Group 28

[Meteor]

The days grew on as they travelled. With no sign of the enemy, Jacks had begun to grow worried they were heading in the wrong direction despite the tracks. Anxiety gripped him on the third day, the lack of enemies to bar their way was unnatural. Not to mention their rations were going away fast at this rate. They needed to find Naylia soon or else they might not be able to continue on.

The wild goose chase ended on the fourth day however, as they met their fourth and final dalvian retainer, Jacks' quarry.

"Hmph, glad to see you're not dead yet, retainer." Jacks muttered as he watched the figure disappear into the portal.

"I care for no trap, this warrior won't be as cowardly as to use traps to stop us. I'm going ahead, if I'm to reach him first before any of you. I will snap crossbow bolts in half as I go to mark my path. This portal will undoubtedly separate us, so be careful, I shall see you all on the other side."

With that, Jacks checked his Repeater Crossbow and walked onwards towards the portal, and his quarry.

Jacks is going to go in first, shot or no shot. His desire to resume his duel with this retainer (and sense of curiosity) getting the better of his sense of safety.

OOC: Ooooh a labyrinth? This'll be exciting.

EDIT: It is actualy seven days since you killed the mutants, please adjust your rations -Drainial

[Syjahel]

It was a long journey and a tiring one. Tensions rose and silence fell. But as much as the wearing pursuit was vexing to Syjahel, she never anticipated that it would have ended in the petrified forest.

She'd heard tales of this place as a child, in between stirring stories of the adventures of brave Corsairs and daring Assassins and the occasional threat to go to bed now or the Autarii would come to get her in her sleep. With a glance at Jacks' back ahead of her she considered that Or they'll steal your accessories probably wouldn't have sounded like quite so much of a threat. She knew of it as one of the distant places far from cities where, as a noble's daughter, she was unlikely to ever need to go. There are advantages and disadvantages to setting out to see Naggaroth on one's own.

There was a strange, unearthly beauty to the stone trees, but she was wary of them, doubly so when she saw how much they were setting the scouts on edge. Syjahel had barely enough time to marvel at the transparent jasper and onyx of the leaves before the last of the Dalvian retainers made his appearance, and this one, it seemed, was finally the one sought by Jacks for his own purpose of revenge. A motive she could understand; almost comforting, in its way.

This one was no less cocky than the last but unlike them, he made a lengthy soliloquy. From it she gleaned what she could of information; it bore the ring of truth for trying to stab this one in his sleep certainly sounded like Sultra's little girl. With the trace of a smile on her face the noblewoman nonetheless braced for the coming change or transformation -

- when the verbose bastard disappeared into the magical labyrinth housed in the petrified trunk like the world's least feminine dryad.

Carathyle was the first to speak up, with a counselled caution and a very rational approach, with which she could find no disagreement, and Cananatra spoke offering his experience of such magical places before, something she herself lacked. Seijl readied his crossbow and she was about to ask the tall Warrior what he could suggest in terms of approach when Jacks shouldered his way determinedly forward, striding right into the portal.

Syjahel blinked a little at this, her noble's paranoid mind wondering for a short moment if some magic of the place had caused Carathyle and Jacks to swap identities. But there was no time to make a test of it and she motioned to Seijl to follow his fellow Shade through the gateway.

"It's as good a plan as any and time is short. Seijl, follow Jacks if you will and Cananatra, you go first after him. I'll take rearguard - I have slightly greater defensive capability in normal circumstances. These are not such; but let us make the best of what we know. Carathyle, follow Cananatra, I'll follow you." She didn't like to lead from the back, it didn't suit her sense of honour but there were more practical considerations. So she readied herself to step through into the unknown, hoping the first thing she saw wasn't Jacks' corpse.

If there is a way to take the horses through, such as it being large enough and them not refusing to go through magic, then let's do so however if there is not, they're Dark Steeds (mostly) so leaving them unhobbled is our best bet if we want them to be here - I figure they can defend themselves better this way. In that case let's make sure we have what extra ammo we can get even if we don't have time to get any of the spare foodstuffs, I'm sure we had some. Syjahel's 20c can go into the group bribery / drinks / inn fund.

Go in sword in hand, shield ready and expecting trouble from all sides (not forgetting looking up).

OOC: If this is a labyrinth, can we please have a small dog and I'll get Syjahel some red slippers?

[Drainial]

After a brief discussion in which Carathyle took the lead, displaying a cool head for once, it was decided that although the isolated tree was doubtless a trap it was one they would have to confront and defeat if they were to complete their mission. A few schemes to further the group’s safety were suggested, they could not know how effective these might be however and Jacks was in no mood to try them out, he wanted to settle the score with this last retainer. None the less he paused long enough to let Seijl fire a volley of shots into the shimmering portal. The slivery skein rippled as the bolts plunged through though there was no other effect, maybe they had hit something, probably not but in either case it was time to go in themselves.

Headstrong and filled with a desire for vengeance on the elf who had had him at his mercy Jacks was the first to head though not waiting for the others. Despite this the horses needed to be attended to, the portal was too narrow for the large beasts to pass through so they would have to be left outside; thankfully the grass was not stone. Normally they hobbled the horses but they had no clue what might happen in the meantime and Syjahel suggested they be allowed to wander, they had no reason to go far and the battle trained mounts might better defend themselves if free. With his shield up and his sword drawn Cananatra was next, an iron clad vanguard for those of the party who wished to use every precaution. Carathyle followed after making sure to retrieve his new spear and was Seijl after him all with their arms at the ready, finally Syjahel brought up the rear, careful to watch their backs.

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Stepping into the portal was like stepping into whispering branches, the soft leaves contrasting with the harsh wood beneath. Taking another step Jacks made it through to...

The sea was beautiful as Jacks looked out from the top of the cliff, that was not what he was watching for of course but the Asur supply train was not likely to appear for another few hours if indeed the scum chose to go this way at all, they were cautious now after many months of raids. The sea though was consolation in part for his boredom, he was no corsair but still something about the sea called out to him as it did to all elves, it spoke of home. Jacks pushed aside such sentimental musings as he heard faint footfalls on the ground behind him, they were soft leather such as the shades wore but this one was making no attempt to stalk silently, in fact they were running. Turning with his hand curled around the grip of his repeater out of reflex Jacks felt a sudden flood of fury fill his veins at the sight of Leifon emerging from the trees. The surge of hatred lasted only a moment but it left the young shade confused, he disliked Leifon to be sure but he had never felt so angry towards anyone, even his mother.

As Leifon came to a halt before him panting slightly to catch her breath after what must have been a long run (for she was fit, fit as he and honed by many years at the academy favoured by their shade clan for honing youngsters into killers) Jacks set aside these strange feelings in favour of practicality. Leifon was supposed to be watching the northwest trail along with Tiarra waiting to ambush the more likely convoy route, if she was here then something was wrong.

“What happened?” he asked, voice business like and cold
“The convoy didn’t come but someone else did, Shadow warriors, at least half a dozen. Tiarra and I split up thinking to meet back here; if she has not arrived she must be pursued still, or caught.” The callus shade was worried Jacks could see, it was in the eyes and if she was telling the truth he could see why. Asur was as blind as city folk for the most part, some were good fighters in the open but in the woods they were easy prey for such as he, Shadow Warriors though... Arnheim had few enough of them to spare on protecting supply convoys, they must have been sent to hunt their group down and now Tiarra was right in the middle of them. Asur as a rule were weak and soft hearted even by Jacks’ standards but Shadow warriors were almost more Druchii than the Druchii, if they caught her then hers would be a lingering death.

Jacks has been transported back to his days before travelling to Vikrah and has no memory of the mission but does have a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that something is not quite right with the world. His skills and equipment remain the same as do his stat increases though he is unaware of just how he has gotten better or collected these new items.

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Cananatra stepped though the portal, it felt as though thick vines were slowly parting beneath his armoured bulk, pressing forward with his shield outstretched Cananatra...

The heat was near unbearable; a sweaty, sticky heat that made his hair cling to his forehead and his Khaitan stick to his back and chest beneath his armour. Looking around himself Cananatra could not remember how he had gotten here; he could see the sky for once and that was a rarity since they had landed in this gods’ forsaken country. Rather than tropical trees forming an impenetrable green canopy monolithic stone buildings were all about. The corsair sat leaning against a shattered column at the centre of a vast square, before him the largest building rose up many hundreds of feet into the air, a ziggurat with a temple sitting atop it. The temple city looked to be abandoned, vines and creepers were a common sight often splitting the rocks apart and desecrating the already lurid and bizarre murals and friezes.

Cananatra seemed to be alone, of any others in lord Varak’s expedition there was no sign, not even the all too common corpses. Surprisingly he himself felt well, better than at almost any time since they had landed in Lustria. A hissing from behind him brought Cananatra to his feet within seconds, despite the heat, despite the heaviness of his armour (for it was far heavier Cananatra noticed, a different set entirely than that he remembered being issued) the sound of hissing was one he remembered all too well as that which presaged death. Turning on his heel and drawing his sword Cananatra saw that he was right, he was not as alone as he had thought. Four skinks were stalking towards him less than ten feet away, two had javelins at the ready, the others held obsidian clubs which he knew from experience were more deadly than one might imagine. Thankfully these were not the larger Saurus but he was outnumbered four to one
‘I’ve lived through worse,’ he thought and then stopped himself, when had he lived through worse? It didn’t matter, right now he needed to fight and live.

Cananatra has also been transported back into a version of his past; he is in Lustria on his first expedition and is in the centre of an abandoned (though not deserted) temple city. He too retains his new equipment, skills and stats and also doesn’t know why or how he acquired them.

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Carathyle stepped through the portal, alert for any surprises. It felt like fire on his face and yet the burning was not painful, it was almost pleasant, cleansing like a pumice stone or sparing session. Unfazed by this weird sensation he took another step and...

Carathyle knew this place but he had never thought to see it again. In the dark he sat, slightly dazed and unable or unwilling to move. The heat was stifling, the dry over powering heat of the forge. The forge was not large, a mere adjunct to the main armoury but it was private. Dimly lit by a single witch light in a sconce near the door and by the cherry red glow of the forge itself the corners of the room were swathed in shadow and that was where Carathyle sat unseen, watching himself in the halls of his father. He knew it was him for he remembered this day well. From where he sat the adult Carathyle could only see the back of a young boy’s head and nothing of what he was working on but he knew, he remembered. He knew that the boy was a little over ten years old and marvellously developed for his age in both mind and body. He also knew the second figure in the room, the elf who had been more father to him than his true father had ever been.

It was late at night, there were no windows but he knew because the boy Carathyle was doing something very secret, he was forging an obsidian sword. Taking materials from his father’s prized collection this was Carathyle’s revenge for a childhood of neglect, or at least the first of it.
“Now quench the blade,” his ancient teacher, younger here but old still, instructed. The movement was hidden by the angle of the forge but Carathyle heard a his as the newly made obsidian sword was plunged into a bucket of ice water turning the red blade to black.

“Now hide it, the blade cannot be found in your room nor in mine. This room is rarely used, it is as good a place as any and better than most.” Yet more wise words from his old master and the younger Carathyle put his words into action taking the sword, too big for him yet even as a great sword, and placing it as Carathyle knew he would in a scabbard and then thrusting it down the side of a work bench. If anyone saw it they would simply think it a misplaced sword of no consequence for the hilt was not so out of the ordinary.

That done the pair left the room to return to their own beds in order that this secret should be kept a little longer and Carathyle finally found the strength and inclination to move. It was all most confusing, he knew who he was but trying to think of how he had come to be here prompted the most terrible headache. The strangeness of the situation had blinded him for a moment but a few moments later he realised that his weapons were gone though his armour was still present. Looking around the forge the elf saw none, none but the newly forged blade crafted by his own hands.


Carathyle has been transported back into his own past but finds his younger self also present. He does not believe himself to be in the proper time as do the others but does not know how he came to be here. He retains his skills, stats and most of his equipment but has no weapons of any kind. He is in his father’s mansion in the forge which is on the ground floor and opens out onto the courtyard one way, the armoury another (though that door is always locked and bolted) and a servants’ hallway (that is the way his younger self went a few minutes ago).

____________________________________________________

Seijl followed Carathyle through the portal; as the silver passed over his flesh it felt like pushing through a bank of snow, cold and refreshing but bitter and dangerous too. Urging his feet forwards Seijl passed through into...

Seijl blinked, he had drifted off again, something he was prone to doing from time to time and something which might one day get him killed. Life was dangerous out here in the Black Spine Mountains, especially when the prey saw itself as the hunter. He was alone out here and that was odd, not that he was alone because he often was but he had no memory of how he had come to be in this part of the mountain. The wailing ravine swept down below him with the river Nagah flowing below; this was one of the most dangerous places on Kalkoun mountain as the shade clans called it, those few city born who ever dared come this far into the wild often referred to it as Darkstar Mountain for the precious cloth sorceresses could weave from the leaves of a plant found more commonly here than almost anywhere else. Some shade bands made a living harvesting the Darkstar plant and peddling it to the convents but not Seijl, the bushes did not fight back and he was a hunter.

Tracks, they must have been what he was following, why he had come up here. The heavy boot prints were certainly not those of a shade, spire dwellers, yes that was his prey today. The tracks led further up the mountain curving away from the ravine above the tree line to where the tiny Darkstar bushes grew, they had a head start but these were his lands, his mountain and Seijl knew he could catch them if he so wished.

Seijl has been transported back into his past before he left the shade clans. He retains his skills, stats and equipment but does not know how he got them.

_________________________________________________________

Finally Syjahel came; stepping into the portal was like stepping into liquid silk, it clung to her skin for a moment and then...

“I can’t believe it, to be wedded so soon, it is so exiting!” Syjahel snapped out of a daze, beside her Aemy, one of her friends (or at least one of the less annoying of lord Kherandis’ retainers’ daughters) was busily retying a strap of her corset. Fussing was closer to it really. Shaking her head Syjahel tried to remind herself of what was going on. She was in a fitting room in her Father’s tower, her own in fact. Mirrors covered every wall and even the ceiling, the door itself was also mirrored allowing Syjahel to see herself from almost every conceivable angle. What she saw was a young female in her underwear, very very posh underwear of the kind she did not normally bother with. For a start the often practical and athletic Syjahel hardly ever put up with the restriction and discomfort of a corset. For that matter she did not usually bother to dress in the fitting room or have a minor noble take the place of a dressing slave...

‘Hang on a minute did she say wedded?’ Syjahel thought and then it all came flooding back ‘of course wedded, how could you forget something like that?’ she scolded herself mentally. The union between her house and that of house Xalkhis was far from her idea but it had been on the cards for a while now after lengthy negotiations between her father and Lord Xalkhis. On this occasion her girlish whiles and tongue twisting eloquence had failed to win Kherandis over
“Hmmm,” Syjahel contented herself with a non committal reply. What was wrong with her head today?

The door to the dressing chamber opened without so much as a knock and a pair of slaves stepped inside holding a dress strait between them swiftly followed by another of Syjahel’s friends who chivvied them inside in a way that likely hindered them if anything.

“Time to put your dress on, the ceremonies begin in less than two hours,” Elmira beamed. Syjahel examined the dress; it was certainly extravagant, tasteful and beautiful in equal measure, a creation in silver silk and black which she would normally have been thrilled to try on though it was hardly suitably for many occasions. Looking at it now she felt more than a little despondent but she forced a smile and allowed them to begin. Although simplicity was something the dress appeared to achieve in its aesthetics getting the damn thing on proved to be anything but. After the dress came a host of other preparations just as a host of other things had preceded the dress, eventually Syjahel stood while Aemy fastened an ornate purple sword belt around her hips in which the ceremonial twin swords hung. The two short blades were little larger than daggers and were more for show than use though they were of good steel and sharp but then they were not for fighting but rather were a sign of her nobility and that of her house.

This she had thought to be the last thing however one of the slaves then came forwards with bowed head and presented a necklace. It was an odd one, a silver chain supporting a crystal inside which was a highly polished sigil of Dalakoi, strength against death, carved in wood.
“What is this? Hardly appropriate, take it away,” Aemy snapped but Syjahel stopped her with a gesture. She would have sworn she had never seen the necklace before but something nagged at her from the back of her mind, she was drawn to it. Reaching out she settled it around her neck and clasped it shut.
“Let us go then,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt.

Leaving the room Syjahel was accompanied by Aemy and Elmira into her chambers where they were joined by several more of Syjahel’s friends and the daughters of retainers and key allies of house Vasht. Moving on again the enlarged party set off down the spire’s long halls, it was at the very top of the grand stair case leading down to the great hall that she heard the noise. It was faint but distinctive to any Druchii be they a lowly tavern rat or the Witch King himself, fighting. Moments later the cause became clear, or at least part of it. Armed elves appeared round the spiral stair case, though unarmoured their swords were more than practical enough to cut. These were not her father’s guards, these were Xalkhis elves, wedding guests. Seven of the elves charged up the stairs with their swords already drawn, between them Syjahel’s ladies numbered only five with her included. Although the daughters of Naggaroth were not frail they were at a distinct disadvantage armed as they were only with ceremonial twin blades and although neither side were armed the female garb was considerably less comfortable and more restricting. They were in trouble here.

Syjahel has been transported into a version of her past in which she had been forced to give up her wandering and enter into an arranged marriage with an enemy of her house on the orders of her father. She retains all skills and stats though does not know the reason for her martial improvement however she is unarmoured, armed with ceremonial dual blades (short swords) and of her equipment has only her shield necklace. Her companions are equipped in much the same way but with not quite such nice dresses.

Welcome to the Tree of Hearts my lords, ladies and gentlemen. I would stress that discrepancies in length are not meant as favouritism or any such thing. Seijl in your case I apologise for the lack of individuality compared with the others but I could only go on what I had to work with. There is a way out of the past for all of you if you can find it though it may not be the same thing for one as for another -Drainial

[Cananatra]

The air was warm, more than warm it was hot. The fecund stench of decomposing plant matter assaulted his nose while sweat trickled almost everywhere as he rested against a long toppled pillar. He couldn’t remember reaching here, only fleeing the ambush while the rest of the raiding army was slaughtered. Then again, exhaustion could have an effect on memory, probably.

Opening his eyes he gazed up into the sky, for once visible, and noticed something strange. The view was different, slightly more cut off in places and wider in others. Had his helm been damaged more in the escape than he thought? Sitting up straight to take the helm off the extra weight on his limbs came as a surprise. Momentarily forgetting the helm he looked down upon the armour he wore. It was finely crafted, far above the simple gear provided by the Lord, and it was heavy too. Solid in the way only the most well forged pieces could be while still being usable. Now how did I get this? I’ve wanted one since first putting on that pathetic excuse for armour assigned, but this, this is unusual. The discomfort caused by his lack of exact memory came back twofold while viewing the armour. Something was clearly off.

Quickly scanning the area didn’t help much. He was in a clearing, that much was for certain. One filled with the remnants of a Lizardman city, if these could be considered cities. Pyramids seemed to be the going theme, vine decorations. As his gaze finished panning he saw his shield. Now I’m sure I left you behind during the ambush. Picking it up he saw it wasn’t his shield, it was similar in that it was Druchii made, yet he had never seen this one before. To the back was strapped an axe, balanced for throwing by the looks of it, something primitive barbarians tend to use. He had never seen the shield before, he was certain, yet his arm believed differently. The weight was just right, the pressure from the axe shaft just so, as if he’d carried it for some time.

A quick search of his personal effects turned up some more surprises. A dagger, relatively new looking and of decent design hung from his right hip. Just behind it hung a horn, marked with some unknown symbols. Something to be tried later, no point letting everything in the jungle know where I am. His fingers danced across his clothing, under his armour and without looking for anything else. Something was distorting his belt, as if it was tied to it and then stuck under the leather. Fishing around he eventually managed to pull out an amulet. The biting cold sensation shooting up his arm was an unpleasant indication of what it may be, though for some reason he was unsurprised. A thick gold amulet rested in his palm, a circle holding the symbol of slaanesh. His face twisted in revulsion and he almost tossed it into the undergrowth but stopped himself. His memory was clearly on the fritz. Strange place, strange equipment and no memory of it. Tucking the amulet back where he found it he came to his sword. This at least he remembered, and remembered well.

A hissing started behind him. On the balance everything in this damned jungle hissed, usually when it was about to try and eat you. Jumping upright he grabbed his shield, and pulled his sword free as he spun toward the direction of the sound. They were close, damn close, but that was skinks for you. Sneaky little bastards with their blow guns and poisons. Oh those poisons were a chore. I’ve lived through worse. He balked momentarily in his thoughts but put aside the continued discomfort and charged.

Not wanting to give the damn things a chance to get off many shots with any sort of poison or ranged weapon Cananatra will close in on the Left most skink and take its damn head off before going to town down the line. The poison hasn’t been lethal to him in the past and he’s bigger and stronger than they are with more armour.

OOC: How can I be outnumbered 2 to one when there are four of them and one of me? Do I count as two mercenaries for force deployment?

EDIT: My maths skills imploding quite spectacularly there . This is what happens when you don't proof read. I have edited it to the proper number. -Drainial

[Carathyle maveric]

As the portal passed over his skin, Carathyle was greeted by heat and warmth unlike none known to him… except back in his warm home in Har Ganeth. The warmth was so intense, it forced him to the ground. What is this… place? Where are Syjahel, Jacks, Cananatra and Seijl? Did we split up? Did we lose each other through the portal? Wait a second, I know this. he thought as he struggled to move. Why can’t I move?! DAMN IT! Why can’t I. . . It was then that he realised what this place was.

His eyes widened. It was the forging of the very thing he treasured most of all, the thing created as part of his rebellion toward his father, the very first action that led him down the path he was walking till this very day. Th-that’s me? And… master… It was incredible how memories that were among the best he ever had could make a grown up man cry. The child had long black hair hanging just past his shoulder blades. The older man had already grey hair, a beard that passed his chest and green eyes.

How is this possible? He died by the hands of my father. My father killed my tutor, my guardian, my friend. DAMN IT! Coreleth Maveric, you took EVERYTHING away from me! My mother, my friends, my tutor, everything! All for your own damn pride! The tears soon stopped flowing as he heard a hiss and the condensation lifting into the thin air. A smile appeared for the third time that day on his face, as he remembered he was enjoying the complete forge. The moment that blade touched the water and hissed was the moment Carathyle felt whole once more, his life increased in value for he now saw the things that he forgot throughout the years. There were actually people who believed in him, who cared for him no matter what age.

The night surrounded the house as it embraced the room. A witch light and the forge itself gave the room its glow, embracing all but a small corner of the room. ”Now hide it, the blade cannot be found in your room nor in mine. This room is rarely used, it is as good a place as any, and better than most.” my old tutor spoke of. Your words didn't make sense to me during that day and age, now they do and I thank you for teaching me the valuable lessons of life as a Druchii. His thoughts were going astray as his recollection from that point on allowed him to finally accept his birth right as a noble from Har Ganeth.

The sword was placed against the workbench, all that needed to be done was the steel spike on the pommel and it would be finished. His younger self and his former tutor walked out of the room and Carathyle finally got to move once more. Lifting himself to his feet from the crouched position, he looked around and placed his hand on the surface of forge’s edge. My armour was forged here, my obsidian sword was forged here, my steel sword was forged here. Near all my equipment was created here. I spend two years constructing everything. My bow that I lost during a hunt, my quiver that was stolen. A smirk appeared on his feature.

Slowly walking over to the door to the armoury, Carathyle tried to open it but it was closed. I haven’t been here in over 20 years. His person felt a whole lot lighter than usual. With a quick look he saw his equipment was absent. Yep, this is an illusion. You fool, it was too good to be true. But how do I get out of this maze of memories? Ah well, I’ve heard you can still die in an illusion so I better take what I can. he thought as he strolled over to the work bench, grasped the scabbard of the newly forged long sword and attached it to his belt.

A sword with a hilt custom made for two handed use. He was a genius in creating extraordinary items, I thank my life numerous times to that. the smirk turned to a grin as Carathyle started to roam the all too familiar mansion in the death’s city in search of answers.

Carathyle will keep the blade sheathed, his head tilted toward the ground in search of either himself, his tutor or his father.

[Drainial]

Cananatra

Surprised and confused by all the new gear he seemed suddenly to have acquired Cananatra was never the less quick in putting them to good use. Knowing that Skinks were tricky little things particularly at range he charged forwards at once. Instantly the two javelin baring skinks let fly but the light spears bounced off his new armour without penetrating or doing more than check his advance for a second or two. Reaching the leftmost Skink, one of those which had thrown, Cananatra slashed down hard at its neck. The lizardman tried to jump away but this merely earned it a split skull rather than a severed head.

As the first Skink fell to the floor Cananatra turned to the next in line. Say what you will of Skinks they are not slow and the little creature was already attacking. With a smoothness and efficiency he had not known he possessed Cananatra caught an obsidian club on his shield and almost without thought thrust forwards throwing it off balance before lunging and ripping into whatever organs these creatures had. Kicking the beast off his blade the young warrior snarled as another javelin hit him, this one bounced off his thigh plates without leaving a wound. Where ever it had come from Cananatra was loving his new armour and he leapt forwards to put an end to the latest menace. The Skink was scrambling for a third spear when Cananatra's blade severed its arm before sawing back into its neck. The last Skink tried to flee, running towards the great temple but with elven speed the corsair made an elegant long thrust from behind and took it through the heart.

Corpses lay all around now, the four Skinks bleeding onto the cracked stone flags, the half naked human warrior sprawled on the pillar...
'half naked... hang on a minute,' Cananatra thought. At his waist a strange cold energy began to seep up his side, a dull numbing buzz. All around him human and elven bodies began to appear on the ground, before his very eyes the world began to shift and change. The temple was no temple but a forecastle, the ground was not of flags but the wooden deck of a ship. Cananatra stood speechless as the world melted and then with a sudden snap he was there.

The ship looked eerily familiar to Cananatra and yet completely unknown. It was not of elven design though one such lay close at hand. All around him Druchii corsairs struggled with the degenerate sons of Slaanesh, half naked where they were not fully and covered with piercings and tattoos. Half a dozen marauders stood nearby and two Druchii corsairs along with a host of bodies from both sides. This was not the temple city.
'temple city, what temple city? Concentrate man this is battle!' he thought.

In killing the Skinks Cananatra has been taken to another memory this time on the deck of a chaos ship. He has some faint memory of the temple city but these are vague. All stats and equipment ect are the same. -Drainial

[Drainial]

Carathyle

To be back here again, in this place and at this time, it was almost too much for Carathyle. Tears ran down his cheeks as memories both proud and painful mingled in a blanket of grief, joy and anger. When the younger version of himself left the room Carathyle finally found himself able to move again and quickly remedied his unarmed state by taking the obsidian sword, it was his after all and his younger self could not use it yet.

The armoury doors were locked as he recalled and he had no desire to go out into the courtyard, on this night of all nights there would be a large and alert watch outside. That left one way to go and Carathyle took it slipping out into the corridor. It was a servant’s hallway, plain and undecorated, a way for functionaries to move around without disturbing their noble masters. Plunged back into the distant past Carathyle was faced with a few options, all of them strange. Even here he had few friends, fewer that would recognise him or could be made to. He could go in search of his father and he might yet do so but for now he decided that in the absence of a better plan he would find Ferion, if anyone would understand what was going on he would though going to him would be risky. In his 500's the elf was in his prime and had centuries of experience with a sword, more than that he had taught Carathyle everything he knew, if they came to blows it would be a close run thing. Never the less it was a direction in which he could go and he could hardly wait around here all night.

Taking a moment to remember the way Carathyle set off, padding as quietly as he could in his armour he headed right and took a fork off to the right again. Walking down through a larger corridor now Carathyle was fortunate enough not to run into any patrols, presumably most of them were outside for death night. Ascending a little used staircase Carathyle made his way up and before long found himself on the third floor in a well appointed corridor. To his left was the door leading to Ferion's chambers, to the right the door to his own. If he wanted to reveal himself this was the time, but did he want do that? And what might it change if he did?

Carathyle is now outside his tutors room and his own (I figured it wasn't too much of a stretch to think they would be close together).

[Cananatra]

Putting the entire strangeness out of mind for the moment, Cananatra moved swiftly towards the Skinks. They were weak, small and poorly armed with no armour to speak of. It was almost unfair to charge them, almost. Striding forward as fast as the new armour would allow, he headed for the left most reptile. Despite them being almost within touching distance when the charge began, the two javelin armed skinks managed to get a throw in. The first glanced meaninglessly off his right pauldron, but the second struck dead centre and rocked him back briefly. Reaching the first skink, now unarmed after throwing the javelin he scythed his blade horizontally to remove its head. The skink was fast, bobbing backwards in a half scuttle, half leap. Fortunately it didn’t clear the reach of the blade and the top of its head, colourful crest and all, went spinning off into the foliage.

Spinning on is heel to arrest the momentum of the charge Cananatra swung towards the next skink. Their speed was almost becoming a cliché as it had already turned and was attacking with an obsidian club. Using his momentums spin he continued slightly, sweeping his shield across and neatly deflecting the blow before sliding his blade past to once again taste reptile flesh. The ease at which he felled them was surprising. The gear wasn’t his, save the sword, but it felt right, as if he’d worn it for some time. Shaking off the discomfort that shrouded him Cananatra kicked the Skink off his blade and moved on the next one.

This one must have been older, or perhaps simply poor at combat. It got off a throw, at point blank range, and managed to strike his thigh. Probably the single worst place it could have aimed. Perhaps it forgot I’m taller than a skink. Cananatra thought as he stepped forward. It attempted to draw a third javelin, not the smartest move, and he dis-armed it before decapitating it. As he moved to finish the last skink he saw it had turned to flee. With a quick couple of steps he moved forward and skewered it.

That was that over and done with. This is becoming strange. These creatures seem far less threatening then they should. He glanced around out of habit for loot, wherever that habit came from, and spotted a half naked human warrior where he had sat only moments ago. That’s new. . . . At his waist a spike of cold darted through his clothes and spread along his side. The feeling was familiar, but once again tantalizingly outside his grasp. The frustration built as the landscape began to change and he found it difficult to remember what exactly it used to look like. Low bushes twisted and shed leaves to become the railings of a ship. Two pillars, leaning against one another like drunken sailors blurred and grew to become a mast, while the temple itself twisted and became the forecastle of a ship. The ground rolled slightly, now of wood rather than overgrown stone and fresh bodies appeared.

In an instant he was here, no longer in the temple. But what temple? The image was just out of reach, like a word you knew you knew but couldn’t quite remember. The battle before him drew him out of the musing though. This battle seemed eerily familiar too. Humans fought elves, and Cananatra caught himself looking around for the leader of these degenerates. Why he was not quite sure. Seeing two fellow Druchii about to be surrounded by six humans though was enough to lay to rest that uncertainty. Stepping forward he attacked.

Cananatra will attack the nearest marauder to him. Hopefully taking him by surprise and help the corsairs finish off the others before they become overwhelmed.

[Vaari]

OOC: Never thought that a weak backstory would work to my advantage

IC: The chill broke his reverie, choosing not to claim him this time, at least. A Hag passing through the Spire's in search of druge-root had noted the malady. If by noted she had cursed the "damned fool spook" for drifting off as he scaled a cliff face to retrieve the boon the Hag had sent him for. He had obtained the root, as payment the Hag had let him live. As she left the encampment that served as Seijl's temporary home she had spat " Maybe there is something in these damned hills that could fix that fevered brain of yours." Strange how a simple insult had served to direct the young shades career. After that encounter Seijl's interest in the flora and fauna of the wastes and beyond grew, the search for poison and tincture balanced out the passion for blood. Always something to prove, even out here, out here?

Kalkoun. Grabbing a hand full of cold earth and rubbing in to his face, Seijl struggled to draw himself in to the present. The cold was a touch more biting than usual but it granted the desired clarity that Seijl sought. As he breathed in the scent of his surroundings, his eyes came across tracks, not those of his kind and not those of who belonged. Distortions in the wilderness needed to be set to rights.

Pulling his cloak close around his body, Seijl began his pursuit.

Seijl begins his pursuit

[Syjahel]

There was something on her mind as she ran her hands through her hair and submitted to the fussing overtures of the maids of honour, but Syjahel couldn't pin down quite what it was. Was she lost in a reverie of slaughter, was it the memory of her celebration of coming of age, the misting of sea spray on her pale cheeks, eyes bright with the promise of bloodshed? No, it was Aemy again with that infernal scent bottle.

"He's marrying a Lady of House Vasht, not a flower garden." Even as she said it, she knew that was what she'd forgotten, who the - with a start the pieces fell fully into place, the bride to be was she, unbelievably, incomprehensibly she had been given away, the only daughter of the House, exchanged by her father like so much chattel for the sake of a little hateful peace. So much for being Daddy's little girl. It was a slap in the face and the realisation that it was her first real experience of betrayal did nothing to improve her mood. Pretty dresses, fine jewels, expensive perfumes - these were merely funeral wreaths on the grave of her future.

When considered neutrally, the scion of House Xalkhis she was marrying was not intrinsically a bad match; he had a tall, straight figure, youthful and proud in his bearing, sea-grey eyes and long dark hair worn in the manner of a Corsair. The trouble was that even if she put to sea with Khaladir as the Corsair Princess of her daydreams, she would have to at least tip him over the side in a storm to salve her wounded pride, even if consummating the marriage would hardly be a chore. The fact was that until her father had had his uncharacteristic outburst of peacemongering she and the young noble had been enemies from birth, and it just didn't sit well with the warrior-woman to go quietly.

Wait ... was I a warrior, then? Is it those times I remember? She could feel the weight of a sword in her hand, the heaviness of a shield she'd laboured long and hard to hold in her left hand so as to present an unbroken wall with her shieldmates. Was it in the dark hours of war that she'd known these things, as the waters rushed to consume them and the Sundering drowned more than hopes of sovereignty? The waves washed it all away, as lately they always had, and she shook herself and straightened as the final lacing was put into place, twin swords buckled around her waist, and the runic pendant she recognised -

These are not my swords! What toys are these? I couldn't even discipline my Master Diplomat with th- She shook her head. She had no diplomats, no advisors, and no real hope of ever inheriting her Father's position - sad fact it might be, but marriage was her best hope for political advancement outside the battlefield. And now even that small hope was being taken away. Something still nagged at her. There was an image in her head of a tall, stately and noble warrior, a fierce intellect, devious and unpredictable, quicksilver in battle though his hair was pure silver. Ruthless, hateful, powerful. Centuries of experience had honed him like a blade. A slight smile came to her lips, which brought a knowing nod from the two dreamers around her. Someone like this, a Druchii whom she could respect and learn from even as she plotted her vengeance, would be a far more worthy match. She wanted him dead, yes, but he had the sort of power her Father should be glad to see her choose for her own. Not that this was the time to be dreaming up figments of her imagination. She had to focus; someone among them had to be clear on which one was going to be the bride. A slightly less daydreaming smile flashed across her face and her chin tilted a fraction higher, Perhaps her betrothed should become Khaladir Vasht if he were so keen to make an alliance with her House. "Let us go, then."

Vengeance for what?

Collecting an entourage of excited girls, chattering on their way to the wedding party, it was hard, so very hard not to look like a looming thundercloud amid all this heedless gaiety. Syjahel put her hand to the pendant, half-conscious of the act. Strength against death. Hardly a wedding sentiment, except for times like these. How much better to have been a Bride of Khaine!

As if on cue the faint sounds of battle drifted up the stairwell, and her heart quickened. Perhaps Khaine had heard her prayer and holy violence would save her from this ignominy. Perhaps her Father had come to his senses, perhaps this had all been a ruse to bring his hated enemies within his grasp -

These were Druchii of House Xalkhis, and they were armed, and no mere ceremonial guard would be this far into her House's defences. Syjahel assessed the situation with battle-tempered speed, bringing her shield -

She had no shield. She'd been denied much of the front line; her hakseer cruise was all she was drawing on here, that and Lucky's books, so how did she ...

Shades! Covering fire!

There were five women with her, with pretty but still sharp dress swords, short blades that gave their foes the advantage of reach, but they held the high ground and she knew, as their Captain, that they looked to her for - as their Lady that they would be looking to her for guidance.

"Fall back to the top of the stairs. Sulieta, go and find Vaileth. He will know what to do." Drawing her swords, she gestured for the youngest of the girls to run and find her oldest brother. If her Father's wedding guests were here, then the Lord was most likely embattled and Vaileth would take over the household defences. All they had to do was hold the top of the stairway, make the narrower access point work for them. "The rest of you with me, keep together, use the height to your advantage, hold nothing back. Do you want to be slaves to House Xalkhis or end your days in some dockside tavern?" The blood was quickening in her veins. Perhaps there was a way out of this debacle, perhaps Khaine would send them his favour, after all what does he love more than a bloodied Bride? With a firce warcry she stabbed at the oncoming warrior with her right hand blade, hoping to use the feint to slip her left sword under his ribs.

Syjahel will fall back to the top of the stair, hoping to use it as a natural chokepoint. She'll try to take charge using her natural authority (ie she's the one who's Kherandis' daughter) and see if she can boost their morale, not to say they're weak or silly but everyone was expecting a party not a battle. She's under no illusion that four ladies' maids, even Druchii ones, can hold seven warriors up forever but this is why she's sent No. 5 off to get reinforcements. Brother Vaileth will know what to do, even if Daddy has had a temporary lapse in judgement.

Parry, feint, attack, spill blood in the name of Khaine and freedom!

[Carathyle maveric]

Slowly emerging from the dark forge into the servant's corridors, Carathyle walked with a steady pace through the old mansion. The corridors were well-known to him, at least for this part of the house. He looked outside and saw the ceremonial fires of the Death Hags unholy bath. Death Night. The pure adrenaline rush to be outside in the courtyard, or the streets. I wonder how she's faring and IF she's still alive. Carathyle thought looking up to the temple. His eyes returned to the streets that a few homeless occupied on this cursed night. They were as useless to the society as these bloody annual events.

I wonder where all the guards are, those weaklings couldn't even beat a child, let alone a grown up, battle honed, trained Druchii. A grin appeared on his face as he saw a couple of servants pass him. To them, he was just another guard patrolling the house perimeters. His path led to nowhere, until he stopped and turned toward a worn, servant staircase. Damn it, it's times like these I'm glad I travel in a party. Can't say I don't have a good party to back me up. Syjahel is a good captain, Cananatra fights on the same level as I do, Seijl isn't easy to forget in this because of his expertise in long range. Jacks... well, every party needs a joker, other then that, he's the same as Seijl. I wonder how they are right now. Slowly walking up the stairs, Carathyle already knew where it was heading. What to do next? Should I go to myself? Should I go to Ferion? His thoughts were wondering. For the first time in 39 years he stood in the hall where the sleeping quarters were, in those days, it were bedrooms. To his left was Ferion's bedroom, to his right his own. Now where was Coreleth's chamber? I think it was past that corner, but first let me get some words of... you fool, he won't recognize you. Or would he? He thought, recalling things that Ferion said to him, yet kept quiet to others. Slowly reaching for the door that led to him, Carathyle hesitated, withdrawing his hand. What should I ask? What is the meaning of this? He won't know. All I want is an explanation for... for my mother's death... Why did she... That's it, I'm done with this place. Carathyle thought, pushing the door open with all his force and walked inside the room, grasping the hilt of the obsidian sword.

"Ferion Glaemblade, stand up. You will assist me in finding my father, Coreleth Maveric. I am Carathyle Maveric. I know what happens during this night, now where is he?!" His voice raised, belching out orders. Stupid move Carathyle, he taught you everything you know about how to handle a sword. Carathyle thought as he looked at the old face that he recognized. "Just in case you're wondering, I know that we took my father's obsidian and forged it into a sword, the final design features the two handed hilt with a iron spike on the pommel for extra use in close combat." Carathyle tightened his grip on the sword, ready to draw it and engage in combat if Ferion attacks.

Knowing the difference in strength, and the fact that Carathyle has learned everything from him, he'll only attack when attacked. The sword in two handed fashion for defence, two handed in the first attack, then switching over to a one handed combat style.

OOC:Wasn't sure about my boundaries, so I kept them to a minimal.

[Meteor]

The sensation was weird, Jacks had never felt so much anger before, to the point that he wanted to kill her. It took him a lot of effort to stay his fingers, and more questions and confusion flowed in place of his rage. Like why did Jacks feel stronger than he should be, or why he carried so much equipment for an academy student.

"Poison vials? When did I grow this desperate to start using such things?"

He picked up his Short Sword and Repeater Handbow, the grip felt familiar and natural, though Jacks don't recall when he learned to become ambidextrous at the academy. His Repeater Crossbow should've been the only weapon he ever liked using.

Nonetheless, Tiarra's life was in danger, and he was wasting time trying to make sense of all this. He would have to push back this nagging feeling to the back of his mind for now as he followed Tiarra through the bushes.

Jacks will follow Leifon to where Tiarra is. All the while, trying to figure out why he has so much hatred for Leifon

OOC: Drainial, this is magnificent, classical dream/illusion puzzles. Love them

EDIT: I thought it was the other way around? Leifon being the one Jacks ends up hating and Tiaira being the only person he cared about up to that point. It is your back story and it is a simple change of names but it should be the one you like who is in danger. -Drainial

OOC: Sorry no you are correct, I don't actually know why or how I mixed them up because they were correct and then I remembered changing them haha. It's what happens when you are doing this at 2am in the morning.

Fixed anyway.

[Drainial]

Cananatra

Finding himself aboard a Chaos ship Cananatra paused but briefly at the strange thoughts and sensations passing through his head. Given time he might have turned his mind to these oddities but he was in the midst of a battle and there were lives on the line, notably his. Six large brutish human warriors stood nearby, already one corsair was fighting for his life against two of them while another charged the second Corsair. Never one to let odds phase him Cananatra charged forwards aiming for the nearest remaining unengaged marauder.

The human was big, almost as tall as Cananatra and broader across the shoulders, even so he was not slow and seeing the elf charging he checked his advance on the corsairs and turned to face him. Armed with a large axe the marauder was dressed only in a loin cloth though swirling tattoos obscured much of his form and he was hairy besides. Fast as he was Cananatra was faster and his first blow sliced a deep wound into the human's chest. Howling in pain the warrior responded with a short chop from his heavy axe but Cananatra caught it on his shield, parrying the next blow the elf pressed forwards and thrust his blade home. Wrenching the sword free Cananatra was gratified to see the marauder fall to his knees clutching a ruined stomach.

He did not have long to celebrate though, the last two marauders yet to find either death or a combatant had taken note of the armoured elf's dramatic arrival and were moving in towards him. One held a barbed flail in one hand and a knife in the other while the second had been blessed (or cursed) by having his right arm replaced with a scythe like bony appendage. The both hurled themselves at Cananatra screaming their rage to the heavens, whether they were prayers to Slaanesh or simply incoherent babbling was difficult to tell but their intentions were clear enough.

The first chaos marauder has been killed but now two more have attacked Cananatra directly. The other fights remain at a stalemate (minor wounds and scratches probably but Cananatra is rather distracted).


Seijl

Bringing his focus to bare on the here and now Seijl's attention was focused on the tracks, they were faint on the rocky ground but he could follow them, and he intended to. Setting off he concentrated on the trail not noticing the oddities on his own person, the hunt required a dedicated mind. The mountain trail was arduous but it was his home and he was used to it. Seijl's well worn boots made little noise as he jogged from boulder to boulder, thankful in a way that his quarry had chosen to keep out of the wind as much as possible. Even for the hardy shade clans a Naggarothi breeze was still like a dagger made of ice this far up.

The tracks fell away every now and then as the ground became particularly stony but Seijl knew roughly where the city folk would be headed at least if they were well informed, and he quickly found it again each time. The tracks led away from the cliff face and towards another one, this time Seijl was near the bottom rather than the top. Crouching behind a withered tree felled not be axe but by storm winds Seijl observed his prey. There were four of them; two armoured warriors with swords but no shields (usual given the demanding paths), a female dressed not in armour but in robes and furs with no obvious weapons and finally their guide, a shade from another kin band. It was as Seijl had thought, the female was collecting leaves from the small dark bushes that grew along the cliff face. He was less than fifty yards away but not even the other shade had seen him yet, still it was four to one...

Seijl has found his city folk, two warriors, one female unknown and a shade guide.


Syjahel

The sudden attack caught the bridal party off guard but Syjahel was quick to react ordering them back to the top of the stairs and sending a runner to find her eldest brother who she knew should be somewhere on this floor completing his own, far less strenuous, preparations if he was not embroiled in this mess already.

Hopefully Vaileth would know what to do or at least what was going on, for now though they were on their own. Syjahel's quick leadership and confident tone prevented any sudden collapse and the young noble ladies of Naggaroth quickly drew their ceremonial blades. The staircase was wide and grand but still it restricted the oncoming warriors to three abreast while still having room to swing their swords. Arrayed against them Syjahel stood alongside Elmira, Aemy and Katrina.

As the oncoming warriors neared the top of the stairs the foremost amongst them barked
"Remember, his lordship wants Kherandis' brat alive!" that was both worrying and potentially useful. They might want her alive but as soon as he was in range the elf was not shy about laying on with his long sword. Although highly decorated the blade still gave them a substantial advantage in terms of reach. Parrying the first strike Syjahel sliced downwards keeping him down on the lower step. With a sword in each hand she cut downwards evidently surprising the warrior and cutting into his leg, the wound was only shallow however and the attack continued.

To her right Syjahel saw Elmira manage to gash her opponent’s face only to let out a sudden scream, glancing swiftly to the side Syjahel saw her childhood friend fall forwards heavily with a sword through her heart. One down already, not good. Fighting on none the less Syjahel knocked aside another overhead slice and thrust forwards sinking her sword blade into the warrior’s eye. He fell back without a groan, the corpse fell hindering the warriors below him from getting by. Using this moment’s grace Syjahel attacked the warrior fencing with Katrina and sank her blade into his side. Her bride’s maid was quick to capitalise and brought the elf down but soon the Xalkhis attackers were pressing them hard once again. They had done well so far but the warriors would not underestimate them again and they could better afford their losses than could the females.

Five attackers left, two maids left along with a blushing bride

Carathyle
After a brief hesitation Carathyle decided he could use some help here, it was a grave risk but his old tutor was the only one he might be able to convince and certainly the only one who would help him if convinced. Bursting through the door Carathyle grasped the hilt of his newly made sword but did not draw it, yet.

"Ferion Glaemblade, stand up. You will assist me in finding my father, Coreleth Maveric. I am Carathyle Maveric. I know what happens during this night, now where is he?!"

Unsurprisingly the ex-swordmaster was on his feet before Carathyle had finished his sentence with his sword half way out of its sheath. Levelling the straight blade at Carathyle Ferion stepped forwards away from the chair he had been reading in.

"Are you mad elf? Carathyle Maveric sleeps not twenty feet away, what fever has seized you?" he growled

"Just in case you're wondering, I know that we took my father's obsidian and forged it into a sword, the final design features the two handed hilt with a iron spike on the pommel for extra use in close combat." Carathyle continued, this gave the older elf pause

"I will admit you bear a striking resemblance to lord Coreleth, but Carathyle is a child not some arrogant warrior,"

"I am Carathyle Maveric; it is the fourteenth day in the month of Earanil A.S. 5224, your daughter's name was Milandi, you escaped from Ulthuan on the hawk ship Indefatigable. I was born under the sign of the Manticore, we both hate my father and my favourite flavour of jam is blue berry." Ferion lowered his sword a little

"How can you know those things..." it wasn't really a question "How can you be here?"

"I don't know, but I need to find Coreleth," Carathyle insisted. Ferion lowered his blade further

"It is Death Night, he will be in the private dining chamber. What do you mean to do?"

Carathyle has convinced Ferion he is who he says he is.

Jacks
Ignoring the undoubted strangeness of the situation Jacks motioned for Leifon to lead the way, he could not allow the closest thing he had to a friend to die in agony. The pair set off at a ground eating jog and were soon subsumed by the forest. As he ran Jacks tried to figure out many things, how he had come to posses such a strange collection of objects from a handbow to what felt like a gem in his belt pouch for one but more importantly where that uncharacteristic surge of hatred towards Leifon had stemmed from. He had no liking for the elf true enough but he had never felt such reckless hate before, not even towards his mother. It seemed an insoluble mystery however and thinking about it gave him a headache.

Jacks slowed as Leifon did, the female flashed him a quick hand signal indicating that he should be wary, evidently they were close to where the shadow warriors had been, that or she had seen something. Moving more slowly now the pair advanced, both using the ample foliage to cover their movements. A flash of movement alerted Jacks to danger and on nothing but instinct he dropped to a crouch, his preternatural perception was yet another surprise but not one he had time to dwell on. Above him where Jacks head had been was a long grey fletched arrow.

Grasping his weapons Jacks scanned the forest, at first it seemed deserted save for Leifon who had likewise dropped into cover but then he saw movement. Over to the left a figure in grey and green slipped through the trees, this was exactly the kind of warfare Shadow Warriors were trained for, fortunately it was the home of the Shades as well. The sons of Nagrythe would bleed and die in this forest, but would it be the traitors or the true followers of the King?

Jacks is in cover in the forest along with Leifon (or Tiarra if I am wrong). There is one Shadow Warrior that he can see at the moment though there may be more lurking.


Good posting guys, -Drainial[/u]

[Carathyle maveric]

Carathyle stood in front of his old master, not surprised by the response he gave. To his utmost surprise, the information that he had on the old elf was sufficient to convince him from Carathyle's identity, and to spill the location of his father.

Carathyle smiled, "Good to know that I have people that support me in the past, shame you'll die in a couple of years." Carathyle realised what he just said and walked out of the room. Fortunately his usual way of talking was too fast for the older elf. "What did you just say?" he said, lifting an eyebrow at Carathyle. "I said, it is good to know that I have people that support me." he responded more slowly this time. Choosing his path wisely, Carathyle still remembered the standard patrol routes of the guards for some reason. Often enough he saw shadows on the ground but they bend off in other corridors.

Walking through the corridors with utmost ease now that he had Ferion with him, who often enough had more control over the guards then his father, Carathyle started to think of what might have happened during this lonely night. "You asked me what I was planning on doing? I'll either kill him, torture him or maim him after I know what happened to Lady Anriel. And it's not as usual that he sits there, he went to the temple once and got home pretty shocked. It's either he has Lady Anriel with him there, or a disrespectful bride of Khaine, they tend to loosen up a bit for nobility." Screeches of victims to the Witch Elves filled the night with horrid sound as the Death Night festivities kept on going.

After a good five minute walk due to a detour thanks to the fool guards his father had, Carathyle reached the door of the dinning room and tried the lock. Nothing, not even a slight movement. "Door's locked. But to every good lock there is a key, and since these are cheap locks, there are other ways in." Carathyle said as he stepped back. Great, he really is doing a bride, or he's killing my mother. Carathyle thought, raising his leg and kicked the door in.

He'll kick the door in since it's locked(only 1 entrance except for the servant's path). The kitchen where the servant's corridor to the private dinning room is hang out number one for the guards(lazy, hungry, everything a good guard isn't, they were cheap) and Carathyle didn't feel like fighting guards if not necessary.

OOC: I hope this isn't too much freedom that I took with a couple of the main patrol-routes. Other then that, I assume it's within the boundaries.

[Meteor]

"They're baiting us, lets keep moving for now. Finding Tiarra is more important at the moment." Jacks whispered as he cautiously picked his way through the thickets as silently as he could.

Shadow Warriors? What are they doing here? What is going here?

Tiarra...you're still alive?

He couldn't think straight, but he knew he needed to reach Tiarra before it was too late. No Shadow Warriors were going to stop him, no Shadow Warriors were going to hurt his friend.

Jacks pressed on, jumping from shadow to shadow with his trusty repeater crossbow ready in hand, and a strange feeling of anger towards Leifon here in check.

Jacks will ignore the sighted Shadow Warrior for now, keeping his movements in check as much as possible. He will continue onwards with Leifon to where Tiarra is.

[Vaari]

Hall dwellers made for easy stalking. The bite of the bitter wind was nothing new for Seijl, the heavy, stumbling footprints showed that some of those who he followed were not accustomed to surroundings such as these. Despite that being the case, they were making good progress, it was likely that one of his kind was leading the little band..why does that ring so familiar?

It was not long till he made time on the outsiders, using a storm beaten tree for cover. Spying two guards and a guide watching over a woman... A shade watching over a woman, now why does that set my teeth on edge?. Disturbed by his thoughts, Seijl forced himself to composure, putting the nagging suspicions to one side. He still maintained the advantage, they had not sensed his presence, no that it would be much out numbered as he was. Something is wrong, very wrong . The half-eyed elf buried his face in the snow, seeking to burn out the plague of thought. Yes, he was prone to fits of fancy, considered a little "touched" even amongst his own dour natured kind. Losing a homeland set adrift minds as much as bodies in these feral wastes. But this nagging suspicion was different, lacking in the lucidity that often accompanied his usual mental wanderings. Somewhere in the scene before him was a distortion that set his teeth on edgeoutnumbered? it just didn't feel right.

Tearing himself back to present less he be discovered in his somewhat feverish state, Seijl readied his repeater. He would follow the herb gathers, hopefully along the way a revelation may present itself to cure him of his malady.

Seijl freaks out, decides to cautiously follow the herb gatherers till he can figure out what is going on.

[Syjahel]

It was a desperate fight. There were skilled opponents ranged against them, here, in her own house, where she should be the safest of all. Perhaps there were no true havens in Naggaroth, but to those of wealth and power a rough approximation could be made, hired or bought, and her Father had prided himself on his ability to provide for all his children. Syjahel fought with her characteristic ferocity, feinting and -

When did I become this fierce, this keen with a blade? Perhaps all it needed was anger to bring it out in me, a part of her exhulted, revelling in her skill. Provoke me to wrathfulness and you draw down the whirlwind - she blocked the next strike, and left a welling line of scarlet across her enemy's thigh. But instead of the rock-solid arrogance of youth, this felt brittle, the missing pieces of her memory leaving an aching hole in her thoughts -

There are no memories! Those are dreams! Parry! Keep your guard up! He has the reach on you, duck underneath it!

- with a sudden shock she felt not the cold of the rushing sea but the blood from Elmira's blade as she cut at her attacker, only to be run through the heart. I am not losing another of my command! She launched herself at the Druchii fencing with Katrina and between them the two girls brought him down. Moving on light feet despite her corsetted form, the young noblewoman strove to keep her shield between her foe and her -

She had no shield, and they were outnumbered -

She had faced far greater numbers than these; the molemen, the harpies, that rabble of mutant slaves -

What in Khaine's name is a moleman? She stabbed forward desperately, looking for an eye or a throat or at least a vulnerable joint. No time to mourn, only to fight. Panic began to swell inside, and she forced it down.

"Remember, his lordship wants Kherandis' brat alive!"

With these words she began to piece it all together in her mind; the whole charade had been engineered with this aim. She thrust at her opponent, using the unbalancing nature of fighting on stairs and hoping to have him tumble backwards. That indeed was the only way she'd see any of House Xalkhis fall for her. How could her Father not have seen through this as the trap it so clearly was? A mystery indeed, and yet as the saying had it, most problems are soluble in blood. Syjahel aimed a kick at the guard facing her -

If you find it so unrefined, Master Shade, then perhaps you would care to explain that to my gracious foe?

- and she brought her left-hand blade round at the unprotected flank of the Druchii to her side. If they wanted her alive, it was going to be a victory bought in blood.


Make the best use she can of her height advantage and try to overbalance her attacker. If he can take any of the others down, if he falls and breaks his neck, Khaine be praised, but every small victory gets them more time and she hopes that her brother or some of the household guards will be able to assist. Because she does net plan to be taken alive by her bitter enemies, and nor does she want to lose any more friends.

[Cananatra]

As the first marauder fell Cananatra’s eyes rose to see two more advancing towards him. In the background the corsairs were still holding their own. Quickly viewing the pair of advancing enemies Cananatra decided the Flail armed one was by far the most dangerous. Armour grants little protection against large weight impacts, the bone can be dealt with afterwards. Despite his concentration on the battle before him, the nagging feeling that things were not quite right remained. He was certain he had fought here before, and equally certain he could not remember doing so.

Leaping forward he charged towards the flail armed marauder, taking care for his charge to put the flail one between him and the bone one. He’d kill this one fast, before he could really get his flail where he wanted it.

Cananatra will charge the flail armed marauder, hopefully in such a way as to obstruct the attack of the bone mutated marauder. He’ll come in with his shield angled to deflect a strike from the flail, rather than resist it totally. Sword goes so soft killy bits.

[Drainial]

Carathyle

Carathyle was somewhat surprised that his old tutor had been persuaded of the truth but as an ex swordmaster he would be familiar with magic and the mind twisting effects it could have, and Carathyle was here by magic though he could not fathom what kind or the source. Since he was here Carathyle decided to give his father a visit, this was and had been an important life in his young life, perhaps now he would get some answers which had long eluded him.

Heading out into the corridors yet again Ferion and Carathyle between them managed to avoid the sparse patrols, with Death Night upon them the doings inside the house were of considerably less concern than making sure that the 'festivities' remained beyond the walls. Reaching the dining room Carathyle found that there were not even guards posted at the door and that was odd, for a lord to be unguarded particularly on Death Night was strange indeed. Trying the door Carathyle found it refused to open. Not to be halted by a simple wooden door Carathyle decided on the simple application of force, the door jumped on the first hit and on the third it burst open. Carathyle walked inside.

It was the dinning chamber all right but not as he remembered it, it was in a terrible state. The large oaken table was on its side and the chairs scattered everywhere often with missing legs. Looking down Carathyle saw the heavy chair from the top of the table thrown across the room with a body of a slave slumped across it. The slave was one Carathyle vaguely recognised, a woman who often served at table. Her back was a mess of red, several deep stab wounds had let loose a torrent of blood and there were still more on her front, it was evident to anyone with a familiarity with violence and wounds that the slave had died in a frenzied attack fuelled by wild anger. Food also littered the table and floor, the remnants of a rich meal. There were no living elves in the room.

Yet more blood led into the kitchens and the two elves made their way over there to investigate. The door was ajar and Carathyle pushed it open, a short corridor led out into the large kitchens. They were not so chaotic as the dining hall but nor were they in proper order, slaves were scrubbing at a trail of blood on the stone flag floor while others set right various pots and pans which had been knocked over all along one long workbench. The blood trail led out of the kitchens down a flight of stairs which Carathyle remembered led out into the rear courtyard.

There were not only slaves here however, guards commonly took their ease in the kitchens; the ovens made it warm and there were ample opportunities for seizing mouthfuls meant for others and fondling pretty slave girls (or boys). At this moment there were five of them all in uniform and armoured though missing their helmets (and in one case their boots). At the appearance of Carathyle and Ferion one of them came to his feet
"What are you doing here nurse maid?" he sneered at Ferion "and who is this one?" he demanded pointing at Carathyle. Sensing their bosses' mood the other four also got up and fanned out behind him blocking Carathyle's path with hands on their hilts.

Carathyle is in the kitchens with Ferion and five guards. There are three exits; the dining room you just came from, the staircase where the blood leads and another door leading into another part of the mansion.


Jacks

Things were looking bad, Jacks had been under threat of death for his entire life; his first night on this world had been marked by triumph over adversity as were all shades and since then he had survived countless attempted killings at the hands of his fellow students and in open battle but he had rarely been faced by such dangerous foes. Not wanting to fight the shadow warriors here Jacks motioned for Leifon to continue on to where she had last seen Tiarra and though she gave him a look that seemed at least two parts desperation and fear the female shade did so.

The Shadow warriors knew better than to stay in one place, they knew the reputation of shades just as the shades knew the reputation of shadow warriors and neither would take the other side lightly. Keeping low and moving from cover to cover Jacks followed Liefon through the forest. Twice more he managed to spot an attacker in time to get into cover before an arrow ended his life, at least two and probably three shadow warriors were around him in the woods, eventually one of them would succeed in ending his life. Leifon had likewise escaped injury so far but neither had yet loosed a single bolt in return and the Shadow warriors were growing bolder. After a few minutes more Leifon signalled Jacks to tell him that this was where she had last seen Tiarra, they were at the top of a cliff much like the one Jacks had been guarding, perhaps twenty feet down a coastal path was navigable during low tides and it was often used by supply ships from Ulthuan (those few which managed to slip past the Witch King's fleet) as a way of bringing supplies to Arnhiem. This was what Tiarra and Liefon had been watching when the Shadow warriors attacked.

The cliff was about dozen feet away from where the pair of shades lurked at the edge of the tree line, the ground was clear but there was no sign of Tiarra. With time to look closely they might manage to find a trial on the hard ground but time was not on their side. This fact was brought violently to Jacks' attention by another arrow, this one smacked into a branch inches from his head. Turning back to the woods Jacks could see two Shadow warriors both with their bows out, he could run or he could fight but either way the Asur had seen them.

Jacks is with Leifon in the woods, behind him is clear ground leading up to the edge of a cliff. In front of him about fifteen feet away are two shadow warriors armed with long bows and swords.


Seijl

Everything seemed wrong despite its familiarity. Seijl's mind had a tendency to wander; sometimes in dark places, sometimes just in strange ones but this feeling of wrongness, that was new. Unsure of exactly where this party of strangers unsettled him so Seijl decided to watch and wait, it was something shades were good at. Bathing his face in the snow to cool a brow he felt ought to be feverish Seijl watched as the elegantly robed female continued to gather leaves in a routine, mechanical manner which her shade guide pointed out especially good or bad places. The two warriors remained watchful but not watchful enough to spot Seijl.

Darkstar bushes grew sparsely and it was not long before this little section of cliff had been stripped as bare as it could be if the precious plants were not to be killed. The spire dweller band began to move off and like a shadow Seijl followed them a little way along, find a good hiding place the process repeated itself until they had to move again. This time however as Seijl moved the warriors' heads snapped round seconds after the shade guide's, Seijl had been seen. Wordlessly the four elves began walking towards Seijl, none drew their weapons but their stately advance was worrisome none the less.

As the elves grew closer Seijl saw something that made no sense at all. Eyes can saw allot about a person, some call them the windows of the soul. In an objective sense they were often of use in battle to read an opponent’s intentions and to see what was behind you from the reflections in your enemies' eyes. The semi circle of elves grew closer however and Seijl saw that the eyes of these elves did not reflect the mountain on which they stood. They looked familiar these elves, eerily so and yet Seijl could not place them, almost as though he had known them in a past life.

When they came within a swords length the elves stopped and as one raised a single hand palm upwards as if to say 'come' but it was their eyes that held Seijl's attention. Gazing into the eyes of the other shade Seijl saw lush forests, a fellow shade and flashing arrows, it meant little to him for it was no forest he had visited but somehow it called to him. Looking into the eyes of the first of the warriors, a thick set elf in heavy armour, Seijl saw the sea showered with blood and brutal human warriors twisted by chaos. The second warrior, a lithe youth with well worn armour and many weapons, had a glance that spoke of home but a home that was nothing like Seijl's, a home of hall dwellers covered in gore. Finally the shade met the eyes of the robed female and saw a battle amongst the finery of a noble house, this two was like looking into a strangers' home but this was a happier place though tinged with sadness and despoiled by blood. The elves themselves remained silent but their hands and their eyes spoke for them, come, they said.

The four elves (OOC we knew they are the other party members but Seijl does not recognise them, only feels like he ought to) are a little way away from Seijl and are not threatening to attack.

Syjahel

The fight raged on, thankfully the stairs prevented all of their attackers from coming at them at once and the extra height was an advantage which had kept both Syjahel and her bride's maids alive more than once already but still they were only just holding on. Syjahel's new opponent was skilled with his longer sword and although he now had a long scratch down the side of his face that was all Syjahel had managed to land. Blocking low to parry a low blow aimed at her ankles Syjahel almost stumbled as it turned out that the strike had merely been a faint and she gasped as cold steel cut through the skin of her shoulder severing one of the many straps. It was a light scratch however and soon they were duelling again with renewed fervour.

Her friends were also bleeding though not badly and Syjahel found herself willing Sulieta to hurry. After what seemed an age Syjahel heard boots hammering on the floor behind her.
"Syjahel, all of you, move back, let us engage them." a voice came from behind. It was not Vaileth but rather the second son Kythrian. Although she dared not look back Syjahel estimated he had about half a dozen elves with him from the little she could see out of the corner of her eye. They were attendants much like her own and in dress robes but the male versions were far less restrictive, a good bit more martial and more importantly their ceremonial paired blades included a long sword. Why females couldn't have the same was beyond Syjahel but at least reinforcements were here.

No more casualties though some light wounds. That means there are still five attackers but now there are six Vasht Druchii reinforcements in addition to Syjahel and her attendants. Presently the stairs stop Kythrian and co from getting at the Xalkhis elves just as they stop the Xalkhis elves from using their full numbers against Syjahel's 'command'.


Cananatra

No sooner had the first marauder fallen than two more were on him, meeting their attack in true Druchii fashion. Charging across the deck Cananatra angled so as to put the flail wielder in between him and he mutated pirate. As Cananatra came close the flail came crashing down, stepping into it Cananatra raised his shield and tried to deflect the blow away; the impact was still a strong one pitting and scaring his shield face but it did not stop Cananatra from slicing a hunk of meat from his enemies' shoulder. Disturbingly the marauder did not scream but instead let out a moan such as one might expect in the mating calls of their disgusting breed. Quick as a snake the marauder stabbed out with his dagger while pulling back his flail for another blow. Ignoring the dagger Cananatra concentrated on the flail ramming his shield in close and now allowing him room to swing. The dagger punched into the elf's side but his thick armour cheated the blow of blood. Now in close Cananatra was too near to use his long blade effectively to cut but instead punched the hilt hard into the human's face. Teeth sprayed across the deck and the marauder went staggering back and fell to the floor unconscious but not dead.

Out of the corner of his eye Cananatra saw the corsair fending off two chaos brutes at once take an axe to the knee and fall. Anyone could see that the elf's life was measured in seconds and likely the corsair knew that for he did not block the next blow, a sword lancing through his stomach but instead as a final act of spite and hatred rammed his barbed sword up into the groin of the axe man. Both fell writhing to the deck.

This was a shame, the loss of any elf to a lesser race was a shame, but Cananatra had bigger problems to deal with. The blade armed mutant's path had been momentarily blocked by the elven warrior's move but not for long and now he came swooping in. To Cananatra's right the triumphant swordsman was also closing in, it seemed there was no end of these brutes.

There is now only one elf other than Cananatra left on this particular part of the ship. The flail man is out of action but the blade arm is now attacking and a sword armed marauder is also coming in from Cananatra's right.

-Drainial

[Syjahel]

Syjahel parried another thrust and kept her guard up. Desperately she wished for her shield, her thoughts turning to the strange amulet around her neck. The splinter of a veteran of a score of fights - when had she ever come by such a thing? How did she know the feel of that rough wood, encased as it was in crystal? It made no sense to her and yet she knew this shield, could feel its phantom weight on her arm.

In the absence of a good defence - and with an increasing sense of desperation that there would be no assistance - her thoughts slipped to wondering if she could focus their attackers' attentions on herself; they would not kill her if she were the prize they sought. Perhaps one or other of the girls might slip away. It was an exercise luckily terminated by the sound of running feet, as Kythrian and six of the honour guard arrived - properly armed this time.

With her brother's words she knew the sense of what he was saying - unarmoured bridesmaids were not a match for these interlopers no matter how courageous - but she knew better than to turn her back on House Xalkhis.

"Fall back - give ground," she hissed, taking a step or two away from the head of the stairs, hopefully in step with her maids so as not to leave anyone's flank open, broadening the front so that even as the enemy surged up the opening distance, her brother and his soldiers could join the fray. "Never have I been so glad to see you, dear brother." she spoke over her shoulder, too busy to take her eyes off her opponent, adding with a touch of dark humour, "you always did show up fashionably late."


Take a step back, keeping the retreat organised so that more Druchii can join in the defence and hopefully so that the maids can get out of the fight. As for herself, Syjahel is not ready to cede the field but sees little choice right now, she is outclassed in terms of weapons. So if she gets out of melee she will look for a way to get around to the back of the fight. After all, she is on her home ground and knows all the secret (and more usual) ways of the building.

[Meteor]

Jacks clicked his tongue in annoyance, they had been found, and was at a distinct disadvantage as their backs were to a cliff and the Ulthuan dogs were deeper into the forest than they were.

"Damn this, this wasn't how it was meant to be."

"Leifon, find her tracks, I'll handle this." he tried saying it as calmly as he could, for it was still a puzzle as to why he hated this woman.

Was it because she fled and has now put Tiarra into danger? Something at the back of his mind tickled, but once again, he had no time to ponder, their lives, and Tiarra's were on the line. Without a word, he dashed to the side, drawing the enemy's fire away from Leifon as she went ahead and searched.

Jacks will tell Leifon to find which way Tiarra went. He will draw his Repeater Crossbow out and side step to a tree whilst spraying the two enemies to draw their attention to him.

OOC: This is now officially a Matrix shoot out!

[Vaari]

With his position betrayed, Seijl took measure of his adversaries. There was something disconcerting about their eyes, as if they told a story that was beyond words. The glimpses of insight startled the shade, he could not be sure if they came from his own madness or if something outside his mind. Chaos could infect any being, Seijl had to believe that this was not the case in this instance. The herb gatherers made no motion to attack, the female's gesture suggested a parley. Drawing his cloak around his body, in an effort to mask the hand that sought the envenomed dagger, Seijl approached the strangers.

" You are far from home mistress. If I might inquire to what business you have beyond the gathering of darkstar, I will be on my way."

Seijl had no illusions about his ability, despite his talent for close combat, he was at a disadvantage. Still, they were strangers here, Seijl hoped that this would make them wary of tackling the lone shade. Who knew that he did not have other companions near by? He felt he should, nearly taking time to see if his clans men were lying in wait without his knowledge. A foolish hope he chided himself. Maybe these four could use another guide, till Seijl found his bearings, it would not be the first time he had teamed up with strangers, or was it?

Seijl approaches the group, with dark venomed dagger in hand. He will ask what they are up, while keeping his distance in case of an attack.

[Cananatra]

The flail armed marauder fell senseless before him. That was easier than before. Hold on, before? Before what? The feeling of having fought against a flail on this ship was almost overwhelming, yet until the attack he’d never been on the ship. And the different armour again. Wait, why again? The tantalising glimpses of memory danced before his mind’s eye before fading as the more immediate vision of his real eyes interposed itself. The mutated marauder was advancing.

Stepping to meet him Cananatra raised his shield and made ready. The marauder could be dangerous, or utterly useless as some followers of chaos where, unfortunately until he engaged there was no way to tell. As he closed Cananatra swung.

Cananatra will move to meet the mutated one, stopping just short and letting the mutant cover the last bit himself. He’ll angle his shield to take the bone strike on his shield edge and thrust forward to skewer the marauder. Hopefully he’ll finish him off with time to spare to deal with the other incoming one.

[Carathyle maveric]

Seeïng the blood trail leading out of the room, Carathyle couldn't help himself but smile. Either the witches drove in, or my father went berserk and started off killing the slaves. Though I doubt that since he's not strong enough to lift his own chair and throw it to the other side of the room. he thought, lifting the chair and placed it back on its legs. Kneeling near the corpse of the slave, placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, with her back on the floor. "Appears to be witch elves. Bloody wrenches shed blood like a madman." he spoke as he closed the eyes of the slave. "Let's keep on going, my father isn't that weak to fall a pray to the witch elves, he'll probably have a nasty stab wound but he'll manage. Lets follow the blood trail out of the room." Carathyle raised back to his feet and followed the blood trail once more. Heading down the staircase wide enough for one with a plate, Carathyle soon saw the thing he didn't want to pass. "Ferion, keep quiet, follow my lead and keep your sword hand at the ready. These guys should be much of a problem though." Great, the kitchen. The one thing I didn't want to pass through. Carathyle's wary thoughts weren't because of the knowledge that the guards lacked the necessary skills to take him on one on one, or two on one for all who cares. It was the fact that the guards were on their tows because of Death Night, and didn't take kindly to visitors during the annual celebrations.

Slowly emerging from the darkened staircase, the well lit kitchen was a pleasant surprise of warmth and comfort, yet this was the very thing that drew the guards here. Looking around he could see pots, and pans thrown everywhere, a blood trail leading from the dining room into the kitchen and onto the staircase that led toward the courtyard. Seemingly the slaves were scrubbing the blood off of the marble floor stones and guards were doing nothing but eating and relaxing. However, the captain of the group noticed Carathyle and got up on his bare feet. "Who are you?" He spoke toward Carathyle, pointing at his direction. As always the guards backed the strongest, and soon the rest got on their feet and stood behind their captain, hands at the ready for a quick skirmish. Five guards against two expert swordsmens. Can't say we're at a disadvantage.

"Pointing at your superior is an insult, Lord Coreleth should take your head for your laziness and treachery! Now get on your feet, and start patrolling the perimeter before... What is this?" Carathyle yelled back, voice raised and indicating he was stronger and superior to the guard captain in any possible way.

Kneeling down at the bloody trail leading from the dining room to the staircase, Carathyle went with his fingers over the trail. Scrubbing them together he looked up before rising to his feet once more."You... lazy... guardsmen are a disgrace to the house of Maveric! Lord Coreleth should hand you over to the executioners for your laziness! You're letting a slave clean up a blood trail?! Where does it lead? Who's blood is it?! Answer me, soldier!" Carathyle held his hand with the bloody fingers in front of him, his other hand having the sheath of the long sword in his hand. "You know what? I'll figure that out myself. Now step aside before I take your head myself!" his attitude wasn't what you called friendly toward the guards as he already figured what might have happened and who's trail of blood this was.

Carathyle will try and persuade his way through the guards, using his arrogance and attitude as leverage over guards. Let alone his own skill with the sword, the known fact of Ferion's skills with a sword and the fact that the guards didn't have sufficient training to actually battle nobles(they're trained to fight peasants and defend their lords. As long as they're not the main focus, they're a good fighting force.)

If the persuasion fails, Carathyle, when attacked or when the swords are drawn, jump back and draw his own sword.

[Drainial]

Syjahel

With the arrival of her brother and his forces Syjahel began to give ground along with the others backing away while keeping her guard up. As soon as there was room Kythrian ran to her side. Distracted by another sword flashing for his throat the attacker turned to meet him, Syjahel punished him for this mistake sinking her little blades into his side and thrusting upwards into his lung. Kythrian's friends and retainers rushed in and the battle grew ever more fierce. They had lost the stairs as a choke point but with numbers now on their side that was all to the good. In the battle one of Kythrian's guards lost his life but between Syjahel's friends and her brothers' the attackers were eventually all brought down.

When they were all dead Kythrian turned to his sister
"Syjahel Xhalcis forces are in battle with father and Vaileth in the great hall. I was about to help them when Suilita found me. Get back to your apartments and bar the door, I have to go and help." Kythrian ordered his little sister, ever protective.

______________________________________________________________

Jacks

Barking orders at Leifon Jacks prepared to fight the Shadow Warriors alone. As the other shade darted away Jacks erupted from a bush and sent bolts spraying towards the Asur. Non hit but then that wasn't the point, the barrage certainly got their attention. Diving behind another tree Jacks was just in time as an arrow smacked into the ground where he had been standing and another thudded into the tree. Ducking round the side Jacks let off another burst only to find that the Shadow Warriors were not to be seen. Concentrating Jacks heard a slight whisper of leaves from his side, instinctively he thought of an owl, shaking such absurd thoughts from his head he turned and fired. The bolt struck flesh, one of the traitors fell to the ground clawing at the barbed bolt in his thigh. One down.

Sharp as his awareness had suddenly become Jacks turned just in time to see the second Asur leap out from behind a large pine swinging a leaf bladed longsword at Jacks' head. Ducking back Jacks rolled to his feet and hastily drew his own sword to block a second attack, the Asur was fast and skilled, it would not be an easy fight.
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Seijl

Disconcerted by the ring of strangers with their odd eyes but intimidated enough by their numbers and boldness not to attack Seijl elected to talk instead

"You are far from home mistress. If I might inquire to what business you have beyond the gathering of darkstar, I will be on my way," we said.

"On your way," it was not the female alone who answered but all in unison, an errie effect. As one the four lunged forwards and laid their hands on Seijl. Before he had chance to use his dagger or even cry out the world went white.

Opening his eyes Seijl saw a world of wood, it was all around him. Not the cut and polished wood of houses nor the outer skin of trees, it was more like unto the second but smoother, more rounded and lacking in the gnarls and cuts that so often marred the elegance of unadulterated nature. He was in a room of sorts, circular and large with a domed ceiling. In the walls were four portals, beyond them Seijl could see different scenes, a noble in a wedding dress, a warrior on a ship, another in a kitchen and a shade locked in combat with some Asur dog. There appeared to be no other way out nor any other thing at all to be seen.

___________________________________________________________

Cananatra

Under attack once again Cananatra deflected the first rush of strikes from the mutated slayer with his shield. Going on the attack he found the human a good warrior, armed in his normal hand with a long dagger the human used it to parry his strokes. The dagger was a poor weapon compared to a sword though and soon rips and tears began to appear along the human's torso though he seemed not to care. Unfortunately although he was slowly gaining the upper hand Cananatra was unable to finish the disgusting creature and just as he had feared the swordsman was now moving in. Moving back a step Cananatra parried the first sword stroke while blocking the bone blade on his shield. Life it seemed was not easy at sea.

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Carathyle

Heading the guards off at the pass in the confrontation stakes Carathyle demanding obedience, it didn't work. Drawing his sword the guard levelled it at Carathyle
"Bold words boy, maybe a trip to the cells will cool your tongue." The other guards also drew their blades but that was as far as Carathyle let them get. Smoothly drawing his own obsidian sword Carathyle attacked without warning and without mercy; his blade slipped past the unprepared soldier's guard and tore a hole in his face and shattering several teeth. The guard fell back yelling and spiting blood though he did not fall.

Soon however Carathyle found himself assailed by two more guards and together they proved to be a challenge. Though he was a better swordsman than any of the guards individually Carathyle might have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers but for Ferion. Drawing his sword seconds after Carathyle the old swordmaster showed that he had not lost his skills, stepping forwards he brought his sword up in an ark fast as lightening which split an unhelmeted head in two. Quickly he was engaged by the remaining free guard and the braggart who had started this mess decided to join that fight as well. Not to be outdone Carathyle managed to put down on of his opponents with a thrust though the eye but the other was still proving problematic, perhaps not all of his father’s guards were as useless as he liked to think.

Sorry it's a bit rushed. On another note I will be absent from the 2nd to the 5th and out of contact. -Drainial