if none were available, she could spare a few pieces of gold and make a flame hot enough to melt it. Though it was a matter of waiting her limited amount of power on such a menial task.


She put her hand down and reclined back, her eyes moving upwards to the crumbling ceiling, giving glimpse to the dark sky peppered with the divine lights of the heavens. Or stars if she was being less poetic about it. She stood up, and moved without word, her mind slowly going deeper into her thoughts on how to break the seal. It was a normal practice to fall into silence as she dug deeper into her thought. She also would need a good base to place the break, it needed to be firm but flexible. Parchment treated with animal fat would have been ideal but not she had to find something along the same lines. She could use the fat and blood from the fallen comrades for the treatment, but she needed to find some sort of parchment not eaten away by time.


She folded her arms and proceeded to exit the room where the seal was found, and she proceeded to venture further into the manor. It was large, built to portray the ego of the war-king. Men, always trying to erect establishments to further push their egos. Her hand absentmindedly reached out and ran along stone wall, feeling the coarse texture under her finger tips as she moved. "I wonder if the kitchen is has been left untouched, I bet there is silver there. I wonder if there is a bedroom around as well, that way I can rest and recharge." She spoke out loud to no one in particular, as she peeked into different rooms. Of course, she doubt she would find some sort of elegant bedroom for her to rest, but a bed free of parasites and rodents would be a god-send.


@Morris

 

[Morris]

Orobas gave Vylicia a condescending look, coupled with a talkative frown. Trust was something he measured with care, and far too many seemed too eager to squander it. - "Vylicia, *that* was less than a month ago. I'm keeping track of your missteps, just so you know." - he reminded her, but decided against speaking further on the matter, seeing as Vylicia's mind already drifted off to entirely different matters, staring at her nails. What is it with women and their looks, Orobas was never going to understand. Though perhaps he was just an exception; so many men gladly threw themselves to the sorceress' heels, practically begging to be stomped upon, which was not uncommon on Vylicia's part to deliver. Orobas was a different sort; petty flirting and dazing looks meant nothing to him - or at least, very little.


Feeling a hint of grudge over the sorceress' vanity and lazyness, he went about his own business of pilfering the belongings of the dead. The rogue and the fighter didn't have much on them, only some coins, and their armaments were ordinary. The elf and the mercenary woman were mostly reduced to charred husks, but Orobas would not be content with a half-hearted robbery of the dead. He knew by experience that Vylicia's fire magic would not erode well-made forged items; they might get slightly deformed, but with a little luck, they merely get heated momentarily and may be salvaged. The lass with the blasted crossbow had nothing worthwhile the plunder. The elf...


He recovered a little something underneath the scorched robes. The string of the necklace having burned away, but the small steel-alloyed medallion that was hanging and rested against the chest was intact, if smeared in ashen taint. He cleared off the chaorcal dust, only to see the heraldry of a small weasel getting impaled on a tree branch by an agressive bird of prey. The mark of the Shrike Talons, a mostly elven group of vigilantes. Not good. As far as he knew, the Shrike Talons never hook up with random adventurers without a proper cause, and it was very likely that even if they would, the member in question would notify his or her fellows of the undertaken mission.


Meaning that if this guy doesn't send any signals to his or her (with elves it could be difficult to decide from appearences) guild, they will likely investigate, and may be even en route to here right now.


For the moment, he pondered if he should inform Vylicia; though his thinking might be a bit paranoid at this point, it serves well to be prepared against potential threats. Ultimately, though, he wagered they would still have time. He explored a few chambers, but taking care not to stray too far from Vylicia. If they get seperated and one of them bumbles into a trap, this whole endeavor is wasted.


The former gladiator did not turn up much. The stained glass paintings and other artworks were remarkable even in their neglected state, mostly revolving around the war-king's accomplishments and how he never forgot to tear out some innards of his victims during victory feasts. There were mosaiques and carvings of battles, some of them with combatants like Orobas had never seen before; perhaps a sapient species and their culture lost to the ravages of time? He could only fathom.


He felt a faint gust of wind sweeping by from the many openings which dotted the building. Including the roof. No, especially the roof, partly thanks to his and Vylicia' efforts. But this was somehow... different. His hair ornaments were clicking and clacking as blown, like wind chimes. His eyebrows furrowed. - "Direct me." - he ordered, to seemingly nobody, and the gusts gained focus about him. He followed it, after Vylicia.


Coming up some yards behind her, he started inspecting the walls, knocking on them. One part was hollow. A clue. He could not fancy where this would lead, but it was worth a try. With no consent from the sorceress whatsoever, he raised his axe and downright obliterated the aged stonework, revealing some narrow passage. He smirked to himself - "And they say only women have intuition."


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

The scuff and crash of the wall brought her from her thoughts abruptly. Her head snapped upwards, her hand gripping her buffing wand, and her feet pivoting to view the source of the noise. Her arm was drawn upwards, ready to cast her Mage Sword to defend herself against the expected threat. Thankfully, it was Orobas; whether or not her was better was yet to be determined however. She lowered her wand and tucked it back into the holder, her eyebrow arching at him and the secret passage that he had uncovered. She straightened herself out, pulling her skirt back into place and smoothing back her hair. If one thing it was apparent she could be battle ready in a moment, though once more appearance overtook her present state of mind.


"Well then, it seems the old king was more intelligent then we gave him credit for." Her fingers traced along the entrance, feeling for any seals that were concealed with magic. Orobas had cut the rogue in half so she had no one to test for sure. Well, she did, but she doubt that she could convince Orobas to start testing traps. He saw her techniques to get what she wanted way to many times. She cast a look towards him, wondering if their forged partnership had been established for too long. It was getting to the point where they both knew their limitations and that was fatal. Though she drew herself away from those thoughts, though she did not trust Orobas very much, it was significantly more than any other being.


She did not sense any traps, nor did she see any obvious signs of planted physical traps. She rubbed her palms together, and outstretched her right palm. She should have enough magic to detect the traps. The war-king was known for his cunning, but for a rather unguarded living arrangement. He was said to enjoy the thrill of an attack, and always expected it. His servants were prisoners of war, slaughtered for his own enjoyment. He had no children, no legacy, except for the spilled blood that followed him. Her hand illuminated, the glow warm splattered with pale purples and white, and the air was charged with an arcana scent. It no where near the pressure that was presented when she cast the fireball, but it was a noticeable difference. As the way was magic that most could not comprehend, one pulled from the energy around them. White magic pulled from the living energies around it, but it borrowed and supplemented, while black magic completely would use a living energy until there was none left. Hence why a good amount of black magic was taboo.


The glowing hue stretched out in multiple wispy trails, crawling slowly across the passage, touching the bricks lazily and tentatively, running the entire length before they dissolved and disappeared. There were no traps, or the wisps would have lingered on the particular trap and would have either sunk into a deeper purple. The deeper the purple the more powerful the trap. She could not test for physical traps with the level of magic she could use now, but if she had some reserve she could have even dispelled and disarmed a trap! They were nothing, but now it was one more inconvenience of her fall from grace.


"We can take a few moments to check for physical traps, but as of now there are no magical traps that I detected, though I find this all to easy don't you? A hidden passage only hid by stone without any back traps or guard. It's highly suspicious, do you think someone has already looted this place?" It would not surprise her, it always seemed to be their luck when they catch wind of a powerful artifact, spell book, or a good lead on the graveyard, it had already been looted or it was a hoax. She crossed her arms, staring down the passage, before she turned her arm over and extended her hand with the palm up. It was her gesturing towards the passage for him to adventure first. She had done her part, and in her opinion it was the job of the warrior to take the brunt of attacks. There was a reason she was a magic user after all.


"After you then, I'll be a few feet behind you. If push comes to shove I can cushion a blow with Mage Armor, though I can't guarantee how strong it will be." She shrugged her thing shoulders before stepping aside, making way for him to venture through his find. She stared at him, a thoughtful face replacing the usual look of cynicism and smugness. The Mage Armor was useful, though she could never concentrate for long when she adorned Orobas with the blessing of it. It would withstand the brunt of physical attacks, but if the force was great enough it would break. She always wondered how tough his skin really was, and how much it could withstand. "Though after this adventure, I do need to meditate and we need to eat. I also need to start on those scrolls to break the silver seal. Besides, all day adventuring with that barbarian warrior has exhausted me. Can you believe what he called me? I'm mournful that would were the one to kill him. I would have loved to make him swallow his words coated in fire."


She sneered as she remembered what started the ultimate downfall of their comrades, it was all of the swordsman ignorant words of her being a half-elf. He used terms that sparked a fight in her, and it was hard to keep her temper. Half-breed, reject, mongrel, and other such terms were used to address the sorceress. Along with the true elf scoffing at such terms had been enough to throw Vylicia into attacking them. "Ready to go?"

 

[Morris]

Orobas permitted himself a smug smirk as the surprised sorceress steadied herself, regaining composure. If only she knew. He learned many of her capabilities and limitations by now, knew them by heart, and prided himself that he still kept some of his own little secrets away from her. Apart from his readily appearent mutations, he had some magic on his own, but not the blatant and obnoxious attention-craving spectacles that Vylicia practiced. His hair rings served him well, anchoring presences from beyond in their own shamanistic little way.


But they only served to pinpoint hunches and hints, guide directions and hand out subtle warnings. Most relevantly, they could not tell him anything specific about the nature of this new discovery. Henche he let the sorceress take the first steps and work her magics. He gazed inside the passage deeply, following the trail of the ball-shaped illuminating wisps with his cold stare. He examined the stonework, both at his makeshift entry point, and deeper within as his superb, but still human sight permitted.


He saw scraps of some mechanism that could move the wall, corroded to rust long ago. So, this is not some section that was deliberately walled off, but perhaps a shortcut between two areas in case of emergencies, or alternatively, something private and forbidden that not everyone could access. Worst case scenario, it's a dead lead with no purpose but to trap eager thieves. That possibility seemed unlikely, though; Orobas trusted the guidance of his hair rings, and although the paths they led him to take were not necessarily safe, he always profited from taking them. This opportunity shall be no exception.


The warrior replied to the sorceress' theories in accordance: - "I trust my instincts, Vylicia. This passage has been long unused, and if it's not rigged by magic traps, that means it was not used by mages only. Otherwise they would have kept wasting workforce by accidents. This is likely a connection to some commoners' area, like a swift exit point, or perhaps a storeroom. Either way, nothing wrong with checking out. Meat shields first, I understand." - he remarked on that last note dryly, at Vylicia's gestured nagging that he go in forward.


And forward he went, his senses sharpening as they adjusted to the twilight of the passageway, and irritated by Vylicia's incessent jabbering of how unfairly discriminated she was. It's not like she was undeserving of slander, though in all fairness, it should had been on the basis of personality rather than race, as far as Orobas was concerned. It just seemed so damn stupid, to attack someone on the basis of origin. Then again, he was a gladiator before, and a gladiator that does not hold enough respect for opponents to learn their ways is a short-lived one.


He found no traces of recent trespassing, and while he did manage to spot two traps as he went along - a spike trap from two sides, and a descending blade from the ceiling - both were rendered utterly irrelevant by the fact that they remained in their sprung positions, extending from the walls and rusted halfway to dust, easily broken off as Orobas forged ahead.


When he exited the passage, after roughly 50-60 yards or so, he and Vylicia entered an unexpected place. There was only faint azure light, provided by some crystalline thing on the ceiling, barely piercing the shroud of decay and moldy shades encumbering the room in their veils. Orobas clenched his nose in disgust. - "Uggh. I hope it's not a waste disposal area... like *that* time." - he grunted between his lips. The stench of death clung heavily into the air, and as Orobas took a few steps, he was sure it was some bones cracking under his heel that he heard. Wouldn't be surprising. - "Vylicia, now's the time for sparks. Bring some light to this hellhole."


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

Instincts, she trusted his instincts as far as she could throw him. Of course that was without the use of magic, with a quick levitation she could chuck him an easy few yards. Her foot falls fell nearly silent behind his, her elven lineage helped to see to that. Her soft leather boots also helped, it was a far cry from her usual donned footwear, but she would be damned she brought any sort of high class clothing articles in the middle of no where. As she followed her lips were twisted into her default scowl, finding the secret passageway unsettling to say the least. Even Orobas's logical reasoning left her wanting for a decent trap tester. If only the rogue could have lived. Though he had met his fate, and Vylicia found herself morning over her actions no longer than the spider morns over it's insect prey. After the passage yawned open into a darkened room, she saw the outlines of the remains of the aristocratic decorations. Torn banners, a chandelier that had lost most of it's crystal, probably to fleeing servants or whomever found refuge in this room. Her nose scrunched at the odor that perforated her senses. THe scent of decay, mostly blood and flesh, and from the putrid waves of stench that assaulted her nose there was a lot of carnage in the shadows. The back of her hand found her nostrils, attempting to smother the stench with the slight perfume that lingered on her hands. Peppermint and herb oils lingered on her skin from potions crafted earlier in their journey to collected quick pieces of gold before their current adventure. That bared no more than a flowery undertone to the decaying stench.


 Her eyes turned to the outline of her large companion and her eyebrow arched, clearly communicating her defiance to his command. No one commanded the sorceress, and for whatever reason the large behemoth she called an ally seemed to forget his place. She would give him credit that he had earned a grudgingly small amount of respect with his usefulness in battle. Where she lacked in the physical portion of strength, he greatly made up for. Though knowledge of arcana and the ways of the world she picked up her slack. "Is that how you speak? Bite your tongue if you believe you can command me what to do," she hissed between her teeth. After a few long moments of silence she lifted her free hand that was not currently muffling her mouth and nose to the stench, and she mumbled an enchantment, choosing an elvish spell as it would not take much from her shallow magic pool. An orb of light slowly manifested in her hand as the enchantment fell from her lips. Slowly the ball of pale yellow light lifted like a feather on the breeze from her hand and floated upwards towards the high stone ceiling. It was a slow climb, seeing as both Vylicia was exhausted from the fight with the warriors and she was being obstinate to Orobas's command. She was described as vain for a reason. 


Slowly the orb climbed, giving a dim light to the room, not helping much from the low light the passage provided from the setting sun outside. It stayed dark in the room until the orb came in contact with the ceiling, effectively bursting and light stretched among the room caressing every corner and banishing every shadow that was around. In short, the orb acted as a small sun, providing a warm and bright glow to the room as though it was the sun shining upon the earth. A good at will spell she had learned from a wood elf, the same one she had seize one of her wands from. "There you demanding brute, is that satisfactory?"


@Morris

 

[Morris]

Orobas was not in the mood for arguements. He has been around Vylicia for enough time to know how far he could press her buttons. She would complain just about every minor request that wasn't delivered in a flowery, flaunting tone. But she would comply nonetheless if it was beneficial to her. So he did not bother answering, keeping silent while holding his axe readied. While there was no sign of any danger source inside here so far, it pays to be prepared. He was mildly annoyed when Vylicia finally bothered conjuring up a miniscule lightbulb. He was silently cursing under his breath. Can't the sorceress do anything right straight away? He might as well should have brought a torch along. No matter; his sight was fairly sharp for a human, and took a couple of steps ahead in the half-lit twilight.


When that pathetic lightbulb reached up to the ceiling and burst into a miniature star, Orobas couldn't help but back away, however. He gritted his teeth and his eyes wept as he closed his eyelids shut, the scorching brightness embedded into his vision. - "Are you trying to blind me, witch?!" - he grunted angrily. He needed about half a minute to regain his vision. - "If there was a monster down here, it could have ripped us to shreds, all because of your pettyness. Is your wounded pride worth so much more than your life?!" - he chewed her out before settling down and shifting his focus to the now well-lit place they were in. Starting with the floor first, as his eyes still hurt.


He was surprised to notice that the floor was built in an odd manner: among the stone plates, there were carved small channels, like miniaturized water conduits, leading to grated collector buckets embedded in symmetrical positions into the floor. They were stained into various shades of red, mixed with rust droplets and the dust that settled over the burden of decades. As he lifted his gaze upwards, the purpose of this location became that much clearer. There were columns lining the walls with withered and rusted chains and hooks attached to them, and human-sized iron cages hung from the ceiling. Ages-old blood was splattered on nearly every surface, and the broken, rotted bones of victims past still littered the place, as did a multitude of gruesome torture tools.


But what seemed out of place was a humonguous piece of machinery, constructed of brass, steel and glass, with pipes running up through the ceiling and dozens of various containers and little casting moulds scattered about it, their inscriptions faded away long ago. Like something akin to a small refinery. Pergamen partchments lay scattered about, dirty and moldy, but even so they contained fragments of pictures depicting torment, or things related to the machine. It didn't take long for him to puzzle it all together: this was likely an instrument for the creation of alchemical substances and, perhaps, enchanted items. And the prime ingredient was nothing else than the blood of mortals. The war-king's minions would torture their captives, spilling their precious blood for fresh, immediate processing, robbing them of their bodies' most valuable commodity before ultimately disposing them at the altar chamber, perhaps to reinforce the power of the seal within its base, or just because they felt like it. Orobas frowned. Great, as if he needed another reminder of how sickening blood magic could be, right now after Vylicia told him he would need to participate in a rite involving it.


"...Hmpf." - he let out a mildly disgusted grumble. - "Well, we came down here, might as well look around. Could be something of use here. Maybe a sanguine charm. These partchments also look like they were part of something, perhaps a book. That might interest you, I wager..."


He began measuring up the surroundings in greater detail, particularly the corpses. He would not approach that blood-pumped engine just yet, regardless whether it was dysfunctional for ages by now. He just couldn't shake a feeling out of his head, that they were being watched.


@yangwolf2019

 

[yangwolf2019]

The display of mechanism and arcane that was uncovered made Vylicia's breath hitch in her throat. A mixture of both fear and excitement welled from her gullet into her throat. She moved with a sudden rigidness, as though a string had been pulled through her crown and tightened her spine. The putrid smell of blood was brought a flood of emotions, combined with the structures, she had underestimated the war-king.

"Orobas." The utterance of his name was a sharp staccato in the otherwise silent room. "I would advise to not touch anything here, less you want to end up a dried up husk." She moved to the table, taking care to step delicately in the room. After dabbling in necromancy and the forbidden arcane, one remembers the machinery. Her fingers hovered over the tables, not touching the yellowed beakers, rusted instruments, but she did linger on some parchments.

"Tell me, what do you think this place is? What do you think the purpose is?" She stopped and turned to her companion, her eyes flickering with both curiosity and caution. Could he grasp the sheer gravity of this room?

"So Orobas, if you were a vain man, what would be your eventual endgame. What would you crave? I am well aware what I seek, but my indulgence in myself is not a well kept secret." She was skirting around the point she was trying to make, because even though she did not know it, Orobas could feel it too. A certain presence that made a person's hairs stand on their neck. A slight prickling on her scalp that her magical sense kept picking up and losing.

It almost felt as though she had been unnerved by something, like one would if they were entering a known haunted house. A constant low-grade anxiety of waiting for something to emerge drenched in blood and grime. It was unlike Vylica to be unnerved, especially by blood and gore. She practically bathed in the blood of those who dared cross her, so why did she feel this way.

"Answer a question for me, you're a warrior, what do you feel?" She did not credit him as an intelligent man, but all those who did battle in the amounts she assumed he had done in the past always seemed to develop a sixth sense.

Morris