(Oop! my post was cut off, for some reason or another. If you want, I've added the eding, so now it doesn't stop abruptly)

Adellis's first reaction was to catch sight of the spheres of fire, floating in midair, and feel her heart leap into her throat. Groping, snatching at the reservoir of power she knew resided within her, she spread her fingers and begged the white fire to crackle from them, to feel the caress of the Goddess's touch on her mind. It must work - the elementalists had fire flowing from their fingers unimpeded, surely her magic, too, would work!

When she opened her eyes it was as dark as before, the only illumination issuing from the orbs of flame. They flickered like real fire, casting eerie shadows on the walls, and on faces. Adellis wrapped her fingers around the bars, scrutinizing every one anxiously. Cirron she knew from her limited circle of Guild acquaintances, and the names of several others hovered just beyond recollection. All of them looked either surprised or displeased.

Except the two coming down the hallway. They looked amused, but not friendly. Decidedly not friendly. One was speaking, sauntering forward while talking carelessly. Adellis heard something about a moon-turn - blood rite? Whoever it was outside passed her gaze once over the blue-clad half-elf where she sat and moved on. Adellis understood only the last sentence fully.

"I count ten of these filth. Indeed, the Wyrmlord will be most pleased."

It didn't make sense! Try as she might, Adellis couldn't persuade everything to add up. Last she remembered she'd been with Master Fyrhon and he'd been telling her to flee from attending this banquet, but that was at the Guild. And now they were speaking of the Wyrmlord? But he was far away, too far -

"I do not understand," she said in bewilderment, standing with tapered fingers still wrapped around the bars. "Why do you talk of the Wyrmlord?"

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((OMG! Have I missed something or what? I will be in a cell all in my lonesome...lol jk))

It was a dark and dreary night, and Airithnu, cloaked, armed, and mystrious, went into a small local tavern to get something to drink and maybe a bed for the night. She had sat in the corner of the room, keeping her hood low and her eyes mean, to ward off anyone who might try to harm her.

Then, a sudden movenment came from the right of her, and she tried to unsheath her sword, or at least her dagger, but another figure came from behind and the left, and before long, she felt a sharp pain in her left shoulder, and her world went completely and totally black.

Airithnu's head throbbed as she awoke, looking around blankly, blinking a few times in order to clear her vision. When she could she, she looked around. She was in a small cell that smelled like things she didn't want to discuss. She sat up, for she had been laying on the hard, stone ground, and she looked down at herself.

Her weapons, at least her sword and throwing axes, were gone. She felt under her left wrist and felt her dagger still intact. She then felt her right ankle, and her other hidden dagger was there at all. Well, not so smart then, are you? She thought sourly as she noticed that not only was her main weapons gone, but also her cloak. She cursed quietly as she looked at her left shoulder, which took most of the damage of the previous nights fight, not couting that her face and hands were dirty with soot and dirt.

Her whiet undershirt had been ripped and stained red, and now her small wound was red and black, and still slightly wet, and probably infected, Airithnu decided, glancing around the cell. She sighed and then she thought she heard a voice in the distance. She moved up to the front of the cell, trying to make out what they said.

"I count ten of these filth. Indeed, the Wyrmlord will be most pleased." She heard a harsh female voice say.

"I do not understand. Why do you talk of the Wyrmlord?" She heard another feminien voice rebuke, and she sat quietly, awaiting the answer.

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Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

OOC: People (other than the fellow Time Lord ) Vos is an elf, not a human. I'm pretty sure I put that in the bio...*checks*...yep, I did.

"You can call me Vos," the elf replied to the Naga's question. "As for your being a Naga, I have no problem with you or your kind. Unless your choking me, that is." The elf had begun to relax, slightly lowering the knife, when Alteron moved slightly towards him. Then the knife was back up in a flash, for while he didn't have anything against Naga as a whole, he did have a problem with this particular Naga. "And what's your n..."

That was when Threng pushed him aside, pushed him aside via his right arm, Vos groaned in pain, a pain he wasn't expecting. The reason for this was his discloted shoulder, which he had no idea how he had receved it. So, keeping the knife aimed at the Naga, Vos walked to the wall, set his right arm against it, grabbed his bicep with his left hand (which still contained the knife) to emobilize it, and jerked his shoulder down.

This time he gritted his teeth and managed to not cry out in pain, although a slight moan escaped his lips. As door opened, Vos slide the knife back into it's sheath. Then he went to the bars and leaned up against them with his left shoudler, his right was a little tender still, and waited for them to reply to the posed question. But his sacrastic idoitcy decided to speak, "Isn't a wyrm a giant snake with wings. So, but all logical rights and purposes, and wrymlord would be the lord of all snakes with wings, right?"

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

[doctor-i DID call you elf... didn't i? or if i didn't, man, elf... meh]

Maq glared at the balls of light that were illuminating the place. It was fire. That was his element, and he should have been able to conjure something- he could have, if not for his loss of magic- similar to that. He could beat them to pulp. Maq did not train his body in the most difficult and painful ways for nothing. It was for his magic. Maq did not learn how to wield a saber for nothing. It was for his magic. His magic came from within him, and he had made sure that he trained and tempered his body to the fullest extent that it could take. He was a master swordsman, and had recently achieved mastery, thus giving him the right to call him and elementalist. Of fire. He didn't test his endurance only to find his magic gone. He didn't spend 3 years in the desert, enduring the thirst, enduring the sun, enduring the hunger, for his training to be useless.

He would have whipped out his sabers and chopped the two figres' heads off, if not for the fact that he was currently residing in a cell. That and the fact that he didn't have his magic. They could summon fire while he couldn't. Maq stood up, two feet away from the bars of the cell-enough clearance for him to draw his weapon, useless as it be- and drew his weapons. He refrained from standing in stance. That would come later.

But their statements did not make sense, and Maq heard a female mage -he'd seen her before, like he had seen most of the humans in the dungeon, a long time ago, Maq never forgot a face- ask the question he'd been wanting to ask.

Her and the other idiot, the elf, ask if the wyrmlord was the lord of all snakes and wings.

Well, someone has to ask the question. The pain in the ankle, which had subsided somewhat, protested agains prolonged use. Which Maq ignored. Pain he could endure. At least when it was physical. He pointedly diverted his thoughts from his sister and focused on the situation at hand. So he was to be sacrifices, eh? Well, they can come and get him. His hands tightened on the grips of his sabers, so tense was he that his arms shook from the force that he exerted through them. He wished he could do the same to the two elementalists' necks.

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((Sorry Doctor. I knew I should have checked, because I really thought your character was an elf, but I was lazy. I'll try better next time, promise. Oh, and by the way, nice banners! He really is an angel! And You "Come to the Darkside banner" confused me for a moment. I thought someone had been tampering with my account (Not that it would be a bad thing. That angel banner is smokin hot):P))

Threng grimaced as the elf relocated his shoulder. "Do you do that often?" He mused to the man.

OOC: Oops, sorry Vengance, you did call my character and elf also. So that message didn't apply to you. And thanks, Nauriel, but it wasn't made by me, I just found it on my computer yesterday while browsing pics. (Also, it's not that much of a problem, but when I'm not all here (which is often) it confuses me!)

IC: Vos moved away from the bars, and therefore away from the men in the corridor who could kill him. He really needed to learn to control his idiot side, but when he was really groggy, as he was now, it was really hard to do so. Of course, they didn't need to be close to kill him, but...if magic entered his cell, it might fall prey to the same thing that kept him from accesing his magic, or it could allow him to manipulate the magic into melting the bars (which it might do anyway). "Way, way too often, my emprisoned fellow. One of the benifits from my very, very...eventful youth," he said in response to Threng's question.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Carlina sat in his cell rather disgruntled when she heard the cell door open and watched the two figures enter in with a sphere of fire in one hand. She silently hissed at them. Fire elementalists she thought maliciously. She detested them, namely due to the nature of her magic. As they trotted through the dungeon hall, she heard one of them say, ""Elves... naga... vampress, are you?"
At that, Carlina audibly hissed and glared at her with vicious red eyes. It was one of extreme hatred.
The mage then laughed and said, "No, don't look at me like that! Such lovely red hair. Natural or magically enchanted?" She ended it with another laugh and continued on to muse, "I count ten of these filth. Indeed, the Wyrmlord will be most pleased."
A burning desire began to boil in her heart. A desire to rip her throat with her teeth. She sincerely hoped she would have that chance soon. She then heard someone inquiry the Wyrmlord, a question that she herself wondered. She and the unknown female who asked the question was answered in a sarcastic tone. She hissed again.

(Sidenote: That angel banner was made by me, by the by)

_________________

I was cured all right.

"What is this blood rite that you speak of?"

Alteron inquired as he approached bars of his cell, but remained a safe distance away from them in case the fire elementalists decided to try to blast him. Alteron was more than familiar with sacrifices that the various dark gods demanded of their followers from time to time besides prayers, otherwise there would be no power for them to wield. He could not grasp as to what the meaning of this blood rite would be, but it fit a few of the dark gods that he served, but sacrificing a follower like him would be considered as blasphemy by the gods themselves.

Or this blood rite was of another nature, magical he feared, and that they would they were still alive due to the fact that they would be a part of this rite. Yet were this not alarming, the mention of the wyrmlord made Alteron`s scales shiver and his senses sharpen. All he could hope was to get information out of the two fire mages, otherwise he would have to start making his way out of his cell.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Airithnu simply listened to what everyone was saying, trying not to say anything foolish or anything around that like. But, when that lady walked in and was taunting them, she didn't like her from the start and as the women contiuned to talk and talk, Airithnu couldn't help herself at such a golden oppurinity.

"Ya mate, you look like a snake, you do. That is why you like that girl's red hair, but you yourself could never wear it, could you? Snakes never can." She said sourly at the mage women , her head leaning against the bars of her cage. If she was going to be trapped in there, alone, without even another cellmate to talk to, then she was going to let the people that put her in here know that she wasn't going out of her without a fight.

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

((PEOPLE! Adellis asked a question highly pertinent to the plot 10 posts ago. I would think that most characters would be far more interested in the reply of LDM's characters than in carrying out their own banter. I understand the desire to keep posting for your character, but a significant part of RPing is knowing when it's not your post.))

The inquiries of his fellow prisoners echoed Cirron's own curiosity. He leaned against the bars, intent but not pressing close. Both fire elementalists looked volatile enough to lash out at given opportunity.

"The Wyrmlord approves not of defiance," spat the man, who ostensibly didn't react well to the reference of a snake with wings. He let his hooded gaze slide over the rest of the prisoners, all glaring out from the bars of their cells. "Why do I speak of the Wyrmlord? There is ample reason for all of Tirrad to speak of the Wyrmlord soon enough! Do you not recognize the name of your future ruler? The blood rite - "

"Quiet." The woman extinguished her ball of flame with an angry hiss, only to have it blossom again in her other hand. Her teeth glinted in a reptilian smile that sent shivers up Cirron's spine. "It is not for us to divulge His Lordship's secrets, even to those who teeter on the brink of annihilation." She spun around, scarlet and black robes swirling behind her, and, as an afterthought, hurled her fireball into a face of particular defiance - a black-haired female elf leaning against the bars. The flames exploded against the bars, singing Airithnu's nose.

Both elementalists strode from the dungeons, shutting the door with a bang behind them.

Cirron's mind reeled. Back in the Guild, the Wyrmlord had been regarded with legendary - almost surreal - infamy, like an intangible nightmare or scapegoat. But this... these dungeons, those elementalists and their fanaticism... this was too real. And the blood rite? Annihilation? Was this the fate awaiting those mages who attended the "banquet" every moon-turn? What of the fire elementalists? Were they traitors to the Guild, or was the Wyrmlord spawning his own legion of mages?

They had to get out of here. How, he had no idea.

"Is anyone, anyone at all, still in control of magic?" he asked experimentally, looking around at the nearest mages, though he knew full well the answer.

_________________

Airithnu listened intently, watching both mages, and then when the women spun around to see her sneer, she was not expecting flames to come speeding towards her. She tried to dodge them, but she was much to slow, even for an Elf. She clutched the right side of her nose and her entire right cheek, which was now burnt, but she refused to scream. The mage may have her locked up, drained her magic, even burnt half of her face, but she would not give her the satifaction of hearing her pain.

She cursed silently, though, and glared at the women as she left. She cursed again as her face stung, but removed her hands, knowing it would help her none, and she turned towards Cirron, who asked the group a question. Airithnu did a quick test, trying to see if she could take any of her blood and make a spell, or call upon the dead, and she shook her head sadly.

"No." She said, pain erupting in her face from the burn. "I cannot do even a wim..."

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Vos was dissapointed that the fire elementlists didn't reveal more of their plan, but still...they did reveal some. However, he had smiled when the male said the Wyrmlord didn't like defiance in response to his stupid statement/question.

"Is anyone, anyone at all, still in control of magic?" Cirron asked.

"No, but I do have another question. Does anyone know how to pick locks? I sorta know what your supposed, but I've never done it," Vos asked as he let the knife fall into his hand, his right one this time.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

(I hope this one is fine as the source of power of mages and priests(shamans, clerics) differs.)

Alteron could not, but quietly stare at the elementalist with great contempt as his inquiry had been ignored and it seemed that the rest of his fellow prisoners seemed as confused as he. Yet they did have the same intentions and together they all could have a better chance of escape, not to mention Alteron himself at least would not have his powers nullified so easily. Alteron let out a despising hiss between his teeth and looked at his cell mates then at those in other cells.

"All of our powers are not so limited that they could be nullified so easily as yours have been or not mine at least... now silence, if you wish to get out of this hell hole!"

Alteron commanded to all of them before moving back away from the bars and concentrating on a prayer, whatever he muttered to his gods sounded like a low continuous hissing to everyone else. Alteron performed rather simple spell that allowed him to harm his enemies or in this case, destroy the cell lock with a summoned weapon. He felt the connection open to his powers and could smiling as he still seemed to be favored by at least some of them. After a fraction of a second, a spear like weapon manifested itself from the shadows and pierced the lock, whilst forcing the door swing open on impact. Alteron exited the cell without another word and made his way into the hallway, gazing from side to side in case someone was coming. He then grabbed the spear he had manifested, wrenched it free from the lock and began making his way from cell door to door, breaking the locks.

"Thank the dark gods for that outsiders"

He hissed to them with a rather angered tone as he was not still calmed by the offense these servants of the wyrmlord had done against him. He finally broke the last lock, freeing last of his cell mates and slithered aside letting them enter the hallway. For now their escape had gone unnoticed, but that was for now and he could not keep up the manifestation of a spear up too long. Maintaining such magics were tiring and there were bound to be some weapons around the place they were in, certainly their equipment had been stored away.

_________________

Let him curse my name
On these blood stained pages of misery
Let him call me a tyrant so cruel
Let him curse my name, but remember the truth!

Carlina smiled in delight as the Naga broke the lock at her door. She knelt over the manacle that bound her leg and broke it.

"You have my thanks, Naga," she said. She then went to the dungeon door and peered into the small barred window. Two guards were coming into the cells, one of them carrying a small pot of something that she better not know.
"Someone's coming," she alerted them as she hid behind the doorframe, readying herself for an ambush.

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I was cured all right.