The Invitation of Shadows. [Anna Brodie and Elryth Evynsaw]

[Tolbin]

Time Stamp: Melora 44, Era 14 PF

There are those that only see what they wish to see, fine roads, children playing free of fear, happy friendly people, the beautiful, the dapper, shops full of wondrous and expensive trinkets, but is that all there is to see? Where are the poor, the downtrodden, those fallen from grace? Those that sweep the streets that streets that are unseen by the beautiful people, do they live in fine luxury? Are there no families that huddle around fire at night in little rundown shacks, struggling to survive? Or children crying themselves to sleep after facing their father’s drunken wrath, or those that can’t cry anymore…

In a forgotten part of mystique, behind a long line of warehouses sits such a place, a place where hope has died, and the light doesn’t shine. A place where the well to do priests don’t go, where justice takes a backseat to survival.

It was a dark night, overcast and dreary. The smell of night soil thrown out into the gutters is thick in the air and rests, stagnant in the windless night. Families arguing over trivial events of yet another miserable day break the silence. In the few lit parts of the street small groups gather, drinking away their sorrows, occasionally fights breaking out. This is the underside of Mystique, the place that societies well to do never go, though they occasionally they find use for the expendable dregs of life. This is the Gut.

Come to me…

A shadow lurks by an open door to the rear of one of the warehouses, people walking the streets cross over to the other side of the street to avoid it, without knowing why…

Come to me…

Somewhere far away from the gut there are two people sleeping safely in warm beds, only to awaken in a cold sweat.

Come to me…

The call penetrates them to their core, the voice is so beautiful and cold. A flash of pale green eyes in their minds, eyes that cannot be ignored.

Come to me…

[Elryth Evynsaw]

Elryth had spent the last few brightenings at Mystique's Settings Suns Inn and Tavern. He had enjoyed his time in the city so far, but had yet to find what he was looking for. Like all individuals, Elryth needed a source of income to simply get by, and even those willing to stoop further than others were not always able to find gainful employment. He had searched the city during his stay there and could find little. Though he was taking druidism lessons, there was little to keep him there and he was beginning to think travelling to such a fair city was a mistke. He didn't much care for what most would consider honest work, and he especially didn't care for obligation or duty. It was with these thoughts that Elryth had spent a quiet night at the tavern and gone to sleep early, hoping that something would work out for him in the future.

The elf woke in the middle of the night, sweating and near panic. It was like a dream that fades in the morning light, something beautiful but dark. The more he tried to figure out what it was that had bothered him to the point of waking, the more he couldn't pin point it. What he could remember was strange, a pair of green eyes unlike any he had ever seen before. Elryth was disturbed enough by this that he couldn't even think of going back to sleep, and he was now wide awake. Quickly getting dressed and grabbing his sword, Elryth decided to take a walk around the city.

Mystique looked quite different at night. The dark shadows made the towers of the Bosquet seem even more ominous. The natural beauty here seemed to reflect the darker side of nature more in the evening. That was something many did not think of. When most people though of nature they thought of the beautiful flowers, verdant forests or shimmering lakes. When Elryth thought of nature, he thought of the storms that could (and did) wipe out villages, forces that could end many lives in one swoop: the power that could give life but also take it away.

It was thoughts like these that Elryth found himself in the gut of Mystique. He had only passed by here before and in the daylight at that. He was glad for his cloak, but gladder for his sword at his side beneath it. He wasn't scared, most people here just wanted to get by, but he knew what desperate people were capable of. He had walked right into the Gut without even realizing it and by the time he had, he wasn't entirely sure if he could find his way back. He found himself among row after row of wharehouses, nearly all of which had seen better days. The smell was awful, and he was unsure if this really was the Mystique he had been in recently. As he walked, he saw a figure in a doorway and he stopped, staring, trying harder to make it out. He could not shake the feeling of familiarity that came over him, like he had seen it before, if only in a dream.

[Anna Brodie]

Close to the main street near the city gates, Anna slept. Her bed was no comfortable mattress, but bales of hay in the barn where such was stored at Willy's Livery. She worked and lived there for now, the owner having allowed her to take temporary lodgings in the barn. It was convenient for her, for it meant no crowns were wasted on a room in a boarding house - and convenient for him, for it meant a groom was on hand at all candlemarks of the darkening. This basic way of living would not suit most, yet the woman did not seek a bed stuffed with feathers, or a room of her own. She washed herself from the handpump in the yard as dawn broke and took her meals on the street, buying whatever the vendors sold there cheaply. And each night she slept, a rough blanket covering her thin body, her other items of clothing bundled up into a makeshift pillow. Sometimes she slept well, especially when she was physically tired from work, but other nights she would spend candlemarks gazing at the roof of the barn, lost in memories of the past.

On this particular darkening, it was fitful sleep that plagued the woman. The blanket had fallen to one side from her constant shifting and turning and although asleep, a deep frown marked her face. With a tremendous shudder, she woke suddenly. A dream, not dreamt before, had shaken her awake, and the voice heard within still echoed in her mind. She sat up, rubbing her face and shivered. Nightmares were a common currency in her sleep, yet this one was different. In the dark, she fumbled for the blanket and pulled it up over herself again, trying to get back to sleep. However, it did not come. Instead she lay there, staring at the wooden beams overhead, frustration at the situation pricking her mind. The voice heard in her dream would not leave her memory. Green eyes flashed before her, again and again, haunting her. Come to me ...

With a growl of anger, she sat up again, threw the blanket back and pulled on her boots over her leggings. The tunic was quickly buttoned over her shirt and then belted, with the sheathed dagger hanging at her side. Her cloak was the last item, the clasp hurriedly hooked at her neck and the hood drawn up over her loose blonde hair. There would be no more sleep this darkening. Slipping out of the barn, she passed the stables where the horses were sleeping, and out into the street.

Anna had little knowledge of the city save for the areas she'd haunted in the past cycle, but everything looked different in the darkness of night. There was no moon or stars to cast light and instead candlelight from the buildings were the only guide. All she knew was that she had to walk and walk until this wretched unsettling feeling was out of her system. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come here, she thought as she began to pace the streets. Before arriving in Mystique, she had been used to walking all brightening long, striding across the countryside with no destination in mind, but rather impelled by this need to move, to get away from the past.

She kept to the center of each street, for there was no traffic from carriages at this candlemark, and no shadows with the night sky being overcast. She walked with purpose looking ahead, as though she knew where she was going, although each turn taken was spur of the moment. One side of her cloak was thrown back over her shoulder to reveal the sheathed dagger, to let those who saw her know she was armed and not some foolish weakling. The scenery changed about her as she walked, and she realised she was leaving the rich facade of the city behind to where the reality of life was tucked away. The echo of the dream drove her on, though, deeper and deeper into the other side of the coin that was Mystique. The voice resonated in her mind with each pace taken until finally, she gasped and stood against the wall of a warehouse, leaning back, her eyes raised to the dark sky in frustration.

"I'm coming, damn you," she uttered through gritted teeth to the air. It was then that her eyes dropped to what lay ahead - an open door with the shadow of someone lingering. Instinctively she knew that this was her destination, and without hesitation she strode across the street to the door, unaware that Elryth was close by.

[Tolbin]

The air only seemed to grow colder as the two approached the hooded figure, their breaths billowed from them like steam clouds, and the world about them grew silent as if holding its breath in fear. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of their own breathing. The lights that burned in windows, and street lamps grew dim and faded into a black oblivion, that seemed to swallow up all of reality leaving only them and those eyes, and soon they too faded.

Life is about death. To live you feed upon that which is dead or that which will soon be. In the end when you die your body will give life to others. Life is Death and Death is Life.

Darkness washes out like a tide receding from the shore, the cloaked and hooded figure no longer bars your way from the warehouse. Inside the warehouse it is lit, though dim your eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness, and the light blinds you for a moment leaving purple trails across your eyes.

Soon your vision returns, there in the center of the warehouse a monstrous play unfolds. Six hooded figures knee down before a makeshift altar chanting in some forgotten dark tongue. A seventh stands over the alter with a long obsidian dagger held before him. His face painted in jet black and crimson, with strange twisted marking. Below him is a young woman, barely more than a girl, tied spread eagle and clothed scantily in a white dress, and her face white with shock and horror.

“Mighty Jorel, Lord of Darkness, Father of Hate and Destruction, we offer you the heart of this virgin, bless us with your foulness!”

Her face turns away from the obsidian dagger now poised above her chest, and her eyes widen as they look in your direction.

“Melf Fmee!” She cries out through the wadded cloth stuffed into her mouth, as tears roll across her face.

“Infidels! Take their lives!” Shrieks the dark priest.

They wish to live as you wish to live. For Life to continue there must be Death. There is no escape from this encounter, they have seen your faces. Dance with Death to find Life.

The followers of Jorel scramble to their feet, and as if by magic long wicked daggers seem to appear in their hands. “Blood and souls for Lord Jorel!” They cry in union, as they rush forward.

[Elryth Evynsaw]

Brought to this weird place, Elryth was a little confused, if only for a momment. He thought it a bit odd to have been drawn to a group of cultists, but it was immediately clear the task set before him. There was something bigger here and he had a feeling it had something to do with the voice in his head. It didn't take much insight to see what was about to happen, and though Elryth had no issue with killing in general, killing in cold blood was no man's right. Everyone should be free to live their life as they wished, and he was pretty sure that being sacrificed was not how this woman saw fit to worship. Even gods didn't have the right to control people's fate. Pushing the voice's words to the side for the momment, Elryth was ready to act.

Forced to fight, Elryth immediately drew his long sword from his side and took up a good defensive position. His weight evenly distributed and his blade positioned diagonaly across his body, the tip pointed out at an angle, he was in a good position to defend against a variety of attacks. Elryth knew that his biggest strength was his speed and, in this fight, his reach. Like most elves, Elryth was not particularly strong, but with a good blade you didn't need to be. As long as it was sharp, it would do the work for him. If he could hit the other guy first, Elryth knew he would come out on top. Though he had no shield, he could use his other arm for balance, more of a rapier or fencing technique, but it would allow him to move faster and recover more easily. With all that in mind, from his guard position, he knew that the cultists would have to come to him, and his weapon was longer than theirs.

When the first one came at him, he parried his oppenents long dagger out and to the side with a flick of his wrist, almost slapping it away. Another movement with his wrist and he made a made a quick swipe up at the mans throat and back into a defenseive position. The move was fast and slight enough so that the elf could bring his blade back to center with relatively little effort and movement. If he didn't keep his blade up and close, an opponent could get in a good attack. Conservation of energy was key, any wild or uncontrolled movements could leave him exposed. Balance was just as important, and he made sure to shift his feet and keep himself centered properly. Even if his first attack didn't land effectively, he wanted to fight defensively, to observe so as to fight more effectivly.

[Anna Brodie]

Fight or flight, the latter instinct was strong in the woman, yet the voice that rang in her head guided her to the former.

She had seen Elryth enter the building with her once the doorway was unbarred – and oddly enough she seemed to accept his appearance there with her as natural. What she would have normally questioned, been suspicious of, to see him again and in this place at this time, faded into that acceptance of oddities often found in dreams. The sight of the hooded figures, the altar with its female sacrifice and the one leading the ceremony, face painted in strange patterns and wielding a dagger was met and accepted in her mind in similar fashion – as though she were the onlooker at a play, invisible to the actors, and Anna tilted her head to look with curiosity at the restrained girl.

But that perception of distance from the action was destroyed in the moment that the dark priest saw them. This was real, and she was part of it. She blinked. Easy to run out the door and flee into the night, but the voice told her there was no escape. Anna drew out the dagger at her side and held it before her in defensive pose, but she frowned as she scanned over the six oncoming figures. Survival at all costs was uppermost in her mind, and there was a half fancy to attack Elryth who had struck up a position of defence beside her, his sword out. Siding with those who had the upperhand, showing an alliance that was clung to as an act of desperation … There was little time to think, and all she could focus on was the fact that if she didn’t act, she would likely die.

They had been interrupted, they saw the pair as a threat. Would making them doubt this buy more time? “Wait!” she cried out, an veil of anger overlying her fear. “Infidels? No! Lord Jorel brought us here! Continue the sacrifice!”

The bluff was thrown out strongly, that if they could be seen to be here by invitation to see the sacrifice and revel in the gift to Jorel, their presence would change from threat to acceptance. But if such would have no effect, she knew she would have to fight and kept her eyes on those coming at her. She’d no skill in wielding a dagger, yet would fight with the desperation of one who would do anything to survive.

[Tolbin]

OOC: Elryth: Someone has had some experience IRL with fencing, if I am not mistaken. Most miss the idea of keeping a tight guard, avoiding large movements, and striking off the parry or deflection (repost).

IC:

Calmness and clear thinking is one of the keys to winning any conflict, be it combat or even the common argument. Awareness of your surroundings, cunning, and bravery, though not fearlessness are the other major keys. The doorway is a defendable point, it restricts number that can attack you at once, but the light is behind them which makes it their ally since it can make it difficult for you to see, while making it easier for them. Trickery is good, but one cannot depend on it working, plan and plan within your plans. This is like a chess match but with higher stakes.

The head priest barks out, “WAIT!” bringing the six to a halt just beyond the range of the sword. “If they are as they say they are, then as allies we will be stronger, and slaying them might amuse Lord Jorel, but it might anger him.” He chuckles wickedly, “Bring them here, let them finish the sacrifice!”

The horror of the situation, the realization of what will happen, the knowledge that there is going to be no rescue is too much for the girl. You can see her eyes glaze over in shock as she passes out.

Who is the predator and who is the pray? Is this a trick to counter a trick? Does he suspect? Even if it is true, can he be trusted? If he can be, how can you work this to your advantage, and if not, how can you turn this about in your favor? How can you signal each other of intent, without letting on?”

The six part, three on each side, with seven or more feet as passage between them. Their blades are still at the ready. “Come, show us your darkness and strength, show us you are one with Lord Jorel.” They hiss at you.

[Elryth Evynsaw]

OOC: Just a class in college

IC: Elryth was surprised when the attack he was fully expecting never came. He had been aware of another individual with him, a woman, but he had been more focused on the battle that, he had thought, was about to take place. Knowing now that the other person that had entered the doorway was none other than his drinking partner from the other night Anna, he felt a bit relieved, hoping that she would be able to help out, at least a little, should her bluff not work. He was glad for her appearance there, as her bluff would be better than taking all of these cultists on at once. However, the Jorelite leader's response was not quite what Elryth had hoped for. Killing in cold blood was not something he was particularly keen on. Killing armed opponents or even allowing innocents to be killed, so long as he benefitted, was one thing. Doing it himself was something else entirely, but if it was all he could do...

Walking towards the young woman now passed out on the alter, he drew his old dagger in his left hand. Looking around, he was trying to see if there was another way out of this and thinking of any other alternatives. Before he used his knife to complete the sacrifice, he stopped. "Wait, both the woman and I know that Lord Jorel brought us here and that each other is of the true faith, but how do we know that we can trust the lot of you? It is a dark time in the Empire, and followers of Jorel are rounded up by authorities and killed or imprisioned. Perhaps your apperance here is just an ellaborate rouse, to trick the true followers." It was a weak bluff, but he had heard worse. Parhaps Anna had something a bit better to add. With both his weapons drawn, he Elryth was ready to act, should the situation worsen.

[Tolbin]

You are followed back by three of the six robed figures, three remain with Anna. An evil chuckle comes from their leader, his painted face smiles wickedly, “An elaborate rouse? We would set up in the middle of this pit of a city just to catch followers of Jorel?” His chuckle becomes even more evil and maniacal, you are not sure that their leader is sane… “Muah-ha-ha-ha, don’t make me laugh, no one but a follower of the dark and forbidden would dare speak the words we have, nor would any chant in the forbidden tongue the oath or self desecration… That you do not know these things says to me you must be one of those weak girly light loving elves… Strike him down, let his blood flow like wine, JOREL IS KING, PRAISE THE DARKNESS!!”

There is sudden movement from the other robed figures by you, they seemed a bit startled by the change of events. Perhaps giving you a moment to act… Behind you, you hear the strangled sound of someone dying painfully. Out of the corner of your eye, it seems to you that one of robed ones by Anna was dragged into the darkness. Anna seems stunned or perhaps it is a trick she is playing. The other two by her call out for their missing companion.

[Elryth Evynsaw]

Dissappointed but not surprised by the failure of his deception, Elryth was immediately ready to attack. Always more of a man of action than one of words, he preferred direct action, though he desired to come out on top however possible. Whatever had surprised the cultists, Elryth didn't take it for granted for a momment. He immediately pressed his advantage, however slight it may be. Attacking the first man closest to him, the elf took up a quick defensive stance and made a lunging stab at the man's stomach. The attack was aimed below the jorelite's rib cage at an angle upwards. This sort of attack would ensure that it pierced as many organs as possible. Elryth didn't need to outright kill anyone, with so many oponnents, he just needed to get them out of the way. Powerful attacks were not were Elryth was gifted, bu he more than made up for it in fast and flowing movement. If he could disable his opponents faster than outright killing, he would. Spilling his foes intestines across the floor would quite likely end his participation in this fight, if not lead to a slow painful death. With his first attack completed, Elryth made sure to execute a good followthrough attack. Pulling his sword back he made another attack at the next closest foe. With a quick chop, the elf aimed at his stomach, again designed more to incapacitate than to outright kill. He could make sure they were all dead for sure once they were all on the ground. Elryth was always sure to keep a tight guard, able to defend. His fast movements did not lend itself to accuracy but his fast attacks could create further confusion among the already confused cultists.

[Tolbin]

With speed born of need you strike like a snake piercing the cultists belly deeply. You do not feel the impact of blade upon armor, and the driving power of the lunge makes your opponent collapse upon your blade before you can withdraw it, half dragging you down with it before it pulls it from your hand. The fallen cultists gurgles as blood fills his lungs, drowning him. He clutches at the blade attempting to pull it free, his eyes full of horror.

Your rhythm was broken by the loss of the sword, but you believe that these cultists are not hardened by battle, they prefer to ambush and to kill the defenseless. One stares in horror at his dying comrade, and the other is slow to act and take advantage of your awkward position.

Shock and fear are good allies in battle. Break their spirits, and winning the engagement is half done. It would be a shame if their leader were to die… Quite a blow to their moral.

The painted faced cultist lifts the obsidian dagger a little higher, “Jorel! Grant us VICTORY!!!!” as he begins to plunge the dagger down.

One is slowed by shock, one is stunned by horror and shock, and the leader is not. You may be attacked from behind if you attack the leader, and save the girl, but to fight those two first, the girl dies, the leader can now engage, and Jorel may aid him.

[Elryth Evynsaw]

Before Elryth was even able to consider which man to attack first he knew he had to get his blade back. He had thought for a momment of leaving his sword and dispatching the rest of the cultists with just his dagger, but he knew that any good warrior would never never willingly give up his weapon, especially one that gave him such an advantage. Acting fast and thinking quicker, the elf planted his foot on the dying man's sternum and pulled hard. Though he could press his advantage on the two men closest, their horror at what had already transpired would likely grow when faced with more death.

If Elryth could take out their leader, perhaps he would gain a bigger advanage and send the cultists fleeing. Once his blade was free, the elven mercenary turned his attetion to the man with the painted face. With his arms upraised he left his stomach completely exposed, though Elryth knew that if he lunged the way he had before the leader's knife culd easily find Elryth's head. As if that weren't enough, attacking the leader would leave his back exposed to attacks from any of is friends. Weighing his options carefully, Elryth opted to charge past the leader and slice him across the stomach as he passed. He would stop once he came behind the leader and turn 180 degrees making sure the leader was down and that he had no one trying to litterally stab him in the back. Once turned, he readied a chop at the base of the man's neck, thinking that if their leader were to be relieved of his head it might cause the others to reconsider attacking him. Once his attack was finished, he would take up a good guard position, ready to defend should any more prove foolish enough to come after him.

[Tolbin]

The man on the ground looks at you pitifully as you put your foot to his chest and pull free your blade. His mouth opens not to speak, but to drool out blood that filled his lungs and then dies. With no time left you drive yourself past their leader only to realize that his belly was no longer exposed, rather you strike his arm. You feel the blade hit metal… Armor.

The man with the painted face cackles hideously and turns to confront you, leaving the ceremonial dagger in the girls chest, and draws a long wicked looking dagger. “Look the bodies move! Jorel is with us!” Behind him the recently dead man and the girl begin to move.

Jorel is not with them, this is a sham. There is a necromancer somewhere, playing these fools like puppets, slay him and that should end this spell. I will seek him by the twisting of the ara that he uses to make this be.

By the doorway the last of the three living robbed figures there laughs the laugh of one whose mind is breaking after seeing what should not be. The two there just recently slain rise to their feet. You don’t see Anna anymore, perhaps she got away.

One of the zombies moves toward the last robbed figure by the door, the other heads in toward you. The one on the table with the dagger in her chest struggles to free herself from her bindings that keep her on the makeshift altar. The zombie closes to you rises up and approaches you and the painted faced leader.

“I will feed your soul to Jorel” shouts the painted one as he begins to move to make an attack.

[Elryth Evynsaw]

The head cultist was apparently a bit more prepared for combat than his cohorts. The elf found it disheartening that his strike had not landed. Elryth watched in horror as his recently killed foes were raised from the dead by some dark magic, including the sacrificial maiden. The voice inside his head suggested that it was not jorel, but rather a necromancer somewhere in the area that was responsible. Elryth did not have time to ponder how someone's voice was being projected into his head. Yet he was unsure why the voice would be helping him but he could think about that later as well. The voice had suggested that if he killed the necromancer, those that had brought back would be down for good.

If the voice was correct and the necromancer was toying with the cultists, perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Elryth knew little to nothing of necromancers and zombies, but he hoped that if he played his moves right he would make his work easier. With the one zombie coming at him, he decided to take more of a defensive tactic, falling back and keeping up his guard to to defend off any incoming attacks. He circled around to the side to draw the cultist between himself and the zombie. If he could get the zombie to attack the cultist instead, he could try and find this necromancer. If the necromancer was toying with the cultists, perhaps they were not all on the same side, or, as Elryth hoped, the necromancer did not have full control of his reanimated corpses.

If it didn't work, he would still have the cultist between him and the zombie and he hoped he could move about so the two would trip each other up. Waiting for the cultist's attack so he could counter with his own, he was pretty sure that if he could see the cultist's face, he wouldn't have armor around his head. When his oppertunity came, he would give a quick thrust to the man's face. While waiting for his attack of oertunity, Elryth gave a quick scan around the room, trying to figure out where a necromacer could be hiding. He would fight conservatively on the defensive, as he didn't see that killing any of them would necessarily make the fight any easier.

[Tolbin]

From the doorway you hear “Jarix I… I am sorry there was nothing I could do. I-I t-tried, I… Jarix, wha-what are you doing?! St-stay back!” There is a meaty thud as he plunges his dagger into the not so living Jarix, followed by his shriek when he is grabbed by his dead friend and strangled to death.

The painted faced leader turns about, “What! Jorel you owe us ARGGGHhhhhhhh!!!!” His body curls over in pain, as his victim, the dead girl, clutches his groin in a death grip. From behind the other zombie begins to beat him to death with his arms. The other two cultists flee screaming incoherently deeper into the warehouse.

You back away scanning the area about you. Rows of boxes, shelves partially full, rafters high above you, barrels, trash scattered here and there on the floor. Far too many places to hide.

I need you to keep them active and occupied, without getting yourself killed. If he has any real control over them doing this will make him exert himselves, and make it far easier to find him. Keep clear of areas that are too dark to see. Some necromancers have powers that can kill in a flash, and accidentally running into him could very well spoil your night.