The Skysail Treasure Co.

...

OOC: A bit forced, but I NEEDED to get a post up. I've gotta break this funk I've been in. Hopefully this first post will help get the ball rolling again...


IC:
Aram and Sephara weaved in and out of the crowds as they moved from store to store. Informing him that the crew needed to up their funds on the trip, Sephara and Gabe had decided to see if they could find some goods offered at a decent price that they might be able to sell later for a profit. After sifting through the majority of stores and their overpriced wares, the pair lucked out. A merchant had a cancelled order of three crates of Gebronese White Wine, freshly corked, and was willing to let go of them for a decidedly low price. Along with the wine, the first mate and the trader selected another five crates of various local produce that could fetch a high price in the right market. Aram handed the merchant the payment and a slip of paper with the dawns docking bay number on it with the instructions to have the crates sent there. Hands shaken and transaction complete, Aram and Sephara left the market.

The first mate gave Aram a rare smile. "I think we have done quite well. The supplies should provide enough additional income to cover our expenses."

Aram failed to return the smile. His mind was somewhere else. "Yeah, we should be fine. Anyway, I need to see to a few more things here before I head back. Supplies for the kitchen and such...meet you back and the Dawn?"

Sephara gave a casual wave and headed back into the crowd, quickly lost from site.

***

As soon as Seph had vanished into the crowd, Aram let out a noisy breath. He was sure the first mate sensed something was wrong, but seemed to know him enough to know he needed some time to himself. Try as he might, he just couldn't get the island off of his mind. Or rather, key events that occurred during their stay on the island. The pursuit to rescue Cyradis from the smugglers, watching Cyradis bathe by the light of the moon, seeing Cyradis emerge from the ship in her battle robes for the first time. Each time had triggered feelings within himself that Aram had not expected to feel about the new mage. They had been fairly close before, being the only two their age on the ship until recently. They had spent a lot of time together, spoke of many things. But this. This was new...different...scary.
Aram absentmindedly spent the next half hour putting in orders to restock the galley while trying to sort his feelings. He tried to think if their was anyone on the Dawn who he could talk to. Cy was obviously out. Gabe was a bit of a ladies man, probably wouldn't understand. Sephara might understand, but Aram wasn't sure that she had ever felt the same towards any other guy. Sure, at one point like most Aram had thought maybe Seph and Gabe, but after getting to know them he realized there was to much between them for romance. They were a family. Other then that, possibly Archamae. But she was hard to read. Half the time she was drunk. Besides, Arch and Cy seemed to be at odds at the moment although the peace seemed temporarily restored.
Feeling no better about matters, Aram headed back to the Dawn to cook. A hobby of his, cooking seemed to help ease his mind. And eating his cooking seemed to ease everyone elses mind...everyone was going to feel at ease tonight.

***

Aram felt the Dawn shudder as it began its take off. From what he gathered, someone aboard had a bit of trouble resulting in the cities militia being called out. It wasn't the first time the Dawn sailed off into the night and probably wouldn't be the last. Everyone had been roused to help ready the ship in record time. Within minutes, the Dawn had been airborne and headed west. Having already got enough sleep, Aram and others of the crew remained awake and got a head start on the next days duties. Gabe, Seph, Cy, and Arch were cooped up on the bridge trying to figure out their next destination. Aram whipped up a quick snack for those still awake and left it out on the galley table. Heading out to the deck, Aram took up his usual place against a railing. The sun would be up in about a while, and a somber Aram would be there to greet it...

Cyradis remained on the bridge; driven to stay by the near-palpable tension between her an Archamae. Even the strongest rope would eventually break given enough tension, and Cyradis was not willing to let herself continue going until one of them snapped first. Knowing herself, it would indeed be her long before Archamae. She watched the pilot adjust countless valves and read gauges that made no sense to Cyradis. How anyone could keep up with the intricacies of a ship like this was beyond her. Then again, lots of people said the same thing about magic. Archamae eventually relaxed on the helm and gazed over the purple clouds waiting to greet the sun in another hour or so. Cyradis joined her and took in the fledgling sunrise.

"This is my favorite time of day - the moments before the stars begin to fade. What part of the day brings you the most peace?" Cyradis had hoped Archamae would be the first to break the silence.

"Midnight," Cyradis replied quietly over the dull hum of the engines and hiss of steam moving through the pipes on the bridge, "I like the stars and the moon. To most people they're the symbols of gods or heaven, but I've... seen things. Those lights aren't divine, but they're definitely heavenly." Cyradis turned to meet Archamae's eyes. Her face was set, but her jaw clenched slightly, "Archamae, I'm sorry for how I acted to you."

Cyradis turned and sat on a nearby swivel chair positioned in front of a number of gauges, "I don't have to tell you what Dominia did to Kell, but I shouldn't blame you for it." Cyradis turned back to the dimming stars, "The war took more from me - from any Kellan - than what it cost to win. Even now we live in fear there may be another attack at any time, and we lack the means to drive away another assault and no one knows why we were attacked in the first place." She turned back to Archamae, her face lightening, "Kellei was once a place of such knowledge and culture. People would flock there on yearly pilgrimages to observe days of holy or national significance. There was something to celebrate every month it seemed." She trailed off, "Now it's a fortress. Battlemages and entire legions patrol the city and surrounding areas while remote villages suffer unprecedented economic depression. Much of our farmland was scorched. Royal coffers drained to import food at sinfully inflated prices." Cyradis shook her head and her eyes dropped to the ground.

"People blamed the military... blamed me. Even my surviving friends and fellow students that weren't handed to the state turned away. It was like we fought for nothing and Arch Magi were war criminals!" Cyradis threw her fist down on a conviently sturdy pipe. Her bottom eyelids were shiny with willfully restrained tears. She banished the tears preemptively on her sleeve. "I'm sorry," she said looking back at Archamae with dry eyes and a sullen expression, "Kell was once called unconquerable. Now that we see our own weakness, nobody knows how to deal with it. I suppose I left to figure that out for myself."

...

Cyradis

At first, while Archamae spoke, Cyradis was glad she didn't blame her for acting the way she did. She seemed to understand at least to some degree how Cyradis' reaction was prompted. Cyradis began to feel relieved, as if a weight had been lifted. She hadn't realized how much all this was actually taking out of her. That is, until Archamae had finished speaking. Somewhere in the middle of her words their meaning began to diminish. The lines between sincerity and perception became blurred as Cyradis stared on as if dreaming. Here she came under her own will to apologize to this woman, and seconds after she explained herself, Archamae justifies her initial reaction!

Cyradis felt a heavy heartbeat as her blood pressure rose. She could hear the rushing of her blood in her ears as the pilot's words sank in deeper, perhaps, than their speaker intended. Cyradis rose to her feet, her fists trembling. Moisture welled in the corners of her eyes, but whatever sadness or pain summoned them was dominated by Cyradis' sheer will not to destroy the bridge at this very moment. Even now, should could feel herself instictively drawing in any energy she could. Even the heat from the steam in the pipes was at her command. Several gauges dropped into the yellow warning zone in a matter of seconds.

"How dare you!," she hissed through clenched teeth; her eyes blazing like torches of purple flame.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

A dangerous-looking, heavily armored man turned from a table around which his military council was gathered. His face was folded with anger as he slammed his gauntleted fist on the table, "Call out the reserves to reinforce the left. Use the castle guard if you have to, lieutenant. Do not let them split our forces!" The younger lieutenant gave a hasty salute and ran for his horse.

"If you deploy the reserves, we'll have no one to fight them if they break our lines," one of the advisors commented.

"And if the left is not reinforced, you'll be paying homage to the Dominian Empire, Patrician." The new speaker entered through the door from which the dispatcher had just departed. Her silver hair caught the sunlight in small beads behind the circlet placed securely on her head. Her right hand gripped a black staff with a clear, white, blade-shaped crystal embedded into its head. The Arch Mage walked across the room towards the hesitantly relieved group of commanders. "Castellan," she said bowing her head to the noble, "Kellei sends its support. I am Cyradis, Arch Mage at your service."

"Kellei can kiss my ass! I don't see those magisters out here bleeding for Kell. You want to help, girl, get rid of that troop carrier preparing to unload and route our entire legion. If you can't do that, then go back to your reading." He turned away from her to try and reformulate his strategies.

Cyradis nodded and crossed her left forearm over her chest, "As you wish."

Departing the sturdy wooden house, Cyradis turned east and glared at the large Dominian warships looming over the horizon. One of them beginning its descent was far larger than the rest. Cyradis calmly moved to a raised platform overlooking the battleground. A sentry in the low tower backed away nervously as Cyradis firmly planted her staff on the tower floorboards and angled it towards the troop ship. The crystal blade came to life with an electric purple light as the mage's eyes focused on the distant ship. Her left hand went to the crystal; an arc of violet lightning consumed her hand and followed it from the staff to just above her head. Cyradis raised her hand higher, the energy from the staff pulling away. Clenching her open hand into a fist, it rested there momentarily before she pulled it down quickly then thrust it outwards with her fingers extended.

In the distance, the warship was suddenly wracked with violent force; as if it had run directly into a mountain. Bulkheads shattered and the sound of twisting metal could be heard all the way to the battlefield. An inexplicable purple nimbus surrounded it as explosions rocked the giant ship as it collapsed in terrifying, screeching pulses. As the magicite-rich engines neared the invisible center around which the entire vessel was being consumed, the escort fighters and cruisers began to break away. Seconds later, the engines twisted over the now visible mass of fused metal swirling around a shifting black orb. The detonation from the magicite fuel encountering the immeasurable gravitational pressure from the singularity sent a disc-shaped shock wave across the sky for miles. The deafening sonic boom blew shingles off the tower under which Cyradis calmly watched her work.

Cyradis turned to report back to the Castellan only to find him wide-eyed and jaw-agape staring at the destruction. As the ground shaking shock waves from the obliterated carrier dispersed, a victorious cheer sounded from the ranks. The Castellan looked at Cyradis with a great deal of embarrassment, but Cyradis only smiled. Seconds ago, she redefined the meaning of magical warfare for this man and all his legionaries whose lives were saved... and the Dominians whose lives were ended.

"Arch Mage," he knelt in honor, "This is not a day the Seventh Fleet will soon forget. You are a hero to these people."

"No, Castellan," Cyradis turned to face the city. The trade and housing districts were destroyed, some of the fires still spreading unchallenged, "this is my home too."

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Kyra

The soft tinkling of chainmail sounded rythmatically with the unfaltering footsteps of a blue-robed figure moving purposefully down a well-traveled dirt road. She had walked this road, rarely passing another soul, for nearly three days. In her last stop, the townsfolk she'd met at a local inn had told her of this haunted battleground of antiquity. Most of those locals took it for superstition or tales to scare small children, but as a cleric it was Kyra's sworn duty to follow leads like these just in case they were true. She neared a fork in the road where she recalled the directions given to her by the innkeeper. The path on the right was in the same condition as the road behind her, but the leftward path was overgrown and did not even have a sign showing to where it led.

Turning down the unbeaten path, Kyra immediately felt the change in the air. Even walking down the road leading to this battleground felt ominous. It was as if she were being tracked through the trees' thick canopy. Kyra had been ambushed by bandits on her travels before. Usually, it involved her being forced to fight. Some people simply would not believe a cleric could so easily overpower them in combat. Thankfully, the hostilities usually ended after she killed whomever attacked first. Kyra never gave chase to anyone who ran. It was not her wish to hunt other humans. She hunted evil, and even now should could feel it's presence in these woods growing stronger as she went deeper. An unnatural darkness seemed to fall over the quickly fading path. Pulling her icon of Sarenrae from a pouch on her belt, she lifted the winged figure whispering a prayer. A white light shone out from the icon and repulsed the inexplicable darkness until she finally broke though the trees into a clearing.

As soon as her foot touched the tainted soil, she nearly reeled backwards. "Sarenrae protect me..."

OOC: I got an invite from Shari to join the fun.

IC:
Arlen had replaced his knife and walked from the galley, passing Aram. He would leave that mark anonymous unless someone asked it among the crew. Being a tad shaken, he remembered his thoughts before, of Amateira when she came above deck and spotted Arlen at ease. Funny how a even a stranger, if it is your only thin link back to familiarity, can even be a comfort. Not a stranger. We've been through a lot together now, collectively. He looked at the bridge and saw the pilot, checking gauges and things as per usual. Arlen began walking up one of the main deck staircases that flanked either end, and swept gracefully to the aft of the ship and up two full decks. Most of the way up, he heard exchange of words and decided to go back, if not for something catching his ear. He could have found another to speak to and settle his nerves - perhaps even Ari - if not for what he heard.

"- bombs all over Kellan soil. Not an hour passes where I don't dwell on the things I've done."

It was with those words that Arlen stopped on his ascent, just shy of being seen. Only a moment passed and Arlen's vision started to distort as he felt something akin to slight vertigo.

"How dare you!" He heard, from someone that sounded like Cyradis. Easily enough discerned by what Archamae had foolishly said. He hadn't heard what was said previous to this, but it seemed as if another bomb had just been dropped. More than likely with unintended collateral damage.

Taking a labored step up, he appeared at the crest of the stairs and popped his head in. The thumping in his head grew in intensity, and he brought a hand up to his temple. "E-excuse me. Am I interrupting something... important?"

Of course you are. It's what you do. It's what you're doing here in the first place. Interrupting your pain with interspersed lulls of anesthetization.

Looking now genuinely bewildered at the thought that passed his mind, perhaps it could be taken for an accident that he walk in on the two of them in quarrel. There wasn't time for that now. He was in the thick of it, like it or not. Brushing his questions aside, he took another step forward. A moment passed in tension and Arlen nodded once.

"I take it that the reason she came on deck the other day in full Archmage battlegear then is because you told her you're an Acacian?" It doesn't take a magitek engineer to guess that..., he thought. "And I take it that you," he said, pointing to Cyradis, noting the purple glow of her eyes and the wildly fluctuating gauges, "are now mad about a past that she can neither change if she wished, or have prevented? If she had not been there, someone else would have."

Arlen sighed, putting a hand on the frame to the entrance, his head pounding as such to make him dizzy. "From my unique position in the matter of Kell, I can say that individuals do not represent their leaders decisions. That can be said for both sides... Do you not agree, Archamae?" Arlen looked at her while he asked the rhetorical question.

Arlen took two steps toward the two. "No one on this ship needs to worry any longer about their leaders' decisions. We're all free thinkers now - choosing our own paths."

Arlen set his body rigid and tall. "Your fight is not with Archamae. If you want revenge - which is empty, by the way - then schedule a visit to Calidonia and knock on the doors of her Generals." Arlen pulled out his knife and held it out hilt first to Cyradis, "But if you still want to play judge to Archamae, do it by your hand and see her blood run, instead of destroying her body with magic. Feel her warm blood drip onto your hands and watch the life leave her eyes. Then, maybe, you'll know exactly the regret that she feels every day for killing helpless people. Almost like the Archmages I saw destroy hundreds with a thought. And all with a smile of satisfaction in their craft."

For whatever reason, he felt not fear. He felt that Cyradis would understand. At the very least, she would kill him, and leave Archamae to live a longer life. He deserved it anyway. Maybe this is what the "revenge" in the galley was all about after all? All Arlen felt was pain. For whatever reason, his head pounded. Pounded to the point he could no longer focus. His vision went dark. Then, so did his body. Did she... kill me? I didn't see her do anything.

No, you ignorant fool. You walked too close to her.

He was on the ground when he came to, the knife at Cyradis' feet, along with his face. His hand was cut from the edge, but not badly enough to write home about. He grunted and rolled over, looking at the ceiling and Cyradis' face while he panted slowly. He tasted blood in the back of his mouth, and blinked. Feeling his nose and bringing his hand up, he saw blood. From the fall? Or just before? What's going on with me tonight?

OOC: His nose started bleeding, unknowingly, during the last sentence or two he was speaking to Cyradis.

A few minutes after reading it on the page: In hindsight i'm not happy with this post.

...

Cyradis' eyes slid across her face to rest on Arlen as he spoke. His sudden appearance wasn't as startling as it might have been had he arrived a little sooner. His words came and went but never reached her ears, not really. Cyradis was only forced to acknowledge him when he, for whatever reason, decided to offer her a knife. Her head turned to face him; her eyes still blazing. She looked at the blade and turned down the corners of her mouth in disgust. She began to speak, but was cut off as a feeling of weightlessness washed over her while the ship dropped slightly in flight. The effect was enough for the mage to turn her attention to her surroundings. Archamae went to the helm to open a number of valves in an attempt to keep the vessel airborne.

"By all the gods in the world, Cyradis, stop what you're doing! Kill me - kill me if you must but spare the ship! Please!" Archamae pleaded with her as she reacted to the declining stability of the ship.

Blinking her eyes rapidly several times, Cyradis looked quickly around the bridge. The needles in the gauges she'd wondered about earlier were slowly creeping back across the dial showing a drop in pressure. Cyradis looked down at herself. Her fists were clenched with every muscle in her arms in a lock. Shaking her head, Cyradis' lips parted as she realized she was inadvertently drawing energy from the steam in the pipes. Relaxing her arms, she shut her eyes and focused inward. How could one phrase cause her to forget years of training and conditioning to prevent wild accumulation such as this? The magic was unstable due to the distressed circumstances under which it was gained. Circumstanced that were not yet resolved. As much as she realized the damage she was causing, she lacked the serenity needed to concentrate and get herself under control.

Archamae was right about one thing in Cyradis' eyes. The ship - and crew - should not be made to suffer for this. She couldn't forgive anyone yet, but she knew she was putting them all in danger, including herself. Forcing herself around, she left the bridge as the steam began to flow normally again and stepped out onto the balcony looking out behind the ship. The uncontrolled energy needed to be released, and Cyradis needed to vent. Curling her fingers into claws, she threw her hands out over the emptiness trailing the Dawn and poured all her fury and anger into the raw energy built up inside her. Wide arcs of bright purple lightning burst from her hands; the resulting thunder-like sound drowned out the pained and angry yell from her mouth. As the discharge waned, Cyradis' shoulders and head dropped. She allowed herself to fall onto her knees and come to rest sitting on her ankles. The dull pain from her knees hitting the deck barely registered to her.

Everything was wrong. She was supposed to apologize to Archamae and lift that nagging weight off her chest not throw on double the burden. She remembered back to Gabe's startling outburst back on the island. How his words opened her eyes to the fact that she could be blaming Archamae for something she had no part in. How hollow those words were now that she knew the truth. Cyradis had every reason to blame her. Her motives didn't matter. Her objections, however sincere they may have been, didn't stop the thousands of innocent lives ended and decacres of crops and buildings destroyed in scorched-earth warfare from the bombs she ultimately let fall. Cyradis did her fair share of killing, but not a single Kellan spell ever touched a children's school. No spear bearing the Kellan flag ever flew over the charred husks of defenseless villages. Cyradis rose on slightly unsteady legs. As she walked back onto the bridge, her muscles were calming and her temper was well under control.

Arlen was mopping blood from his nose while Archamae still stood near the helm. Arlen's words had been ignored before; she barely recalled him talking at all. She certainly didn't recall hurting him in any way. The nose bleed must have been from the ship losing altitude. "I'm sorry if I.. caused that, Arlen," she said breaking the tense silence. Her eyes turned to Archamae. It took a great deal of effort to hold back a hateful glare. Still, the anger was apparent. She wanted to say something, but the only thoughts that came to mind were things best left unsaid, given her reaction a few minutes ago. Instead, she held her tongue. Something had to be said, but Cyradis' memories were far to fresh to form anything other than hate.

OOC: Not the ideal post, but I'm satisfied with it. Just want to move past this all...

...

"I'm sorry if I.. caused that, Arlen," He heard from Cyradis. He looked again at his fingers, thinking back to that inner voice that has been growing of late.

Arlen blinked and slightly shook his head, a little more reserved than usual. "No, I don't think you did..." he said softly.

"For your nose, old man." A handkerchief was poised between his eyes, and he took it, wiping his cheek and upper lip before holding it there. "Thank you, but that probably was not the wisest conversation to step into," Archamae added, before offering him her hand. Holding the handkerchief with his knife hand, he took her offer with the other. He felt still slightly out of sorts, but much better. Whatever it was causing these headaches and bouts of nausea, it was more intense than he'd had previously.

"Perhaps not," he said in return, his eyes darting between them. "Believe it or not I came up here to settle my nerves, not rattle them. I think you both see that this cannot continue. It can either be a hindrance or an opportunity for the both of you that so little time has passed since the war. You can still minimize the scarring to your soul with open wound. The truth can be like a knife in a surgeon's hand. Wielded improperly, it can do more harm than good."

Arlen took the bloodied rag from his nose and gestured to it, as he had stopped bleeding."I'll bring it back to you fresher than spring, Arch."

He took a relaxed step backward toward the stairs. "Hopefully in my case, you both see my intent, rather than my unintended harm. My background gives me compassion for both of your circumstances. This crew means family for many of us."

Arlen raised his hands in useless futility, " I'm sorry for the interruption. As much as I'd like to resolve this difference for you, I suppose it's something you must do yourselves." As he reached the stairs, he replaced the knife.

"Ladies," he spoke, a nod to each in respectful departure, characteristic smirk back on his face, "I think I'll go fix my cabin back up and see if there's any cargo needing repacking." With that, he began his descent.

Well, don't you feel the fool?

No more than usual, I suppose, Arlen answered himself. Things rarely go as planned. I'm not too hard on myself.

wouldn't you say you aren't hard enough?

Arlen's brow lowered as a frown fell on his face not a step out of their sight. "I'm talking to myself," he whispered in disbelief. "Crazy people talk to themselves. I don't enjoy this one bit."

The ship lurched and Garin nearly flew from the railing overboard. "Argh! Damn pilot!" he cursed and looked at the bridge while he lay on deck, gripping the baluster tightly. "I've known imps that fly better than this!" Getting onto his feet gradually, he eyed the bridge with a lear. "I think I got onto the wrong ship. It's no wonder Jade's always so tense..." he grumbled to himself.

He started to walk over and up but heard a loud clap of thunder, stopping him in his tracks. "What a strange ship..." Continuing, slowly, toward the bridge to have a word with the overly beautiful pilot, Garin noticed suddenly Arlen walking down the stairs. He continued on, and at the foot of the stairs, the old man held up his hand to stop him.

"I wouldn't go up there, if I were you, son. Cats have claws, on this vessel. Big ones." As if to make a point, he raised a bloody handkerchief.

Garin turned his head and raised his eyebrows in some surprise, "What happened, old man? One of them take a swipe at you for grabbing 'em?"

Arlen threw his head back with a hearty laugh. "No! Ha! Not a chance... I'd lose more than a few drops of blood, Garin, if I did that. Just trust me. I've been alive this long for a reason."

Garin stepped back, allowing the traveler to pass when he reached the bottom. "Really? A reason beyond mooching?"

"'Mooching?'" Garin asked, stopping as his feet planted on the deck. He chuckled as he continued, "Son... Have you ever heard of the expression 'Te fie sper te capito i tadur?'"

Garin rolled his eyes and crossed his arms,"In common, ancient one...?"

"I'm only fifty-ish..." Arlen smirked and walked passed him, "It means: 'The thief calling the captain a bandit.' I figured that the old saying seemed... Suited to you. Goodnight, Garin."

Garin scratched his head a moment, and turned to face Arlen. A moment's hesitation, and he called after, over the hum of the turbines. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't even know me!"

Arlen raised a hand up while he kept walking away, acknowledging what the young locksmith said, before turning his hand into the affirmative thumbs up.

"You don't even know..." Garin repeated in whisper. He glanced at the stairs Arlen walked down, and thought better of making his way up. Continuing his stare, he cast his eyes to the stars. There were more up here than on the ground. One of the things he enjoyed about airships without balloons. Although he'd never seen a ship quite like this one, it seemed to be older. Like it had an unsung history.

Nodding, Garin decided to see if there was any cargo needing to be secured, seeing as how he was on duty until sunrise.

...

Name: Tarra
Gender: Female
Age: 27ish
Race: human
Profession: Historian/Librarian/Archaeologist
Description: Tarra is slightly taller than the average woman. She stands at about 5'8". She has straight dusty blond hair that comes down to her lower back, with perching blue eyes. She wears a cropped black corset underneath an open white colored and large cuffed shirt that only comes to the mid drift, and tied in a knot. She wears a pair of dusty brown slacks with several belts around her waist line. Attached to the belts are two flintlock pistols and their holsters.
Personality: Tarra is very much a leap before she looks kind of girl, because she always has her nose in a book and her head in the clouds.
Special Abilities:* Tarra has this special ability to learn almost anything from a book. That is how she knows several languages. she is also very good with pistols
History:* To be determined in game play, but I will say she has a twin brother.


How about this? I would like to start maybe off ship, but if you think it would be better to start there then I will.

http://www.desktop-wallpaper.org/wp-...2/3DGirl18.jpg This is what she looks like minus the ears

OOC: i'll post in this spot later. :)

OOC: Diddo.. off to write now

OOC: Guess I'll post something....

IC:
Nothing was settled. If anything, Cyradis' comfort level on the ship had dropped significantly. By the time she'd left the bridge and returned to her room, she felt mostly drained; due in part to firing off the built-up energy she took from the steam and part because she'd only been operating on a couple hours' sleep before they'd left Gebron in the first place. The thought of Archamae's revelation still made her seethe inside, but there was little she could do the change the fact. She had convinced herself she was capable of coexisting with a Dominian civilian, but knowing Archamae was a combatant and a veteran of the Kell-Dominian War was an altogether different beast. The feeling was something no one else on the ship could understand. Sure, other nations were conquered by Dominia, but their war with Kell was a fresh, still openly bleeding wound. Other nations had long since recovered. There was also the complete mystery as to what the provocation was in the first place. Kell had always had good relations with its neighbors and was of little strategic value - unless the capitol was converted to a fortress.

Cyradis couldn't help but feel the end of the war was far from sight. Most other Kellans shared the sentiment. Their withdrawal was too sudden. Neither side was showing signs of imminent defeat. Cyradis knew Kell would eventually issue another call to arms, and like every other arch mage, Cyradis would report to the Citadel for duty. She hoped for peace, of course. Few people have the disposition for constant warfare. Most soldiers long for peace during conflict. Cyradis chose to commit her life to Kell when she underwent the Rite of Attunement, but living in battle was no life. Indeed, Cyradis often had wondered why she hadn't simply chosen to study. It was, after all, her passion. Knowledge and power were hand-in-hand, yet she chose power over knowledge when her home was threatened. Perhaps being on the Requiem Dawn was a form of study. Maybe she wasn't studying elemental physics, or mastering her gravitycraft, but she was going to places few Kellans ever had, and meeting people she would not forget her whole life, and not have to worry about them being killed in action. Except maybe one. Inevitably, her thoughts circled back to Archamae. Truthfully, she dreaded having to fight against her. It was possible she had been with the 7th Fleet when Cyradis was first dispatched from the University at the beginning of the war. Cyradis redoubted their entire assault that day by destroying a single ship, yet fate brought her and a Dominian witness together on the same ship years later.
_________________________________________________________________________________________

The next three days, Cyradis spent mostly in meditation. The crew tended to leave her in peace when she meditated on the windswept aft deck. Other time was spent advancing Cailey in her training. As expected, she took to focusing her mana as naturally as she did meditation. Cyradis showed her a few basic spells of various elements and recapped her first semester at the University. Those classes went over how to change the state of the energy from raw power - electricity - to heat for fire, or lack of heat for cold. Magisters at the University often stressed how differently ice and fire are summoned in magical spells. Unfortunately, Cyradis was only able to tell Cailey what little she remembered from that time in her life. Basic fireballs and freezing gusts from her hands was most of her arsenal in those areas. With a real specialist, Cailey could certainly learn more of those schools, but such an undertaking would be best done as a full course of study. A constantly moving airship was not an ideal place to learn magic, but Cyradis was happy she could at least give the girl some ability to defend herself and fight back as well as enter battle prepared.

On the third day, Gabe announced they had reached their destination and for the crew to report to the deck. Eager to see their new destination, most of the crew assembled fairly quickly. Cyradis was among them and went to the rails to look over the area. What she saw was about a square mile of sparsely vegetation clearing surrounded by trees on three sides and a sheer cliff on the north side. The distance made details sketchy, but there appeared to be zig-zagging path crawling up the face of the cliff stopping at an oddly smooth, arch-shaped area about halfway up. That was probably the tomb Archamae mentioned. They would have to land in the clearing and take the cliff head-on. As Gabe began to address the gathered crew, Cyradis was trying desperately to shake the image of thousands of ghosts crawling up the cliff as she tried to scale the perilous path.

...

ARLEN

He was a man of mountains. Arlen always had been and always would be. As some peaks rose high enough to warrant snow year round from shear elevation, and others were a dingy brown with shorter promontories. Either way, the clouds rose up above them and were caught as they attempted to pass by, looking like cotton rolling out of a bag in slow motion, and dipping into the valley below in some instances. The vegetation was sparse now, but at one time before all the warring this pass surely used to be wooded, Arlen figured. He watched from the railing, journal in hand as he jotted some thoughts down, while the peaks went by nearly on his level.

There were times he wasn't sure if it was from altitude sickness or spectacle that his breath had been taken, but he had lucked out for the most part when it came to air in his lungs. He'd traveled on enough alpine mountain ranges and to people living among the clouds long enough that his body could remember with some degree of familiarity the starvation of breath. What he had never seen before, from the ground or sky, was the myriad of war spoils beneath them. Enough to make a man rich, many times over he reckoned, and no one dared disturb it. It had been an hour ago when they passed an area that for lack of a better word was dense with armor and weapon glistening in the sunlight.

An hour or two later they finally came across a cliff face with a plateau of sorts before continuing on up. Arlen and many others needed no further indication that this was indeed the tomb, or the doorstep to it. Lined with trees used to the elevation, probably imported and planted, they paid silent homage to the dead general. Arlen heard stories of Chaerona and the General entombed here. A valiant man that fought alongside his men and gained glory beyond death. No one would come to visit this tomb, though, if they believed in the undead. All aboard this ship, whether previously encountering the waking dead or not, now believed in something beyond the death of their body, for sure. Jasper was an indication of a pleasant lingering spirit. More often than not, Arlen was under the impression it was not the usual case. He hadn't asked Gabe, nor wished to question him, on his decision to come to the place. He chose long ago to join the crew and Gabe for the long haul. In a simple trip from A to B, he had seen and experienced a lifetime. That being his mission in life, to get the most out of it as possible, Gabe's ship was the best way to do it. Why haven't I done this sooner, I wonder? Arlen asked himself, and closed his journal.

Even with all the spectacular sights and relatively quick and safe passage, there was a feeling in the back of Arlen's mind. A bad feeling that was related somehow to the word carved in the wall of the galley. His headaches of late had subsided to a gentle throb and nothing more, usually a little more noticeable when in engineering for one reason or another. Probably due to the noise, he reckoned. Talking to Xavier down below gave him new insights into the intricacies of the ship. A definite gem Gabe had in that man, Arlen knew, even if he was a little eccentric. Everyone on the ship were invaluable in their own way. Everyone in the world had gifts known or unknown, true, but those on this ship seemed to compliment each other better than most. The aging traveler felt pride in his comrades as he fastened his journal closed and began his descent into the belly of the ship. He wanted to prepare himself before entering the tomb.

Looking through his journal the past few hours revealed nothing important or relevant to the rumor of undead stalking the land or killing them should they actually exist here. This is one place Arlen had avoided on reputation alone, and had no experience upon which to make a dead reckoning. The excitement of the totally new was something that was becoming palpable to him now. But still... That feeling in his mind of growing agitation gnawed at him. The Voice had not returned since he passed out upon the deck.

Coming back up, Arlen heard Gabe make a call to the deck. Fortuitous.

---------------------

GARIN

Eating in the galley when Gabe made his call, the tarnished locksmith brought his plate to the clearing station and left it for Aram to clean later. As he came up on deck and saw the plateau, he whistled idly in the charm of the place. Suddenly, he envisioned gold and silver, perhaps even magicite, inside. He heard it was a tomb that they were after and his lips curled. Regrettably he hadn't had much time to speak to Jade, but his eyes had wandered from one woman to the next. This ship had far too many female staff to be normal. Nearly half. All of the senior staff, Gabriel excluded, were female, which was even more controversial. Regardless, his duties were finished on time and to satisfaction. Thankfully, he brought his chest with him and would use some of the contents in the tomb, no doubt.

OOC: I am not really happy with this post, but it is a start. Please forgive me for I have not written anything in a while. Also I wanted to write more than this but since overly long posts are highly discouraged, I will stop here. I will write the next part tomorrow and maybe even edit this one. ........ Edit....... I am feeling much better about it know...

IC:

Tarra should have seen this coming, but unfortunately she let her excitement get the best of her. Unable to resist that impulse, that need. Her brother always said she would find herself between a rock and hard place. Well, her bum would agree.

She sighed deeply as she sat upon a giant rock over looking a large open field at the base of the mountain. According to her reading this was supposed to be the arena of an awful battle that took place hundreds of years ago. There was very little information what had actually taken place, and She tried to recall every thing she had read. It seemed odd to her that no one wanted to venture this way, to learn the secrets that it kept. She was dying to know.

Tarra hopped off the rock with determination. If she was to be stranded here for a while, she might as well look around. She giggled as she imagined herself returning to the university with a huge discovery to unfold.

With a hop in her step, she picked up her pack and headed out across the field.The field was about a square mile. Three sides of the field were surrounded by a dense canopy of woodland trees. In the center was a path that lead zig-zag all the way up a mountain. At the top of the path was a large stone arch.She vaguely remembered something about a tomb, so that was where she was headed.

It wasn't long before Tarra began to feel a bit off. There was some thing heavy in the air, yet it was unseen. Suddenly she heard a soft whisper in her right ear, like a child passes secrets in school. Instinctively she pivoted on her heels, only to find herself still alone.

" Strange," she muttered to herself. The heavy feeling sinking low in her chest. Her eyes darted from side to side. Hesitantly she turned back around and continued on her way. Only moments later she heard the whispers again. This time they were a little more distinct. causally she pulled out one of her pistols. Better safe than sorry.

The pistol was a beautifully ornate gun with a matching brother. In lane with with silver over a dark mohgony handle. Powered my a rare set of magitek stones, they had been passed down her family for as long as anyone could remember.

" Who's there?" Tarra sounded almost breathless. Of course there was no answer.

Then Tarra jumps as a horn blasts across the field from out of no where. It was followed by the loud clash of metal, like two swords engaging in combat. Tarra panicked as she witnessed mists began to form around her into the shapes of monstrous men. Some where wearing armor and other were not. Before she knew it she was smack dab in the middle of a raging battle. Spirits left and right were ripping through each other like they had done this many times before.

For a moment Tarra had no idea what was going on. Confused and panicked she aimed her pistol at the closest target. She pulled the trigger. However, the bullet passed right through the spirit, dispersing it into mist and then it solidified right back. It continued on as if nothing had just happened. Her pistols were no good here, and she knew it.

None of the spirits were paying her any head until one caught her eye. He grinned as he looked her direction. He was a big barbarian of a man with a big bushy beard and little to no teeth. He was covered head to foot in the blood of the men around him. Tarra blinked twice then side stepped. When His eyes followed her, she knew she was in some deep trouble.

" When in doubt, you could always run little sister" Tarra remembered her brother saying to her once. She wasn't in as much trouble as she is now. The spirits toothless grin grew wider, and he charged.

With a loud yelp, she booked it to the only place she though she could be safe. The mountain path was not far away, but the climb was treacherous. She thought it better to die trying at least. She ran as fast her feet would go, but to no avail as she tripped on the helm of a fallen warrior. It lay just at the bottom of the path leading to the arch. With a face full of dirt she managed to roll herself over to meet her death straight on. The warrior had been on her heels the entire time. He lifted his sword to strike moments before he reached her, letting out a terrifying battle cry to the heavens.

Tarra gasped and blocked her face with her arms. She waited, certain she would meet her maker any moment. Seconds go by, and nothing happened. Quickly she peeked through her arms and was shocked to see the spirit had completely disappeared. And he wasn't the only one to disappear, all the spirits were gone. The field lay empty , just as it had before. Her heart pounded against her chest. Had she been imagining things, or had she just witnessed a moment in history. Sickened by the thought she picked herself up off the ground, but she noticed something strange peeking up out the dirt. It was a helm that looked exactly like the one she had tripped over. There was something evil in this place and she had the urge to get the heck out of the open.

Gabe slumped himself over the port railing and gazed off into the heart of the night. Soon after the meeting he and Seph had fled the scene, leaving Cyradis and Archamae alone on the bridge. It hadn't entirely been planned, but who was he to waste a good opportunity when it came along. Colder air sent a shiver through his body, but he didn't want to leave the deck just yet, so he toughed it out.

It started slowly, and quickly escalated. A vibration shook the ship and all the people on board.

"I guess they're talking now," he winked at his old friend.

She scowled, "Are you sure this is safe? Cyradis is very powerful, what if she loses control?"

"I'm sure Archamae would be pleased to hear you're so concerned for her safety as well."

"I opt to worry over the biggest threat," she shrugged.

Gabe chuckled, "In any case, Cyr is an Archmage of Kell. I think she can stay in-" A loud rumble cut him off and the Dawn violently plunged toward the earth. Wind began to whip by his head, forcing him to squint as he and Sephara hung onto the rail for dear life. Some of the other crew members hadn't been so lucky and had tumbled down the deck until hitting a mast getting snagged in the ropes.

"What was that you were saying Gabe!?" Sephara yelled with a bemused smile.

"I may have underestimated the strength of her feelings on the subject," Gabe said with a hint of fear. Suddenly, veins of purple lightning cascaded across the sky, and booming thunder followed quickly after. The show last only a minute, but with each passing second the Dawn slowly righted itself, and then stabilized. Everyone on deck was eager to regain their footing, but not everyone could under their own will. Jade was going to be busy tending to bruises, cuts, and fractures.

"You didn't think that fleeing from the Gebron authorities was excitement enough for one night Captain?"

"It was bound to happen. The sooner the better I figure Seph." Cyradis came crashing down the stairs and quickly disappeared below. "Right then, I think the show's over for tonight. Do a check of the crew. See that anyone injured gets help."

"Aye Captain. Might I suggest holding off on any further meddling you had planned for the night."

"Ha ha Seph," she grinned victoriously then went about her duties.

Gabe wondered what it was about him that attracted the crazy ones.

-o0o-

Near the middle of the third day they arrived over the battlefield. Chaerona was legendary. People often said that the amount of blood spilled in between those hallowed hills had turned the soil red. He had no clue what they'd be facing, but he also knew they'd wind up here eventually, and sooner is better than later. Before they got too close to the tomb he wanted to run over the plan with everyone, so he called them all up onto the deck.

...

"I'm surprised no one has any more ideas. I mean, you are all treasure hunters, right?" Garin said to Jade, as he ate a piece of cheese next to her. He learned long ago to ration his food in places like this. Those poor souls they'd passed before were nothing but fools. The way out was behind them, and they worked for so long to enter. Then again, from what others had said about ghosts and ghouls, perhaps this was the better place to be.

"You mean you have one then?" Arlen said without even looking at the man. His impeccable hearing was becoming an indomitable irritant. The sound of inner groaning for this man's untimely demise was barely contained. Rather, Garin gently cleared his throat.

"As a matter of fact... yes. I do," he said with a sense of dignity. "I think we're inside of a big lock, and the rooms are the tumblers. What else would cause string to be so scrambled and all of our other ideas to fall flat on their collective faces?"

"So... you think we're moving, then?" Arlen asked, looking at him skeptically.

"Maybe. The walls are smooth enough... Maybe it works on weights and balances. Either way, who are you to say I'm right or wrong, eh?" Garin wagged a finger with narrowed eyes and a slightly raised voice.

"I'm not saying you are or aren't," Arlen said, raising an open hand to quiet him, "I was just asking what you meant, young man."

"Good... Cause you don't know any better yourself, old timer!" Garin snapped at him. "You're always interjecting yourself into my space. It's annoying!"

Silent until now, Gabe looked at the two of them, "Is there a problem, children?"

"No, Captain, there isn't," Arlen sighed. "I think the walls have gotten our thoughts as tied as the yarn, though."

"Yehhhh..." Garin sneered and took a sharp bite of cheese while he starred Arlen down. The old man's lip curled into a smirk and he huffed.

"Actually, that would be a rather confusing mechanism, wouldn't it Garin? If it would actually work, who would understand it? Weights you say?" After Arlen nodded, Garin wasn't sure if he was being insulted or congratulated for his unique perspective.

"Well... Yeah... massive granite balls polished smooth can spin and float on a film of water just like small ones... I used a small granite ball floating in water to act as a bearing. If it was tampered with, the water drained and the mechanism seized... Then they needed to getl me to fix it." Garin shrugged. "Maybe we're floating around the room?"

"Well it's a nice idea and an ingenious lock but I don't think that would explain the string. You might be on the right track though. Who knows? We just need to find a way around it anyway. Not rebuild it," Arlen said.

Garin rolled his eyes and shrugged, "Whatever."
OOC: Just a bit of dialog. The maze reminded me of an escher drawing and the movie 'cube' lol. :)

JADE

On their way to Chaerona Jade had been more than a little busy treating anything from head-aches to sprained ankles. She had joined the other crew during their meals, but thankfully, even though she hated herself for being thankful for it, all injuries had kept her focusing her mind on something else than the dark thoughts that currently floated around inside her mind. Their stay in Gebron had been awful and had dragged many surpressed memories back. Only her run-in with Garin had kept her sane enough to make it back to the ship in one piece.

Jasper was still avoiding her. She had tried speaking with Sephara about it, seeing that the first mate was the only one but her that could sense Jasper and speak with him when he was invisible for the rest.

"I can not be the one to deliver the answers you seek," Sephara had told her, refusing to say anything more than to let her know that if she did see Jasper she would urge him to speak with Jade. All she could do now was to wait. Wait for Jasper to tell her, whatever it may be.


JASPER

"You need to speak with your sister, Jasper," Sephara told him a day before they reached Chaerona. "She needs to know what you are trying to do!"

<Trying is the right word. It's not really working, is it> Jasper retorted a bit sharp. He had been visiting Sephara at nights, and together they had tried to put all the pieces together in the puzzle that was his life. Or death perhaps. It was Sephara's belief that if they could figure out what was holding his spirit back they could also figure out a way to release it. The answer to it lay in his life, or in the end of it. It was not his secret to tell, but he had told the First Mate, after making her promise on her life not to speak a word of it to anyone else, about Jade and her past as Lady Worthingstone. He had told her about the love, the marriage and the living nightmare that it turned out to be when Edric Worthingstone showed his true self.

OOC: I took some liberties here, hope it's alright Geco....


PRESENT TIME

Jade was sitting next to Garin eating a piece of bread and cheese. As always when they were together he and Arlen started to jab at each other. She was happy to see that it was only with words. It was clear that Garin rubbed Arlen the wrong way for some reason. By now she had gotten used to it, but at times she felt it best to stay close to the two of them whenever they were together, to act as a sort of "safety padding" between them, stopping them from escalating it any further. Even though she had no doubt the lock-smith could take care of himself she felt a bit responsible for him on the ship, being the reason to why he joined the crew in the first place. (OOC: as she told him about the ship)

Jasper was sitting not far from them, invisible to all but to her. His eyes seemed alert as he was looking from Arlen and Jade to their surrounding, no doubt sensing the many spirits that was lingering. It was the closest they had been to each other after the incident on the island, but he was avoiding her questions and reassuring that everything was ok between the two of them. It was almost as if he had detached himself from her, why she could not understand. Had she done anything wrong?

OOC: a bit rushed at the end but I gotta run. Just happy to be able to produce a post... sorry for my inactivity lately... I'm not gonna be able to post on a daily basis, too much stuff going around.... but I'll try to be more active than I've been! :)

Cyradis sighed and shot Arlen and Garin a glare. It was like they were adolescent boys constantly trying to one-up the other. More like oil and water... she thought. They had spent a good deal of time in the tomb and Cyradis was regretting setting foot inside almost the moment her foot crossed the threshold. They had yet to encounter any malignant spirits or walking dead, but Cyradis was far from assuming it was mere legend. The utter creepiness of the tomb was evidence that some twisted mind had made itself part of this place some time ago. As Garin got in the last word of his dispute with Arlen, Cyradis breathed out heavily and stood.

"Enough, you two. If we're going to blunder through this place all day I'd rather not hear your constant bickering," Cyradis was a bit on edge. She was glad enough to be away from Archamae for a while only to have her added to the group a few hours later. Yet another confounding coincidence of their destiny. "Besides, the obstacle is magical in nature. There's no mechanical or mind-altering effect on this place. I can't describe the feeling, but it is most definitely supernatural. For some reason... the magic feels... wrong."

"That's because it is a curse," a moderately accented voice sounded from across the antechamber.

The eyes of every person in the room were drawn to a darkened corner where yet another passage delved into the mountain. A figure outlined by the red light of flames burning from a blade-shaped object was visible walking out of the gloom. As the figure came closer, she lowered her burning weapon; the flames slithering back into the hilt with a hiss. Once she was in full view, she slid the scimitar into its scabbard and offered them a bow with her hands folded in front of her chest. The gilded links of her chainmail armor reflected the sunlight seeping in to the chamber bringing out the intricate details of the gold threaded suns embroidered into her robe.

When she lifted her head, her brown almond-shaped eyes fell on Gabe who'd stepped forward from the group to offer his introductions - and suspicions. She spoke first, as his questions were easy to guess.

"My name is Kyra. I am a cleric of the priesthood of Sarenrae. I am here because I cannot leave until the darkness that dwells in this mountain is defeated."

OOC: Shorter than usual, but meh.. I was getting impatient on waiting to bring her in. Also, the accent I imagined as eastern European. You can imagine something else if it makes you feel better XD

Their surrounding were 'off' to say the least. Jasper wasn't sure what the appropiate set of emotions would be. He was curious of the lingering spirits. Why they were still here, so many years after their deaths. They seemed to be tied to this place just as he was tied to Jade. He was also feeling apprehensive. These spirits were malevolent ghosts and therefore a risk. He would do his utmost to see Jade back safe to the ship. That in itself opened up for the next conundrum. How was he supposed to ensure his twinsisters safety? He knew he wouldn't be able to fight them in his human state, which was just as good seeing he didn't want to turn solid at the expense of Jade. No, all he could hope was to be able to set up a defensive barrier around Jade in his spiritual shape. He would probably be able to fight the ghosts in a way the others could not. Which led to another question. Could these spirits hurt him, like alive creatures could hurt the crew? What would it mean if he failed, if he died? What would happen to Jade then? Too many questions and too little answers.

Deciding he could not find the answers to his many questions now he turned his focus back to Arlen. The man was hiding a dark past from the rest, a past that he thought was hidden. He had hidden it well, but Jasper had seen more than he would have liked to have seen of a man that was around his sister that much. He had kept a close eye at Arlen, ever since the incident at the island. He had watched the old man and his journal. The journal was the key to Arlen's past, and with that he could reveal the jackal amongst them. He could simply steal it, but that required that he took solid form and he was still reluctant to do so by the expense of Jade. No, he needed someone else to do it for him, like Garin the newcomer who seemed to dislike Arlen as much as Arlen disliked him. Speaking of newcomers, a regal figure stepped out from the darkness into the light.

"My name is Kyra. I am a cleric of the priesthood of Sarenrae. I am here because I cannot leave until the darkness that dwells in this mountain is defeated."

<Hah! Then she'll be here for all eternity!> Jasper said for noone but Jade to hear. <These spirits are not going anywhere>
(Unless Kyra -can- hear him)

Jade shushed him with her eyes. The few times he had let her see him she had refrained from talking outloud to him whenever Garin was around. The crew knew, but Garin was still clueless of his existence. That was unless someone else had told him. It seemed as if Jade wanted to stay normal as long as she could in the eyes of the locksmith.

"Enough, you two. If we're going to blunder through this place all day I'd rather not hear your constant bickering! Besides, the obstacle is magical in nature. There's no mechanical or mind-altering effect on this place. I can't describe the feeling, but it is most definitely supernatural. For some reason... the magic feels... wrong." Arlen was about to answer back that she misunderstood both points they were speaking about, but was beaten to it by a voice from the darkness. For a moment, Arlen thought his own voices were back, but this one was different.

"That's because it is a curse," Arlen turned his head and body while he sat on the floor and watched as a strangely dressed woman came forward and sheathed her flaming sword. "My name is Kyra. I am a cleric of the priesthood of Sarenrae. I am here because I cannot leave until the darkness that dwells in this mountain is defeated." He stood and inspected her briefly. Indeed, her accent was different than others he'd come across as of yet, but not totally alien to him. She was dressed as a desert dweller, yet more ornately and with elegance beyond their simple robes.

A cleric indeed. I wonder how much coincidence comes into play lately. Another female traveler, and a cleric at that, in a place full of undead. Never a woman my age though, heh. Arlen smirked and bowed his head in return. "Hello, miss," he said simply.

"A curse indeed," he said to Cyradis. "I don't think Garin or myself ruled out magic in part or whole. There would have to be an element of this frustrating and confusing puzzle beyond the natural. Now we know, eh?" His eyes dropped to Garin and then moved to Jade. Surely, the cleric would be able to see through his falseness. Then again, Arlen had his own demons in that regard. The difference being Garin was about to make the choices in his life that mattered to which side of the knife edge he would lead his life and he was leaning the wrong way for Jade's welfare. A keen eye would be kept on the hustler. He hoped Gabe saw it at least. The way he schemed behind those eyes exuding trust and the forked tongue dripping with honey.

Whispering to Gabe he grinned, "Either magical, mechanical, or a combination, I think you're right about Arch getting us to the heart of this place. Funny how we always have the tools we need lately, hey?"

ooc: Will warn that this post is a bit long but I had alot to make up lol. Sorry for my absence but I should be back to usual activity now. Oh and happy easter everyone!

ic: *Drip* The soft trickle of water running down from the roof of the forest left the only sound a false calming presense in an otherwise tense situation. He stood barely breathing, sweat oozing from his poars so thick that his clothes stuck to him yet he took no care. The pain and fatigue were far away, they didn't exist they were something outside of him now, irrelevant to the task at hand. Two hours he had ran not knowing when the plants effects would wear off, and in that time he had finally stumbled upon them. The soldiers stared him down like a flock of sheep considered the wolf before it strikes. He wondered if they realized that they were facing a Maktah, of course they thought him a demon that was what the entire war was about. That was his part to become that demon to inspire the cold misgivings of fear in the average soldier as they considered how he would ruthlessly buthcher them all.

That fear gave him an advantage. It made them irrational it made them unthinking sheep. They seemed to have forgotten that he was outnumbered a dozen to one nor that he was exhausted spending all of his energy in catching up to them while they seemed to be well rested. But their minds refused to believe that he could be out here alone. He stood unmoving staring down at the group, less then fifty yards seperating them. They shuffled as someone finally took charge and barked orders moving in a protective semi circle.

"You cant win boy." a female voice shouted. Still he showed no reaction his fingers still lightly touching the twin blades still sheathed at his sides. "We each go our seperate ways....we can.." There was a slight click between the words. His nerves screamed something was wrong a half second before the bolt struck him in his side. He doubled over in pain and spat a warm red substance from his lips. His mouth curved into a smile and the twin blades rang free from their sheaths. He remembered the lessons Berak had taught him. A young scrap of a boy kneeling in the rain in meditaion. The cold shivers running down his spine as the fever took hold.

*The body is controlled by the mind. Pain, pleasure, sadness, cold, hot they are things your body experiences but it wastes for your mind to interpret it.*

He had been forced to sit in the rain unmoving for a day without shivering. It had taken awhile but he learned the lesson. Which way why the bolt was nothing more then a nuesance to him now. He moved slowly tapping the blades on the ground. He could feel the bolt being jostled by the movement, tearing and shredding his insides. Yet he still held the same sadistic smile. Life is pain. Death is but a release from the pain. The chenkari hurled away from him spinning wildly growing as it neared the group. Did they not realize the power his sister possessed? Why had they not drugged her.

The chenkari exploded in a brilliant flash of light blinding those foolish enough to look. Drice was but a second behind the ball carving into the now fractured defensive horseshoe. He lost himself to his instincts and reflexes his twin blades spinning and slashing. He squated down avoiding a sword only to bring his blades down upon the mans backside, and with a push he spun away coming back and slashing down hamstringing another soldier still trying to push the light from his eyes.

The clash lasted but a minute before he found himself breathing heavily over several dead bodies. The half dozen remaining soldier and the female leader had pulled back some tending their wounds watching him. The woman held a crossbow looking device at Cailey's head. Drice shuddered the plants effects wearing off the fatigue cascading over him to much for his mental meditation to handle. Like a damn he broke and the pain over took him. One of his arms dangled uselessly at his side blood rushing down his fingertips the blade he had been holding lost in the battle. That was not the only injury nor the more serious. He had taken a blow above his eye and the blood threatened to blind him, his midsection was cold yet burned ferosiously from the bolt and he no longer felt his legs. He smiled at the face of death and laughed.

"I warned you that you couldn't win." the woman grolwed.

*MENSIR*

Without thinking he followed the order, ancient juavrian for down. He let his body go falling to the ground the darkness start to swirl in his vision he caught a movement of white surprised by Caileys reaction as she hit the door just a moment before the volley of arrows tore from the forest behind him. Arieko crouched over him with two sinister curved blades, he caught the pain in her eyes as she looked down at him. "Don't you die on me." she hissed. "You made me a promise."

He heard other voices realizing that Arieko had brought the others like she promised. He realized a bit to late that she had been right, he should have waited. They obviously hadn't been to far behind. She would be unliveable when he admitted she was right. But then it didn't look like there would be a later anyways. He had broken one of his promises but if Cailey was safe then at least he had kept one. It was good day to die. A shout and then a scuffle were the last things he heard as the darkness carried him away into peaceful oblivion....
________

"Maktah?" Cailey whispered. She could feel the fear and pain radiating from him. Something was definately wrong there was so much sadness so miuch...she couldn't place it. Why wouldn't he talk to her?

"It's Arieko isn't it?" Sometimes when the nightmares were the worst he would whisper her name. She had seemingly meant so much to him yet he never talked about her. Or about what had happened. But the look he had now was one of seeing a ghost.

Drice seemed to shake himself from his trance. "I dont know." he whispered she could feel the lie immediately. "But I plan on finding out."

She glanced around the cabin. She had thought she understood what Maktah meant she had seen her brother do things she had heard stories but how had someone done this? Someone had told her that Drice had lost a step after the war as a result of the final battle. His body just had never truly recovered. Yet on his best day she couldn't see how he could sneak on to a ship with the watch they had and place a message in a room they didn't know about. The culprit had had time, plenty of it without worry of being caught to search the ship for their quarters. She was starting to see her brother in another light, one that finally made her understand the others fear when they were around him.

"You will not leave the ship." Drice hissed. "When I am not around you are to stay near Cyradis and never go anywhere by yourself."

"But..."

"No arguing."
___________

It hadn't taken much thought to decide not to tell the others about the strange occurance of events. Cailey was starting to be accepted as part of the crew, but he found himself as an outsider. He wasn't sure how they would react. He didn't want to drag them into nor did he want them to decide to cut their losses and leave them here not if there were Maktah truly present. He had wondered when the past would catch up to him, it seemed like it was finally coming to fruition. Cailey was safe as long as she stayed on the ship. He had seen the crew in the thick of battle and as long as there weren't a full squad of Maktah involved he had no fear of them losing a fight. But...

Arieko was dead. Wasn't she? Yet he had smelled the scent and the rose was unmistkable. A dead rose that had been a very clear message as well. Either someone was playing tricks on him or Arieko really was alive. Some of the puzzles made sense now. The store clerk had obviously seen his kind before and had been payed to turn him in. They were after Cailey but they would learn that he was still their equal if not there better.

He had spent that night searching the ship carefully trying not to attract to much attention but he wanted to make sure they didn't have a stow away. Upon satisfying his fears he had slept a restless night leaving him tired but determined when he embarked from the ship the next day alone. His Kamir hung loosely around his neck the twin blades dangling at his sides. Beneath his newly purchased cloack was an assortment of a dozen knives the thought of battle was actually enticing. For the last few years he had been running but knowing that eventually he would run into his battle, it was inevitable. Eventaully he would have to tell Cailey the truth about all of it. Yet it wasnt time yet. He needed to talk to Cyradis. She had taken a liking to Cailey and she was powerful. Someone who could...

"You seem lost in thought boy." An elderly voice cackled.

He raised his eyebrow at the old woman. She seemed nothing more then a common beggar, her clothes were makeshift, addorned with patches of varying colors. Dusty silver hair covered her face as she smiled with a toothless grin. "Perhaps you like some advice boy? Or your future read?"

Drice shook his head. "I don't trust advice from someone who can't even see well enough in the future to keep themselves off the street." He reached into his pocket and fished out a silver coin and tossed it to her as he turned away.

"You have the shadows blood."

He stopped in mid step turning. He opened his mouth to say something but she held a finger to his lips and grinned. "All in good time boy all in good time. I offered adivce as well as something from your future. Lies surround you they are apart of you and they will be your undoing. If you find your friends you will lose. You will never be again what you were. You were never Maktah. You are Denian the shadows blood flows within you."

His mouth twitched at the mention of Denia.

The old lady paused allowing him to consider her words. "You will travel to the land of the dead. Beware of the spirits for they long to return to the flesh. The blades will protect you. Nepheli will protect the girl but the goddess is not for you, you are seaped in blood, that is not the goddess's way. But there is hope find the shadows listen to the voice but not the voices, death is a part of you boy. The truth will be shared that will be the sign. Someone close to you will die. But there will be a momemt where you will be able to choose who that is."

Drice frowned trying to understand womans prophecy. He wanted to dimiss them as whimisical but it wasn't the first time he had heard those words. Arieko and Berak had both said he was two souls battlling within. Denian? He fished out a gold confused and agitated and tossed it to her before turning down the alley to digest what she had said.

"You have your mothers eyes." she whispered as he departed.

He turned startled but the old woman was gone empty space and two coins lay on the ground where she had been. He clutched his head. What the hell was happening? Was he going crazy? Retrieving the coins he turned paralyzed as two monstrously thick hands encircled his throat and lifted him from the ground. He gasped as his windpipe was squeezed close. He kicked and his eyes rolled back his body shutting down. With a hump he was spiked on the ground like a doll from a temper tantrum child. His body was embraced by the hard ground and blackness over took him....
_____

He awoke in the pre dark hours his mind groggy his body sore. He stood his legs trembling. Doruk...bastard. He mumbled and stumbled his way back to the ship. He slipped quietly into his bed dismissing Caileys growl of concern but comforted by the healing cold that paralyzed his body.

"You seperated your shoulder. How did that happen?" she demanded."

"Old friends." he whipsered before falling asleep.
______

The next several days went quickly. Cailey spent her time devoted to her lessons, while Drice rested and did his best to recover. His body was still sore but Cailey had promised his shoulder was fine. She could have healed him fully but had refused until Drice told her story. A few bumps and bruises were nothing new so as expected she had left in a fury when he had told her no. The only real commotion had come the first night out of town when the growing tension had finally blown to full force during Cryadis and Arachmae's chat. It was no real surprise to him, the only thing he didn't see coming was the former imperial pilot still breathing when they were done. He had a feeling that wasn't the end of it. Cailey not understading what was going on had wanted to comfort her master but Drice had talked her out of it. She would talk when she was ready he had explained.

Now they sat here chewing on a loaf of bread as the group tried to figure out these damned tunnels. He was still a little angry over him and Cailey being left behind. He had not liked that idea but then nothing else had worked. Luckily they had found their way back. Cailey looked sullen saying this place was sad and the magic was...distateful. He understood a little the place kept him unnerved. When they had been lost for that hour by themselves he had heard voices in his head. Very distiurbing deadly voices. The old lady real or unreal had said they would come to this place and that he should listen to the voice but not the voices but just which voice was it?

He retrieved his flask and took a sip of the Luduanna red to calm his senses. He listened to conversations around him and waited. His blades could do nothing to solve this riddle.

...

Jade could feel her heart beat faster at the sight of the flame-weapon wielding woman. She wasn't sure why, other than that the woman had made an impressive introduction of herself. That was, until she presented herself as a cleric, ridding the mounting of the lost souls. Just having ventured here alone must mean that Kyra, as her name was, must be more powerful than most. Not being a woman of religion and not having been taught in the divine and magical arts she feared for what this woman could do. Not to them, but to Jasper. As Gabe and Kyra spoke Jade stood up and edged closer to the where the mage was standing, trying to not draw much attention to herself.

"Do you think she can sense Jasper?" she whispered to Cyradis, both to keep their conversation hidden from the Cleric, but also from Garin. She wasn't sure why, but she wasn't ready to reveal her secret to Garin just yet.

Tarra had been running in the tomb for days, or at least it felt like days. She was trapped and she had not a clue in the world how to get herself out of this mess. When she had first entered the tomb it had been a fabulous wonder to her. Even though the walls had been pretty plain, the ground had a beautiful circle in the middle. She had stepped inside with out even a second thought. From head to foot she tingled and the room seemed to glow a faint red color. It had only lasted a few moments and then the circle was gone. She just stood there for a few moments. She had never encountered such a spell before and she wasn't sure what she should do. Then she spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. Along the far back wall stood up a figure of a man.

"Oh hello, there. I didnt see you when I came in. Do you perhaps know what that just was? I am most curious." She had asked as she took a step towards him. He gave no answer, and only moments after did she know why. He was a Zombie and he was really hungry. It screamed and moved closer to her.

Tarra made easy work of him with a quick shot to the head. Almost instantly the creature dissolved into sand and dirt as if he had never been there. Thinking perhaps it had not been such a good idea to stay and look around, she had tried to use door she had come in through. However, it had locked and sealed her in. She tried to use her pistol, but that had failed.

She had no choice but to continue on in hopes of finding a key or something else to open the door. Many confusing corridors later she found herself almost out of bullets, with a pack of zombies chasing behind her. There were very few door in this place, and Tarra took every opportunity to go through them. luck had been with her last few times, but she stopped short when she came to a dead end. She looked into the small room with a ordinary coffin inside and then back at the horde of zombies, who were now blocking both corridors away. She would take her chances with the one undead then the rest of them. She rushed inside and shut the door behind her.

She grabbed the first thing she could and threw in in front of the door. She had no idea if it would hold. She feared her days were now numbered. She swallowed hard and readied her last two bullets. One at the coffin and one on the door.

It was then that she noticed something she had been too busy running away to notice before. Under the cuff of her right arm there was something written in red.

" What in the name of the Goddess?"

Wash, rinse, repeat. Three steps for washing clothes. Gabe thought about those simple instructions the women of his village followed every time he found himself doing the same thing over and over. That was exactly what this tomb was like, except they definitely would not have clean clothes by the end of it.

His hand located his canteen and he took a swig. After what happened yesterday he wasn't sure bringing Archamae down with them would really bring any different results, but doing anything different kept hope alive. Plus, no one had any better ideas. The frustration was evident when Garin and Arlen started their bickering, followed closely by Cyradis snapping at them. Everyone was a bit on edge. He thought Drice was still harboring some resentment against him for him and his sister getting separated for a spell. Perhaps there was more truth in that. Everyone knew what this place was, and what evil supposedly dominated it. No one really wanted to be here, and it had been his call, and until it proved fruitful he'd have to suffer the second guessing and under-the-breath comments.

"That's because it is a curse," a moderately accented voice sounded from across the antechamber, interrupting his internal monologue. All once, every magitech lamp in the group was pointed in the direction of the voice, illuminating the speaker as she stepped out of the darkness. "My name is Kyra. I am a cleric of the priesthood of Sarenrae. I am here because I cannot leave until the darkness that dwells in this mountain is defeated." Her common was excellent, but not enough so that she'd lost her accent. Gabe knew she came from the west, and he bit his tongue at how unlucky he was to have run into one of their Zealots. Then again, having a cleric around to combat any evil forces at work was never a bad thing. He could stomach any sermons if it got them into the tomb.

"Clerics of Sarenrae often travel by themselves into evil lairs?" he interrogated her. He already knew the answer. Yes. From his dealings in Qandria he'd learned the weird ways of the priesthood. They often journeyed far from their homeland to spread their faith, and vanquish evil wherever they might find it. Gabe just wasn't sure if she was real, not after yesterday.

She turned her oval eyes on him and remained unphased by his provocation, "Those of us gifted with Sarenrae's blessing are in her debt. We go to wherever the darkness prevails."

He was far from satisfied, "How long have you been in this cave?"

"A day or two at most," she replied.

"How'd you get up to the entrance?"

"I climbed."

"Are you a real or just another twisted part of this labyrinth we're stuck in?" Sephara turned her head slowly, looking highly unimpressed. "The other way wasn't getting us anywhere," he muttered.

A smile finally cracked the cleric's lips, "I assure you, I am as real as you, and play no part in the foul treachery at work here."

"Of course not," he returned her smile, "I just had to be sure, you understand? Right. Kyra, this is Archamae our pilot, Sephara my First Mate..." and he proceeded to introduce her to the rest of his crew and even mentioned the ones still aboard the ship, "And I'm Gabriel Solomon, Captain of the Requiem Dawn. Well, now that we're all friends, why don't you tell us a little bit more about what you've found out about this place Kyra. Perhaps together we can figure out this puzzle."

Cyradis

Cyradis gave the cleric a suspicious eye as she ventured from the darkness into their little expedition. It seemed a little convenient to find a cleric here, but Cyradis had been feeling more paranoid since she'd come into the tomb. It likely had something to do with the plain grey walls and endless redundant tunnels. Jade eased up next to her with a similarly suspicious tone in her voice and asked if the cleric, Kyra, could sense Japser.

"She is a cleric," Cyradis shrugged, "I'm no priest, but I'm pretty sure Jasper is safe as long as he isn't evil. Clerics tend to target the forces of darkness. Whatever reason Jasper has for being here, I think his devotion to you is anything but evil." She smiled at the magically inclined doctor. Of course, she would only know the answer for sure if she asked Kyra herself.


Kyra

The Qadiran took the questions with a calm understanding. She knew these walls could play tricks on the mind after a while. The dejected manner in which she found these travelers was evidence to their frustration and waning patience. She also detected a bit of hostility from the woman identified as Sephara and the first mate. She wondered if she was always as untrusting of strangers or if it was Kyra herself. She responded to the introductions was a bow of her head and a simple Sarenraen blessing.

"May the Everlight guide your path." She lifted her head and regarded Gabriel, "To answer your question, Captain Solomon, I came here from rumors I head while traveling this part of the world. Old legends, while exaggerated over time, usually have some basis in fact. I came here expecting, perhaps, a necromancer or Cult of Iviscera raising the dead. For some reason they've been growing in number over the last few years. It's disconcerting, but I digress.

"When I got here, I found restless spirits on the battlefield below reliving their final hour in eternal undeath. They ignored me, for the most part, but the experience was overwhelming. I followed the source of the corruption to this tomb and wound up lost, like you." Kyra folded her arms and turned to the passage from which she last came. "I thought I'd discovered a pattern, but I must have messed it up somewhere along the way, as I've ended up back at the beginning. It seems if you take a wrong turn, it puts you out back here. All I've really managed to figure out for certain is this passage is the only one that leads deeper into the maze." She turned back to Gabriel to see that most of the crew had joined around them, "Of course... I could have just been lucky. With no way to leave a trail, it's difficult to tell. Even the corpses of the undead I've purified disappear from passages I've already been down."

Across from her, a robed woman Gabriel called Cyradis clutched her smooth, black staff and cringed visibly. Apparently, the thought of walking dead was highly unappealing to the young mage. Similar, though less dramatic, expression crossed the faces of the others. Kyra smiled and scratched her neck, "And, uh, there are several hundred risen dead walking the halls deeper in..."

OOC: The cult is unimportant (for now) unless you want them to be involved. Basically a guild of dark wizards, they will play in later with Kyra, but I don't plan on acting on that until Cyradis' story arc is resolved and we've gathered a majority of the books. Also, a bit of a nitpicking thing, but I ask that you guys try not to PP Kyra until more of her personality is uncovered. She's not quite as rigid as Geco portrayed her to be :P

...

After Arlen spoke about the polish, he was wondering if it did more harm than good. False hope, perhaps. As the group fell into panicked debate, the young cook saved the day - or rather, his nose. Arlen grinned, and then wondered erroneously what Amateira was thinking about at this moment. Seeing as how they'd been gone for ages. Nearly ten hours had passed since Arch had joined them, he figured. Yet there was very little spoken of outside of the lunch. The tension in the air was almost as thick as the earthy gaseous smell of rotten flesh. At one point or another, everyone has smelled human flesh being taken over by gangrene or putrification. Hoping beyond reason, Arlen wanted never to come across it again; now in vain. All too well he could remember this smell on battlefields days old, though there was also the smell of nature to subdue it a bit. Aram's young and attuned nose, no doubt, has having a harder time than his own coping with the smell. At least the lad doubtfully had as rotten of memories to accompany it.

Before long, the collective emerged into a most spectacular example of intelligent creatures using their imagination and skill. It was indeed something Arlen had never seen equal to. "Who would have known it was under such a plain mountain?" he said in response to Archamae, aghast at the shear size and scope of it all. With a twitch of his eye, he realized something else of important magnitude as well. The lamps were going out. Before they had diminished any further, he was already pulling a torch free from the wall of a pillar beside them and getting out his flint.

The lights finally dimmed out, and Arlen stood silent and still for as long as he could bear. "This is going to be bad..." he breathed. His piercing green eyes scanned the darkness, but saw nothing. His ears, though picked up the faint scraping of movement all around. A thud here, a drag of a foot there. He caught it for only a brief second before the noises of the others drowned it all out.

"We need light," Gabriel said, more as a command than a revelation. Arlen, instead pulled out his sword. The bow slung over his shoulder and the quiver of twenty arrows hanging opposite his bag would be useless right now. After hushed sacred words were spoken, there was illumination by various means. Each of which uncovered even more ghastly creations than he thought there might be. Arlen was staring into the eyes of death. Puppets of evil. He backed away from the closing bipedal menaces and closer to his still warm associates.

Duncan, a man he had only just gotten to know, really, moved out from among them. Though Arlen reached out with his hand, and started to shout warning, it was already over for him. Arlen stepped aside as his corpse was slung into the group. Drice and Kaltor were not so fortunate as to be missed by the flesh missile. Arlen turned his face away and closed his eyes as he relived the noise of tearing flesh. He could still remember a Magitek soldier rending a man in two simply because he could. How power corrupts the heart of man... he thought at the time.

For a reason unknown to Arlen, he looked at Duncan's body and touched his own forehead with his first two fingers, a bow of his head honoring the dead man. A token of goodwill on the part of the willing from where Arlen had come. Something he hadn't done for many years, nearing half of his lifetime now. In either case, he had little time to wonder the sudden sense of theism that encompassed him, though one thing did pop quickly into thought: Damn cleric...

Fearing that whatever curse acted on those undead creatures could also work its way into their own bodies, if they died here, Arlen performed the most dishonorable deed of stabbing the dead crewman directly between the eyes. Perhaps unnecessary, but only the Cleric would be certain. "Better safe than sorry," he said, and placed his boot on Duncan's face. With a tug the sword came free, along with bits of skull and brain. Arlen helped a slightly miffed Kaltor to his feet.

"Even for me, that's pretty cold, old man," the patched pirate grimly grunted in disapproval.

The horde continued to close in, and there was little time to think before they would be upon them. Arlen bent down and took Dunan's shield, "We need to get into a bottleneck to get away. If we battled until the end of our natural lives, we wouldn't see the end of them. We can't make a stand, we have to run." Arlen held the shield up and wished he had the spear to accompany it, perhaps he could steal one from one of the skeletons or zombies later.

"I didn't sign up for this, Gabriel," Garin could be heard from behind, his voice beginning to waver. "You brought me to jewels and gold, but also to my death!" Arlen didn't look back to berate him, but did hear a couple of blades being unsheathed from the man as his feet shuffled on the smooth granite with unease.

"'With risk comes reward,'" Gabriel recited, "Although this time I agree."

"I just hope it's the reward you're looking for, Captain," Arlen followed up. "I don't think any of us are ready to die today, and that's our greatest weapon." Whether the book that the Captain was looking for was here or not, if they survived they likely would make enough in booty to last them a few trips. If just for the bragging rights and stories, they'd be made famous. Only if we live.

OOC: If you're wondering, i'm imagining the exchange of words to take place only over the course of about twenty seconds. As long as it would take to say it, really.

I'll post for Garin in a bit (tomorrow; the next day maybe? I'm getting pretty busy the next couple days). I'm also assuming that Garin gabriel Arlen and kaltor are basically beside each other.

Please PRP Arlen/garin if you need to and i'm not around. I'm pulling a double shift tomorrow unexpectedly and probably doing minibar too, so i'll be working from 5 am to probably 9 pm with only a couple of half-hour breaks tomorrow.

Kyra

As the lamps began to fade, Kyra automatically drew her sword. Darkness by itself was nothing to fear, but she knew all to well what haunted this tomb. She also knew it was no mere coincidence that all the lamps would somehow loose their power at the same time. Something was affecting the magicite. Before long, the party was in darkness. Kyra urged the flames to ignite her blade, and was answered by subdued red flames tracing the edge of her scimitar growing steadily brighter and hotter. Others in the party more acclimated to magic produced other means of light and before long, their vision was extended a few dozen feet.

Kyra saw the undead and wasn't entirely surprised at their advancement. She'd sensed them for some time now. That they would appear just as the lights went out was another clue as to the intelligence behind their being here in the first place. Someone - or something - was directing them intentionally. Kyra was not able to determine what exactly it was even now, though she had little time to search for it. One of the crew from Gabriel's ship stepped forward with a shield and spear. His stance showed he was adept in their use, but he underestimated his foe. Before Kyra could issue a warning, he was caught off guard and thrown back into two others. Kyra immediately followed his flight and moved to help him.

The eldest of the group, Arlen, had already gotten to him. The man was bleeding profusely from his sundered arm, but between herself and the two other healers his chances were good if they could stop the bleeding soon enough. Kyra moved closer, pulling out her icon of Sarenrae from a black leather pouch next to her scabbard. The gold-inlaid alabaster statuette resembled a winged woman with her arms held wide, as if ready to embrace the viewer. She bent to kneel over him when a steel blade pierced his head through the bridge of his nose. Kyra's eyes were wide as she followed the merciless blade back to its owner. Arlen unsanctimoniously removed the blade and turned to help another man to his feet. Shocked at his action, Kyra fell to her knees and pressed the icon desperately to the fallen man's face. She knew no god, no matter how graceful and loving, would never return the dead to life. Still, the icon shone brightly with a white light that caused some of the advancing dead to falter and shy away from it. Normally, the light would close wounds and cure disease, but it garnered no response from Duncan.

Kyra stood quickly and turned to Arlen. Two steps later, her hand clutching the icon shoved into his chest. He stumbled back a step, but recovered quickly. She pointed her finger at his face, her voice a mix of anger and insult, "No one is unworthy of redemption! Now this man may never see the Everlight!" The anger in her voice turned to warning, "By the Holy Flame you would do well to remember that in my presence."

Cyradis

The lights flickered away and Cyradis responded to Gabe's request by igniting the head of her staff - made of glass instead of crystal - into a bright yellow ball of fire. With the combination of Cailey's orbs and Kyra's sword, the hall was sufficiently lit to see a horde of undead limping, dragging, shuffling, and any other manner of insidious movement towards them. Cyradis, struck by the overpowering will to not join the ranks of the undead, was able to push her fear of them aside in favor of more pressing goals, though, she was now thinking perhaps the tomb was not the best of places to have chosen to find the book. After all, they had no affirmation it was even here.

Sidestepping her doubts Cyradis braced herself as Duncan, one of the veteran crew from before Coral, answered the impending dead with a spear thrust to its midsection. Such a blow would have instantly killed or paralyzed a living man. Such was not the Risen's fate. It countered by grabbing Duncan's spear arm and lobbing him back into the group. Cyradis stared in disbelief for a moment as Arlen and Kyra moved to aid him. Tearing her gaze away, there was still the undead to worry about. They certainly weren't stopping to celebrate their victory. Cyradis steeled herself, as she was trained to do after witnessing the gruesomeness of battle, and fired a low powered fireball from her already flaming staff into the nearest enemy. The dry, dusty scraps of cloths and brittle bones beneath them instantly incinerated leaving a cloud of ash in the air and its sword clanging on the stone.

Next to her, Archamae fired a burst from her magitek weapon, but the sharp needle-like projectiles did little against the unfeeling dead. Summoning a more powerful spell, Cyradis lobbed the exploding ball into the enemy. The blast bought them some time as the rickety bodies were engulfed or broken. Spells like that would help, but it didn't escape her notice that some of them shrugged off the flames entirely or simple kept walking as they burned. Magic was not the only solution here. Cyradis nonetheless stepped up next to Archamae. Despite her lack of empathy for the pilot, no one deserved the fate of being forever cursed to walk this maze. Leaving her defenseless was cruel. She gave Archamae a tolerant gaze as she placed her hand on the magitek mechanism that powered the crossbow. A few seconds later, she removed her hand revealing veins of fire flowing from the magicite core. Since magicite was a source of power, Cyradis didn't need to maintain the enchantment, but hopefully Archamae had some spare magicite somewhere, as the power would drain from it faster than normal. She gave Archamae a affirmative nod and turned back to the dead who had overcome the blast from her last attack.

Archamae gave her weapon a speculative gaze, but pulled the trigger regardless. The firing mechanism sprayed real flames from it's reclaimer as red-hot bolts left the chute and detonated against the enemy. Archamae's jaw was open slightly at the power of the enchantment. Even Cyradis was surprised at the potency. Apparently, the magicite sample she had in there was particularly pure. She hadn't expected it to generate so much heat.

OOC:
Okay, some things about the crossbow. First, it gets hot fast, so suppressive fire is not recommended. I would assume there's enough magicite for it to continue functioning for the duration of the tomb sequence, if not forever. If a 1'x6" diameter rod can sustain an airship indefinitely, then I'm sure whatever small sample Arch has can last at least as long to maintain the enchantment Cyradis put on it.

Second, Kyra's mad at Arlen. Wasn't sure if that was clear (joking).... XD

...

Arlen

cocking his head at the Cleric's words, Arlen was surprised that that was the most important thing on her mind. "Not that I'm really worried about this at the moment - but what makes you presume anyone would want to see this Everlight the first place? Did you ask?" Arlen stepped toward the mass of skeletons, shield raised. Kaltor was beside him, poised for attack as well. Cyradis was incinerating or burning many of them, but it did nothing to dissuade their advance.

Kaltor and Arlen looked at each other and nodded. Taking a deep breath, Arlen jumped into the fray with the swashbuckler. The skill of the swordsman outmatched his own, self-admittedly, but when it was life or death the thought of machismo was not priority. The shield was logically crafted for numbered squad-based warfare. It was light, and shaped so as to cover adequately to the thigh and allow for quick movement with a sword or spear. A full rectangle, with an inward curve around the wielder. The unnatural strength of the skeletons could be felt with every blow glanced off of that shield. Arlen stabbed furiously and shoved violently, but to seeming ineffect. For every one he turned to dust three would replace it. He was not tiring yet, but it would be only a matter of time. Besides that, with every backward glance a precipice drew nearer and dearer.

In a lull, he pulled back, thinking quickly about what options they had to work with as he looked around. Certainly, there must be a way out of this frying pan. His boot slid across the granite on a slick patch of his old boot and an idea sprang to life. His eyes sped about looking for Cyradis. Nearly cut off from her now he shouted above the clanging steels and irons. "Cyradis! The granite is nearly as smooth as glass; can you make it as slippery as a frozen lake?! Their bone and steel would gain no grip on the ice! Perhaps we can escape our dismal fall into darkness yet!"

Ahead of him a skeleton advanced and raised it's sword. Arlen charged forward with a yell, and as the arm came down threw the top of the shield into its arm. Bones shattered and splintered. The sword fell behind him and clanged on the stone floor like standing next to a large ringing bell during a call to prayer. With its other hand, the skeleton grabbed the shield. Arlen freed his arm as it yanked on it violently, tossing it into its brethren with disregard. Arlen punched the foul beast between the eyes with his pommel and watched as it exploded and fell to the floor in a heap of jumbled bones. Giving it an extra kick to scramble it further, he stared down three zombies that two meters ahead had his brains on their menu. Their mouths open and gaping, he could see spiderweb, flakes of desiccated flesh, and a few remaining teeth. Altogether, not the prettiest thing he would wish to have chomp down on him.

"It's just a thought," he yelled over to her. Shrugging, he grumbled to himself. "Suddenly, jumping down the chasm doesn't seem so bad an idea."

-------------

"What's down there?"

A boy about ten years old walked over to the edge of a crack in the earth, next to his friend. "I don't know, why don't you find out?"

"But... It's dark," the other one said, a little younger looking and peering over the edge on his hands and feet.

"What did Baelarus say? 'Darkness is only a symbol of the unknown, waiting to be discovered,'" the standing boy said, and looked over the edge. "If you don't go, I will."

"I don't think he meant it like that." the first boy said, nervous but easily pressured. "Can we... go together?"

The older boy nodded once, "Sure, I'll go first if you like." Without hesitation, the older boy knelt down and threw a leg over the edge, finding a secure footing and started down. "I bet you there's probably a spring or something down here, eh?"

"Maybe..." the young boy said and knelt down. "Does it feel solid enough to climb?" he asked, lowering himself into the crack.

"Of course it - woah!"

The young boy held onto the rock wall with closed eyes and all his might as he heard stones give way beneath him, falling free from loose pockets of soil. What felt like three or four seconds after hearing his friend scramble from the face with a yelp there was a light thud, accompanied by a crack and a pained yell. The boy's eyes shot open. He looked down breathing deep and quick. He could feel his body grow cold while there was silence.

"Arlen?"

No response.

"Arlen? Are you okay?!" he said louder.

"Tresdon..." he heard, weak and feeble from below. "Tresdon... Get... Father..."

The boy Tresdon continued to hold onto the rock face, tears starting to stream down his eyes, immobilized by fear. Arlen no doubt could see him there, unmoving. It was his fault for Arlen falling. He just killed his best friend by being afraid. "I'm sorry, Arlen!" he cried out, his tears falling and his throat a lump. "I'll never be afraid again!"

"Tresdon... just get father... Please...!" he could hear. How could Arlen be so calm? Why wasn't he afraid?

------------------

Arlen felt his leg as he looked at the dark edge of the chasm. A pit suddenly welled up in his stomach and he looked back at the zombies to escape it.

"Zombies are better..." he said, nodding nervously.

Garin

This isn't what he wanted out of life, and he had let Gabriel know it. If they lived, there would probably be hell to pay, but if he died. Well... If he died, it looked like he'd be paying hell anyway - as an undead mindless zombie or skeleton, or maybe just taking part in the curse as some unholy sacrifice. In any case, the whole feeling of dark rituals seemed to reek in this place. It was just damn creepy. Stepping back when the others advanced, he stuck close to Jade with his long knife drawn, along with a sword they gave him on the ship. Probably not a bad idea now, against these things. "Knives are rather petty against armor and bone, you know," he nervously rattled off to Jade. "Not too bad against flesh, though. Yeah." He nodded a few times, quickly as his heart raced.

This wasn't exactly how he imagined going out. Especially not after finally getting through those cursed tunnels and labyrinths. Within sight of treasure, and he dies. Sure, jewels aren't that impressive, nor inlay, though there must surely be more beyond. Coming all this way just to be tossed off of an edge, or skewered, or ripped to pieces. He looked at Jade and saw her pale face, the concern on it. Something there struck him. He was far less fragile and defenseless than she. It was true, even to Garin's own heart, that he was a selfish man. Though in her, the young rogue saw a selfless woman. His opposite, in a way.

Garin raised his hand and rested it on her shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said, calming himself down. "I'll make sure you're alright. Just stick close, okay?" The rogue turned around and looked around while the others fought, looking for a way out. There were doors everywhere before the lights went out,he remembered, and stairways leading down. The skeletons probably came out of the doors, he figured. They aren't quick enough to come up the stairs in these numbers. Right?

Glancing around, he saw a dead man on the floor by Drice and Kaltor, his arm ripped off. Garin grimaced in disgust, but noticed the cleric berating Arlen about something. At least that raises my spirits, he mused. Others fired pistols, fireballs, and tiny bolts. No one was really making a dent in the numbers or the advance though.

"Any ideas?" he asked the healer. "We might be able to run for it, but not for long... We're quickly losing space. I just don't know where we'd run to, is all!"

They came upon him like the warm delicate touch of heated breath on the back of his neck. The pressure began to build the deeper they traveled into the maze the whispering of voices laughing madly at him. With each step the darkness and menace in their voice deepened until he could feel the venom dripping upon him. Kill....kill them all... That was their favorite, their favorite enticement. Several times he envisioned tearing into those around them feeling the final breath released from their chest the pleasurable final embrace in their eyes as the life slipped from them. Blood covered the walls..

He stumbled into a wall the visions gone but the menacing thoughts continueing to hound him. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he thought upon the old woman's words. He was in deed hearing voices, he was going mad. She warned not to listen to them, but the sole voice. However which voice was the one? And if it followed along the others logic he wanted no part of killing the people who had put a semblance of trust in him. Even if it was just a token gesture.

Cailey glanced at him she seemed to be just as miserable in the darkness. Hurt and worry swelled in her eyes as they fell upon him and he cursed the voices again. He had broken into a cold sweat, his knees trembling all be it slightly. He wanted to be done with this riddle. He wanted to...

*Kill* the voices cackled with delight. He shook his head catching himself as his fingers gripped the twin blades at his sides. The soft warn handles brought him comfort that flooded into him. He could feel the menacing voices being pushed away. Frowning in thought he considered the connection. Had his blades banished the voices or had they listened to his unspoken command to leave? Regardless he going mad fighting with voices in his own mind. Troubling times in deed...
______

Cailey watched nervously from behind her brother unsure of how the two of them had fallen to the rear of the pack. She walked slowly feeling as if she was slowly being crushed by a great weight surrounding her. The place felt dirty...tainted. She itched and wished simply for a bath. Suprisngly the rest of the group seemed undetered by the place although the thought of gold probably out weighed anything else in their mind. Occasionaly she felt her magic slip from her grasp causing her to panic as she fumbled to bring it to her again. Her mind was made up. She hated this place and never wanted to return.

Her brother seemed by far the worst effected amongst them all. Perhaps the darkness of the tomb fed upon his own melancholy but she thought it was something worse. He was changing and at times she was terrified of what it was her brother might become. Occasionally he would whisper barely audible but to her ear, "shut up." he had not been talking to anyone in the group.

There were other times his eyes would change to something sinister and dark. As if he was a predator preparing to strike its prey. She prayed she was imagining it. "Nepheli...give your instrument strength in this hour of darkness. Let your light guide the way." she recited the prayer over and over. The mood thickened in response almost as if struck and although the weight intensified she felt her own strength begin to grow as she reconnected to Nepheli's power. The goddess was within her, they would not be alone in the dark after all.

They immerged into a room filled with treasure the sight offering no comfort to her mood.

"Prepare yourself." Drice hissed as he silently unsheathed his blades. Cailey frowned thinking to cast her senses out into the darkness however that had failed earlier and left her with a headache. What was her brother reacting too? Regardless of everything she trusted him the most. She delved into her chants perparing her ritual magic the chenkari coming as the world went black. It was as if the light had been sucked out of the room. Someone called for light and she instinctively answered sending forth the orbs and unleashing them like mini suns. The light cascaded down and her breath caught at the sight of the decaying masses that stalked to them...
_______

*The dead come*

Drice blinked unsure of where the voice had come from. He glanced at the others but no one seemed to take any heed from the words. Some how he knew that this was the voice the woman alluded too. "Prepare yourself." he hissed to Cailey drawing his blades unsure of what threat was coming. The room went black.

*Open your eyes to the darkness let the shadows be your eyes*

He wanted to curse the voice back to the depths of whatever hell it came from but now was not the time start an argument with an unseen voice in his head. He might be crazy but he wasn't stupid. However for an instant he thought he could see shapes moving in the darkness. That was impossible there was no light no one could see...

The world exploded in light as Cailey released her Chenkari into the world. The light shone down on rotting corpses dragging broken limbs and weapons towards them. The horde was like a wave crashing upon them an endless swarm. He moved to confront them when someone beat him to it. Even as the sailor struck triumphantly Drice bit the words of warning back. It was to late. He had heard stories of battles in the badlands when the orc shamans would call forth the army of dead ancestors to do battle. They might be slow and stupid but they made up for in strength and even worse the fact that they were already dead. The creature ripped the mans arm off throwing his broken body back at him with a force he had not expected. He dodged and tumbled away only realizing his mistake. Although not trapped by the dying man he was now thick into the mass of creatures.

In cramped quarters these things had the advantage they would just keep coming overwhelming them with sheer numbers until the group wore out or until they were picked off one by one.

"Buy me time!" Cailey screamed at him kneeling on the ground oblivious to the creatures moving towards her.

It was a remarkable thing to consider. Knee deep in death a child bowing on the floor calmly praying to a goddess that most of the room had never heard of or dismissed as reliigous dietry. He growled at the hideous things and laughed. The voices had their wish. They wanted him to kill something then so be it. He would remind everyone of these demon damned obinations that they belonged in the afterlife. He swirled into the massess around Cailey like a fog of steel slashing and hacking anything that came near her. With a strike bones clattered on the ground, he turned slashing down cleaving a sword bearing hand at the wrist the blade crashing at his feet.

For a few moments Tarra stood and stared at the script that covered her arm. She had pulled back the sleeve to discover the script ran in a spiral all the way up to her shoulder. She opened her eyes wide, and hoped she would be able to read it. Not a chance. It was like no other language she had ever seen before, and she had seen many. Her whole body shook with fear and confusion. She was really in a pickle now.

" No, No, No" She shook her head when she felt her nose tingle. Her nose always tingled right before she cried. She closed her eyes and wiggled her nose as if that would stop the tears from coming.

When she finally opened her eyes she noticed a fog form through the door she had just blocked. She wiped the first tears away with her shoulder in attempt to focus, but found her eye sight had not improved. She took a step back and re-aimed both pistols at the mist.

" LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" She screamed. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She was knew she was as good as dead. The fog formed into something that Tarra had only heard horror stories about. The ugliest old woman, with long white hair, a face as pale as stone, and eyes as red as the script on Tarra's arm, appeared. Their eyes locked, and the Banshee let out a blood curdling shriek.

Tarra stumbled back and attempted to cover her ears. Only when she stepped back, she triggered a pressure plate. The Whole room began to quake. The Banshee continued to shriek and moved slowly forward. A door then appeared in the wall behind Tarra, it continued to quake as it slowly opened out into a large chamber. This chamber was not empty.

With a loud ground Tarra fell backwards into the chamber. Her pistols slipped from her hands and landed on the hard stone ground a few feet away. On her butt, She looked up and found herself looking right into another person's face. It took her a moment to realize it was not a zombie face she was looking at.


It seemed her luck had just gotten better.

Ooc: This was the best I could come up with. Don't judge!

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