mythicdawnmaster

Nephis grinned a friendly veneer of dazzling pearlescence, tilting her head to take in the three elven women evidently 'volunteered' to perform; they were each lithesome young creatures, attractive, trim and exotic- exotic to the dusky skinned inhabitants of the desert land, at least. Elves were far more common in the rest of Faerun, an abundant and plentiful race for the most part- here they were tantalizing delicacies, creatures of the rarest breed and mystical mien; a gem to adorn the ranks of any harem, to be sure. The Conjurer silently imagined that it had been Mensares' plan, to keep these delights captive with him, joining the little family of girls he kept around for amusement. She almost snorted at the though; even with she- the greatest jewel of his glorious empire- he still sought more. It was gluttony that compelled this man, then, not lust, He had to have everything, one of each, bottled up and labelled for display. Or at least, bottled up long enough to dance in his festival. "Oh you'll be performing? How delightful! Four untrained and uneducated foreigners performing an ode to the gods, through medium of danse. What could possibly go wrong?" She laughed heartily, glancing sidelong at her mate with a mixture of amusement and disdain in her eyes "It should certainly be a more entertaining affair than the usual cast of left-footed monkeys we have swaying to and fro like a bouquet of river reeds; the girls were beautiful, certainly, but they lacked an intrinsic grace. I hope to see you dazzle." Or at least take a few tumbles trying...

"Surprised? Oh don't be, dear, I seldom entertain the presence of adventurers such as yourself." Nephis chuckled indulgently to herself, the sound a slight reverberation against the chamber walls "I usually grace the feasts of great nobles and priests, but you have piqued my interest enough to draw me from the inner chambers. Consider yourselves blessed." A small lopsided smile graced the Conjurer's features, as she retracted her hands from around Mensares' chest, Settling rather for the place at his side. With her legs crossed elegantly beneath her, the water like folds of her ethereal gown billowed out around her, adding yet more raw presence to the flames of her aura. The wordless stares of the rest of the party were like sacrificial lamb offered up in praise, feeding her divinity and assuring their devotion; what a wondrous feeling, to be revered. Provoking such a reaction was... Addictive to say the least. Not all eyes were exclusively tinged with wonder, for the copper haired elf had desire burning behind her; Nephis had seen such a lust for avarice in the eyes of bandits. Just before said brigands suffered a swift and magnificent death, of course. "Ah Imhiros, of course I remember him! It is hard to forget the self righteous tools of Osiris. He was right about the party though. Tell me, dear foreigners, will you be staying for the festival?"

"All this talk of slaves and yet, I was unable to find a single soul available to dress me." The great doors of the common room slid open with a sand-flecked grind, bathing the interior walls for a few ephemeral moments in the effervescent luminosity of the raging sun, ribbons of scarlet, tyrian and amber glory framing a svelte figure of obscured majesty that had entered upon the rays of Horus-re himself. Scintillating eyes surveyed the chamber with a detached curiosity, as Nephis took a moment of recompense, the rueful rescission of the glorious sun replaced by the glittering intensity of polished gold and eburnean silk, wrapped taut in snaking vines of opulent artifice and fashionable allure, a nigh celestial aura of unearthly presence settling in her wake. She stood unwavering as her gaze caressed the assortment of foreigners that graced those gargantuan halls. The Red Wizard stepped forth upon gilded heels to reveal her form to the welcoming light, dripping in accents of gold and pearl. Her movements were a gentle swaying of slender limbs carried along upon placid winds that shook her earthly adornments into a pendulous twinkle of metallic collision; the first drops of rain upon a bitter and dehydrated oasis. Nephis's gown was a blend of raw silks and transparent linen, cut between her breasts and slashed to the hip, each ivory thread bore a twin of gold. Her nails- long and rounded- matched the pearlescent accents of her winged headdress, a construct of solid gold fashioned into the mien of a great scarab, wings open in flight. Bangles and bracelets completed her look, clashing together as her arms wrapped the shoulders of her protoge and patron from behind. "You have strayed from my side so very long, my dear, pray tell you introduce me to these esteemed guests?" The Thayan's accent was rich and deep, heightened by a personal haughtiness that eradiated from her figure in waves of unmistakable confidence. Arrogance was amplified by the twitch of her brow, and prying eyes intruded upon all. Nephis had made her arrival clear.

Back with a vengeance:

Aurora was utterly in her element as the festivities came to head, dancing along to the thri'kreen's drums and consuming near enough her own body weight in wine; a giddy and marginally dishevelled drunkard, the Bardess was struck with euphoria as Shalena and her pirates began their sea shanties, swaying along and sloshing her drink over both herself and the pirates she had huddled between, relishing their decadent company as she added to the cacophony her own voice, not quite the usual lilting lark song after the influence of considerable amounts of alcohol, she was beyond the realm of concern as she danced around the fire with Shalena. Xallistine, neither one to partake in the frivolities of his companions nor able to dance around the campfire considering his age, settled beside Rhaine and Conall with his legs tucked neatly beside him, ever elegant even upon the floor. "You surfacers always surprise me." The Ulitharid began, his tone one of contentment "Even after the horrors we have faced and the loss we have suffered, you find it in you to parade around with such glee; a warming sight, is it not? That even after our loss, the bulk survives, and dear Tak'we lives on in his son."

Xallistine and Aurora found their spirits lifted to the heavens as mention of Hexol reached them; could it be that the tiny creature was to be their saviour that day? Rising to their feet with the others and rejoicing with differing levels of elation (the former displaying nothing physcially, the latter jumping up and down despite her heels, cheering and clapping like an excited child) and followed their companions above ground to face the holy radiance of the sun, greeting them with mirth for their triumph over the forces of darkness. "I never thought I would see the day Hexol proved to be our saviour." Xallistine remarked with a chuckle, brushing off his robes and adjusting to the sun with a squint. "Neither did I, but here it is! Rejoice in our saviour, Hexol!" Aurora ran over to embrace the small creature with a potentially crushing hug, stepping back after she had delivered her thanks to survey the rocky outcrop they now stood atop. "Where are we?"

Xallistine and Aurora both remained in solemn silence after the grand epilogue of the battle; the latter had received various injuries from both the undead they had been embroiled with in battle, and the falling cascade of stone that had shattered upon her body, leaving cuts, scrapes and bruises, some showing between the now-torn fabric of her once exquisite attire. Aurora's heart beat ten to the dozen and her temples stung with the force of her tumultuous blood flow, and sorrow pooled in her eyes as she remembered the fallen. She shed her tears for Tak'we but said her thanks to Argyros for their survival, accepting Nawen's potion gently but softly refusing her offer of medical assistance. "You've done more for us than you know, Argyros; you have my solemn thanks... it seems we all owe you are lives." Xallistine thanked the dragon with entirety, before offering his measly healing abilities to those that may have required them; he was in no position to do any lasting repair, his forte had long been enchantment and destruction, but he could close small wounds should the others tire of magic and supplies. "To Tak'we" Both he and the Bardess echoed, paying their respects to their fallen comrade, who they knew would not receive so much as a grave for his efforts.

Using the addition of the great Balor to circumvent his own involvement in the chaos, Xallistine first focused his energies on raining down chaos upon the undead swarming around Zorica and Conall; they were severely outnumbered and their foes not merely nascent thralls to serve as a hindrance- they had resisted Rhaine's turning like unholy beacons of malevolent resistance, and as such posed a severe threat. Witnessing Zorica's injury, Xallistine bombarded the surrounding undead with a torrent of various incendiary incantations in a show of vibrantly heated luminosity, waving his wand as if conducting an orchestra, in an attempt to buy his companions a few precious moments of recovery, which, in conjunction with Tenebris's wily distraction, would take the heat from the wounded duo enough for them to survive. A pair of ghasts fell to his flames, others considerably hampered in their assault; it should have been a matter of pickcing off the weak, a cull of sorts, and the Ulitharid was confident his allies would succeed. Still hovering above ground, Xallistine followed Tenebris's shambling cadre in their assault of Saris, first focussing upon penetrating her mind, now that her magical barriers had been destroyed. The Elan had most certainly a powerful mind, and Xallistine could not break through enough to possess or command her, but he found his words a skeleton key, and focused his mental voice in greeting to the treacherous Saris. With a force far greater than that he used to communicate with his companions, Xallistine projected himself telepathically to Saris "So we finally meet, Saris. I must admit my grave disappointment in you thus far; sending an incompetent assassin is an embarrassing faux pas for a woman of your exalted station. The odds now stack against you and the rest of your mongrel kin, Culler, for you will not control a mind in this room that is not already yours..." The Ulitharid almost snarled as his brow furrowed, readying his wand to attack "You have harmed both myself and my companions, and I will not stand for such hostility any longer. For your gift of pain, I offer you a free lesson in return of the same nature." In quick succession, Xallistine tossed a cloud of black powder towards Saris, and shot through it with a water-like beam of pulsing darkness, intending to hit the Elan and inflict dire harm; Xallistine knew that Circle of Death was not enough to kill one as powerful as Saris, but he hoped it would at least harm her; In conjunction with Argyros's paralysing breath, it should have made for devastating wounds...

Xallistine surveyed the chamber as their foes emerged in earnest, a guttural growl bubbling in his throat as he glimpsed Saris and the Elan; his violet knuckled whitened as he felt himself descend slowly into rage, his ebony wand in his grip instantaneously. By his estimations, his stalwart companions would find the undead an obstacle best traversed, with Rhain's abilities and the assistance of Amendale and Marie, the unholy beings would face the wrath of the Doomguide and her patron in short order- it was the Psions then, that the Ulitharid would focus his attentions upon. Despite having confidence in the charms bestowed upon the group, Xallistine instinctual bolstered their mental defences with the power of his own, to ensure that their minds were airtight against any attack Saris may attempt to direct their way; none would fall to domination that day (of those unfelled already), the Ulitharid swore upon it. Waiting for his companions to take their position in the fray, the Ulitharid remained alone as a small swarm of undead directed their attentions to him; having already ensured that his inborn ability of inertial armour was active ( a precaution that would have saved him the blade of Zuir) their blows bounced as if hitting the mass of a Slime, repelled by the psionic forces that churned around him, a tempest of mental energies that raged like a hurricane, obfuscated from view. In one graceful movement, Xallistine propelled himself from the floor with a flutter of robes, blasting away the foes that swarmed him with a powerful exertion of his mind; the undead were knocked clean off their feet and flung violently several feet away, rising slowly with a burning disorientation, afflicted with an effect similar to the spell feeblemind as the Ulitharid hovered above them majestically. With a flick of his wrist, The ulitharid ignited their unholy bodies in a great gout of flame, and moved into the fray, flinging spells at all foes that drew close; acid, lightning, fire and frost rained down in furious succession upon the dead and the Elan, projected with rage and maximization. Aurora rushed into the fray with a cry, drawing her rapier and lunging for her foes; the battle showed no signs of being an easy one, and she was thankful at least that her mind was safe. She pranced around the chamber as she had done previously against the Gnolls, whittling down her opponents with light jabs and furious strikes, once again a wasp disturbed from it's peace and relentless in it's capacity to sting.

Aurora danced across the battlefield with grace and acrobatic finesse, running through no small number of pernicious little Kobold's with her glinting golden Rapier, aiming for the throat as she swung low and thrust deep, ending their enslavement with the cold steel of her thin, deadly blade. When faced with one of the imposing Gnolls, Aurora gingerly took a step back as the great beast brought it's cumbersome axe to bear, swinging it slowly over it's head in an attempt to cut her in two. The Bardess vaulted from danger, spinning behind the beast to stab at it's knees, forcing her blade through thrice on each knee, bringing the beast to the floor. As she spun around it's front, Aurora stabbed like a relentless wasp, her needle-like sting penetrating the Gnoll's throat with each tiny stab, over and over and over until she sliced cleanly through the jugular, ending another life upon the tip of her blade. Xallistine stood beside Annette and Amendale as they wrought havoc upon their foes with what magic they could muster, and the Ulitharid found himself silently impressed by their magical prowess, leaning upon his cane so as not to interrupt their barrage, aiding only to bolster the speed of his companions through various incantations, watching the carnage ensue before them with appreciation. It was no true battle, it appeared, it was more of a slaughter, foes falling easily to the blades, spells, and arrows of the party. More than half had fallen, and a number of their foes made to escape. Unimpressed by the fearsome Gnoll's cowardice, and certainly not willing to allow them escape (lest they regroup, and ambush the party after attending to their greater foe), Xallistine positioned himself so that he had a good view of the entire battlefield, awarded in part through his great height, and enforced by the spell of levitation he had performed. Hovering as he felt his magical reserves expend themselves within him, blue flame ignited to orange in his palms, and a fiery inferno built up around his, sucking the moisture from his aquatic flesh as the spell grew in power; directing his arms gracefully to the battleground before him, Xallistine unleashed fiery hell upon those remaining foes, sweeping through the rocks and crags, burning luminously through the flesh of those caught within, who howled and writhed in despair as they ran, flailing as their clothing caught fire. Not enough died in this incendiary judgement, so Xallistine settled to end their lives quickly; maximising his powers and casting all those remaining in his sights, the Ulitharid gave climax to the rigorous battle through use of the powerful spell Implosion, reducing their foes to nothingness in a veritable instant... ---------- As they dismounted the carriage, Ravenna led Silithus inside her great stone fortress with an air of pride and regality; the great steel monoliths of the great hall swung open for Ravenna, and she stepped inside to the din, all encapsulating darkness, that seemed to seep into one's vision itself like an inky blot. With a resonating click of her well-jewelled fingers, candles burst to life in vigorous ardour, spluttering yet unrelentless as she dragged with her the draught in the golden confides of her sweeping chain cloak "And here we are; my mortal refuge and bastion in this campaign. There are rooms aplenty to accommodate you, and you may find my other deadly companions to be of your liking. Quarylene will certainly be amused to lay eyes upon another man..." Ravenna chuckled to herself in time with the definitive clicks of her hard metal heels, ascending the marble staircase that ended in her throne. "If you wish to refresh yourself after so many years in the ground, my servants can show you to the bathing chambers- They may also, should you so wish it, introduce you to my darling tailors; really the outfits are perhaps the best boon of infernal immortality."

Xallistine descended the stairs shortly after Rhaine and the other had arisen from their own slumbers, allowing himself time to address the minor problems of his recoveries that plagued him yet; Annette's potions were working like elixirs of life itself (if only life could be distilled into a bottle) reinvigorating his form and returning his stolen strength. The poison had indeed ravaged his body, and the price paid for suffering the blade of the assassin was visible in the protrusive veins-like worms beneath the surface of translucent soil- snaking across his flesh in a tangle of patterns; The Ulitharid's emaciation was further enhanced by the paling of his skin, now a light violet as opposed to the royal purple of his pre-afflicted flesh, hanging further around his eyes to deepen the impression of age, tentacles sagging like the great beard of a gnarled old master. Having had his robes repaired and reinforced during his infirmary, Xallistine's clothing at least spoke of his ennobled blood; the once-tattered collar extended high above his head in a proud, peacock-like display, golden cuffs securing his midnight blue robes at the wrists- gone was every scratch, gash and tear. Xallistine's every step was proud once again, and he descended the stairs like a ghostly apparition of alien grace and fluidity; in truth only his magics and the dear care of his companions held the Ulitharid together, but Xallistine was nothing if not resilient. He would see this quest to it's completion. In full, and beyond. Greeting everyone with a warm inclination of his head, he paid Nawen compliments on her beautiful attire before drifting over to Annette, placing a hand upon the young mage's delicate shoulder "I am it appears, indebted to you with my life, Lady Annette; In the forthcoming chaos we are no doubt to be plunged head-first into, I shall make a solemn promise that no lasting harm shall befall you. You have saved me from a crisis I possessed no defences to counteract, and I shall ensure that with my magics, your mind and body shall remain safe. It is a pale and pathetic strand of gossamer to the gold you have gifted me, but it is all I have to offer." He showed his thanks and affection with a gentle squeeze upon Annette's shoulder, as neither his face nor his eyes held the humanity to convey such emotion. Leaving her to enjoy her meal and the company of her closest companions, Xallistine took his place beside Rhaine. "I stand ready, my Lady Doomguide; here we stand once again upon the eve of great conflict... my magics and mind shall not falter my Lady, I shall not fail you in this. We will vanquish the menaces before us." Aurora grinned at the sight of Nawen's attire as she took a seat next to the Piratess Shalena, looking the Drow up and down with appraising eyes. She clapped her hands and barely contained her excitement "By Sharess Nawen, you are the very image of beauty!" She grinned, inclining her head to Tannin "And compliments are due to the craftsman; I agree with Shalena, I'd certainly pay to have something so divine." She took a swig of her morning brew, checking that her weapons were in order and that she looked presentable; if she was to fight, it best be done in style.

Both Aurora and Xallistine complied with the notion of sleep; upon the eve of such a battle to come, they would need dearly whatever rest they could wrestle from the malignant grip of their foes; for they would certainly not find such solace come-morning. Xallistine for his part drank down Annette's potion without the slightest hint of complaint- despite the rather pungent after-taste- for he had long grown used to the putrid properties of alchemies many wondrous concoctions. That, and his palette was hardly human; raw brain sated him, so he was not one to ask on a principle of taste. Wishing her companions a goodnight and foregoing the allure of drink, Aurora smiled at Rhaine as she agreed with Shalena "Goodnight Rhaine." She nodded to their leader and smiled faintly despite the looming danger they faced, retaining her air of bubbly joviality, as she proceeded upstairs humming a lilting tune.

Ravenna smiled slowly, her mouth upturning like the wings of a butterfly unfurling to display their full- and in this case crimson- glory, lustrous and luminescent from a combination of rich gloss and the subtle glow of the lamps mounted upon the exterior of the carriage, casting their radiance through the thick glass windows to illuminate the golden splendour of the Archdevil further. Such dim light enhanced also the contours of her finely-chiselled face, drawing sharp contrast with deep shadows in the places her cheeks hollowed, cast by the protrusive ridges of her proud and haughty cheekbones; there was an almost skeletal quality to Ravenna's noble features, a hint that her flesh was pulled taut over bone, depraved of fat. Not unlike the winnowed figure before her, in such a respect- perhaps it was a trait of those who practised necromancy? To resemble the desecrated cadavers that were their tools? Ravenna arrested her attention from her line of thought, and re-focused upon the deadly man before her. She raised her angular brows at their corners as he relayed the lapse in his knowledge. Of course! He had not been present upon Kelemvor's ascension... oh how she had gaps to fill in for her latest compatriot. Crossing her slender right leg, and waiting as the jingle of chainmail ceased in earnest before beginning to speak, she clasped her hands upon her lap demurely and drummed the digits of one hand into the other, and vice-as-versa, eyes never leaving Silithus as she pondered her response "I had forgotten almost how long it was you were imprisoned for... I do apologize. Kelemvor Lyonsbane is the current Judge of the Damned; Lord of The Dead; Master of the Crystal Spire. You may recognize his predecessors as Jergal and Myrkul... he is but the latest to hold the sphere of death. A grave enemy of those that follow our shared... profession, my dear Silithus, pardon the pun." An un-amused sliver of a phantom smile passed her lips for a moment as she explained, continuing as she shifted her position slightly "My foes are led by the Doomguide, Rhaine Alcinea, who quests now to destroy an ally of mine, the Dracolich Valthanarax. They are a a proficient group that attracts more and more to their fold like flies to stagnating ichor; I shall entertain your wish for their dossiers once we arrive at my fortress- there is far too much to explain here." She smiled a little once more, gazing out of the window as she neared her castle; it was a short trip, as Silithus had been imprisoned in such close proximity to her fort. They had to pass through the Orcish camp, of course, but they were hindered little by Ravenna's growing battalion of footsoldiers.

Ravenna gave a pleasant smile as her tongue closed the distance from canine to canine, drifting over the porcelain tombstones raised from her gums languidly. One finger travelled to her mouth to place a menacing claw upon her lips, head tilting to the side with the accompanying swash of her cumbersome earrings, swaying as hypnotists pendulums to accompany the mesmerising radiance of her lambent eyes "Ah I am so glad you are enticed my pallid friend; I would be quite insulted if my charms were to fail me." She tittered slightly before continuing, lifting her right arm and bringing with it the wing-like chainmail of her golden over-robe, the gentle jingle of the the momentum-carried chain filling the void between Ravenna's words "My carriage awaits." She ushered in the resurfaced blight that was Silithus Victus, and placed her self opposite him within the roomy confides of the hellish carriage, her golden form framed by a carved throne of ebon black. "What I would like to suggest..." Ravenna began, pausing the click her fingers, signalling the spectral driver to begin their descent down the mountainside "Is an alliance. A union. A joining of powers to quench both our shared lust for revenge and to satiate those whom we genuflect before; your gods no doubt would relish in the prospect of slaying the newly-chosen of Kelemvor and her cadre of celestial companions? The Lord of The Dead prostrates himself before 'good' and 'righteousness' in these troubled times, and I found my schemes of ascension thwarted by those who protected the immortal lifeblood of a god. While you were imprisoned, I was banished to the very hells themselves. Delicious irony that it was to be my rebirth, but the bitterness does not fade even with the taste of godly nectar upon your lips." She smiled, settling into her seat as they hit a rock, the carriage bouncing ever so "I wish to destroy them; a task that would- no doubt- please both you and your unholy duet above?"

Two days, while mere grains of time to the realms as a whole, were detrimental in allowing Xallistine to regather his strength, and recuperate from the ill effects of the deadly Black Lotus poison. To say he was in possession of his usual prowess would be a grave mistake indeed; the Ulitharid was significantly weakened both mentally and physically- the latter taking far greater a toll (he was forced to use his walking cane as a permanent implement, as his limbs were stiff and brittle). Despite his misfortunes and handicap of movement, Xallistine at least had his life, and for that he owed his companions an irreparable debt; it was not the first time so, but never before had he been racked with a poison quite so malicious. Breaking from inconsequential musings and prayers for the coming of an Elan genocide, Xallistine looked up to regard Annette as she voiced her concern for both he and his Gemini-in-poison, Conall. He accepted the potent rejuvenating concoction with little doubt for the young woman's skill, sliding the flask beneath his tentacled façade to pour down his maw in one swift motion. Nodding his thanks for both the potion and the concern, he retorted politely "You needn't worry yourself with my condition; I have potent spells of my own with which to shield my form, and we face foes with which I have more than fleeting similarity- I shall fight the Psions with Psionics, and woe betide the being who harmed us so. I have a few spells prepared for our would-be assassin, but of course, your assistance in keeping our strength would no doubt be appreciated." He nodded his head in place of a smile. ----------------------- Ravenna stepped back from the earth gingerly as it shifted before her temperamentally, narrowly avoiding the spray of soil and debris that accompanied the transitory form of the necromancer, his pale features contrasting sharply with the midnight black of his robes, the sickly patches of his flesh almost glowing in the flickering moonlight like tainted, acid-worn bone. Despite this figures unassuming and frankly nigh-leprous appearance- or what was visible of it through the cloud of settling dirt- Ravenna could feel the very potency of this tainted creature lick at her aura, the venom of foul-gods permeating her senses; not only a necromancer, it seemed, but a malevolent zealot to boot. Formidable. With a ghostly hint of a smile, like the last darting sliver of sunlight cast upon the ocean waves before nightfall, Ravenna spoke crisply and clearly, her ever-rapturous tone undercut with suggestions of authority, promises of rank "I am Ravenna, consort of Asmodeus the Lord of the Ninth, Queen of the Nine Hells; it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lord Silithus Victus- I have heard a great many things about you. A fellow practitioner of the dread arts, and one who too strove to slay a god. Magnificent." She paused, cocking her head "I couldn't allow you to weather the ages trapped within a bubble of holy stasis; I have use of one such as yourself, and you, no doubt, of me."