"Or we can kill them," Carlina suggested with a hint of ravenous delight. To ensure a quick and full recovery of her strength, she needed blood. She placed her foot under one of the guard's chin and gently forced it up, revealing his grimy sweating neck.

_________________

I was cured all right.

Airithnu stood up as her cell opened. She grinned, dispite the pain, and thanked Naga and nodded at Carlina's comment, pulling out one of her hidden daggers. "I agree...my friendliness is at a wim." She said, touching her face and then her shoulder, both injured.

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Maq stared at the Naga as he opened the door to his cell, which contained that idiot who asked the question of who had the magic. If any of them still had their magic, they would have broken out already. Why would anybody like being locked up and meant for a sacrifice? He stepped gingerly out of his cell, still holding onto his double sabers, and ignored the flares of pain that arose with each step.

Apparently, the others were able as killers - it was easy to see that they have killed- although apparently some of them did not have it as a habit. Maq made a note of that, it might come in handy some day. The guards, unsuspecting as they were, were no match for his dungeon mates, and they were easily dispatched. He was about to go and wipe the edge of his sabers against their necks when the woman swooped down. For a moment Maq started, since he had no idea what the woman was doing, and then he saw. She was biting them. Well, apparently she wasn't a woman after all, but a vampress. Maq silently scolded himself, he had let his guard down around these people. Then he realized that he hasn't yet thanked the Naga, oh well, more time for that later.

Maq brushed past, who was it, Illaria? and took a look around the door, which the guards had not had the time to close before being beaten down. All clear. But this place could hold other dangers, and Maq was careful to nudge the door gently open, against the wall. Well, looks like there's onlye one way to go. Up. Well, better than down, he supposed. And up he went, not making a sound on the stone floor that Maq had entirely too much idea how hard it was, weapons at the ready, he ventured out.

_________________

"They're all yours," Methadox replied quietly, stretching out his leg experimentally before using one of the cell's bars to pull himself up. Not in the best of shape, maybe, but he could walk on it. Checking to ensure that the pouch was still firmly around his neck, he joined the others outside their cells.

He nodded briefly to the female who seemed to recognize him - or at least know his name - before attempting once more to summon a simple illusion. He thought he might have seen a brief shift in the more or less ubiquitous darkness, but it didn't hold, and he couldn't get anything past that. "No such luck," he muttered in response to Cirron's query. "If our gracious hosts hadn't relieved me of my supplies, maybe. But for now, nothing."

Carlina gently wiped her mouth from the blood that she had just drank with her hand. She then in turn wiped the hand on the dirty tunic of the guard. She had absolutely no desire to taste the other guard's blood. But as hideous and foul the man's blood was, it was still nourishing and that was exactly what she needed.

She then noticed the elf slip into the corridor and said in a disdainful tone, "Will someone mind telling me where that foolish elf is going? He's going to lose us our newly received freedom." She realised, to her dismay, that her crossbow and knife was missing. Though she wasn't as optimistic to think they would allow her to carry them in her cell, she did have a tiny hope that they would be somewhere in this cell. No such luck, she thought bitterly.

_________________

I was cured all right.

"Stop it," Cirron grated, having just whacked the last guard out with his staff. He surprised himself with his own audacity as he continued, glaring at both vampress and elf, "There's... there's no need to kill them. They won't get up for a while if they're unconscious." The incident reminded him that if he still had his druidic magic, he could simply put them to sleep. He relegated the thought - no need mourning over what he didn't have.

Leaning on his staff - his headache still threatened to tip him over - he clenched his teeth and pushed open the door. He paused at the threshold, listening for footsteps, or the rattling of swords, or the clanking of armor... anything to signify more guards... Nothing. The corridor was ominously silent. Quelling his apprehension, he took a step outside.

Boom.

A fireball larger than his head roared towards him, giving him a millisecond to duck, and exploded on the doorframe right above him. Arcane syllables hissed from an unknown source down the corridor - where, he couldn't discern - and another another fireball blossomed into being, arcing towards him in a blaze of vermilion -

He sprinted back inside the dungeons and slammed the door behind him just as flames impacted it from the other side. The entire door trembled. Smoke billowed through the crack between it and the frame. He smelled something burning, and looked down just in time to stamp out the flaming hem of his brown robes. "They were waiting for us," he panted, eyes darting back and forth between his impromptu allies.

_________________

"Oh I'm so sorry," Carlina insincerely apologised. One of them was definitely dead. No chances of waking up. She watched the human look out into the next corridor and hastily retreat inside. One thing for sure, they definitely found the wayward elf.

"Our situation hasn't improved," she commented cynically as she formulated a plan to use the last guard as a hostage. But she quickly abandoned that plan, knowing full well that the guard was just as insignificant as the prisoners were. "Ok, well, since now the blood is rushing into my head," she said, mostly to herself. "I have some control over my magic. Not enough to take those mages down, though." She winced slightly as another fireball impacted against the door. She wondered how long it can hold.

_________________

I was cured all right.

"Why?" said an utterly bewildered Adellis. She was clutching her staff, trying every few seconds to channel even a scrap of white fire. It had seemed to almost work for the barest second - and that was enough to send her clutching, snatching at even a spark that she could claw back. Hastily she tried to reason it out - had she been doing something wrong when Master Fyrhon told her to run? And was that why she'd woken up in a dungeon? That almost made sense, except for the part concerning the Wyrmlord. If they were in Guild dungeons, why talk about the Wyrmlord? Unless they were in the Wyrmlord's dungeons, and trying to get out. Was that why they were barring the door?

Giving up on trying to reconcile why they were in the Wyrmlord's dungeons when it was the Guild who was unhappy with them, Adellis swiveled to scan the dim recesses of stone dungeon behind them. The hallway receded into blackness, broken by a periodic guttering torch along its length. "What about that way?" she suggested tentatively, not sure at all if she'd quite grasped the general idea here.

_________________

"Does it look like it's going to a way that's going to get us out?" Carlina asked sarcastically. Though admittedly she didn't have a plan either. She could normally conjure enough water to counter the mages' fireballs but she didn't have enough strength. But then again....the other guard was there. But the human there forbade her from feasting on him.

Out of frustration, she reached out her hand and whispered a phrase. A jet of water flew from her hand and into the cell wall. Good she thought miserably. I can at least give the mages a bath.

_________________

I was cured all right.

Airithnu, when she saw the fireball, cursed and remembered the pain that was still throbbing on her face, and she knew she would be scarred, if not worse. She didn't want to deal with the fireballs again...and she saw no other way out.

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

aagh! this is what I get for allowing life to get in the way - i miss the start of a good RP. Is there any way I could jump in? maybe my charrie could be an apprentice of one of the others, and could meet up with them once they're out?

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

[all are welcome if you find a way to jump in]

Cirron wiped perspiration from his brow and flicked a glance in the direction Adellis indicated. The corridor melted into perpetual darkness, broken only by the weak flickering of torches. His attention shifted to Illaria, who looked on the verge of hysterics. Lashing out seemed a tempting idea but a pointless one. He closed his eyes, seeking inner calm like he'd been trained to do. When he opened them again, he was cooler, in control.

"She's right. Illaria, I mean, and Adellis." He found the chains formerly used to bind the vampress and began winding them around the door's bars - for all the good he hoped it'd do. "I'm Cirron, by the way," he introduced himself as he clicked the chains secure. It was surprising that none of them had interrupted him yet, when he was certain both elves and vampress had far more experience than he. He didn't even want to think about the naga, who seemed in control of more dark power than he could ever dream of, if he ever dreamed of it.

"Right. That way." He took a few steps into the darkness, away from the door and down the way Adellis had suggested, then paused. "Someone who can see better in the dark needs to..." He trailed off and whirled back around to face the door. Waited a tremulous ten seconds. No more impacts from the other side. Had their enemies given up? Holding his breath, hardly daring to hope, he inched back and put a hand on the door -

- and jumped, recoiling, as screams and a resounding bang echoed on the other side. Silence again. A moment later... The thud of footsteps. Someone was approaching the door. Cirron retreated and, with uncertain glances at the others, hefted his staff and shifted into defensive stance. His other hand clutched a small hunting knife at his belt.

The door swung open with a bang and a wave of force that sent all ten mages inside blasting off their feet. Fighting a flood of dizziness from his throbbing head, Cirron leaped back up and faced the intruders.

Intruder. Singular.

Blinding light streamed from an undetermined source, but through it could be discerned a single man, garbed in what could be passed as a guard's uniform. In fact, Cirron took the stranger as such until he found both sources of light - a slender sword with an undulating blade and a ruby atop an ornate staff. The stranger - a mage - scanned the dungeon. His gaze alighted on the former prisoners his wave of force had just knocked over. "Sorry about that," he said brusquely and with questionable sincerity. "I had to take precautions, in case a few of you happened to be paranoid. Not an unwise decision, I see."

_________________

(k, great! does anyone want to volunteer to be my master/mistress/ish type person?)

Profession: Apprentice to.....
Name: Dyr'a ke Tamach
Gender: Female
Race*: Shvat, a race with a lifespan of only twenty-five years. Consequently, Shvat must be rapid learners who mature quickly. They have some talent with the arcane and are, on the whole, obsessed with doing the most in the least amount of time, since they don't have very much of it. Physically, they are more fragile than most other races.
Age: Five years (roughly twenty in maturity).
Appearance: Humanoid in appearance. Delicate frame, more wiry than muscular. Tan skin, black hair, clan tattoo on right side of forehead. Like most shvat, favors rich clothing such as silks and velvets, wears leather when she has more utilitaritan tasks.
Equipment: Recurve bow and arrows (wears leather wristguards), knives in various places.
Other: Dyr'a's father is the Minister of Intelligence for the king of Lonyoa, one of the great kingdoms of Tirrad. As such, he has taught his daugher much about the work of an operative, including various infiltration skills. However, at the age of four, she decided that her path was fated to diverge from his profession, and became an apprentice to ______(fill in the blanks... volunteers, anyone?)

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Carlina hissed loudly as the light pierced into her eyes. She put her arm to vainly stop the light from blinding her eyes. As they slowly adjusted, she examined the new intruder. He was something new. Though not to all.

"I should have known it was you Arant - Master Gorm," Illaria said sarcastically. "Nobody else was ever so... so flashy." She got up and then inquired, ""Shouldn't you be dead? You are one of the fourty."

"I believe," Carlina said. "I don't have the pleasure of meeting." She also wondered what was his purpose.

_________________

I was cured all right.

(Phhht! Caunion! I nearly spit out my drink when I read your siggy! )

As the spots of light faded, Threng glanced up at the mage before him. It was Arant. Threng knew him, but only in passing. He couldn't even remember the man's proffession as a mage.

OOC: Vos could be her mentor, Valera, if that's all right with LDM.

IC: Vos had started down the corridor before Cirron had finished speaking; his left arm leading, his right holding the knife downward in the standard fighting style. His usual attitude was a ounce of action was worth a thousand words, unless speaking was all that you were allowed to do, such as they were in the cages. (Or if he was barely lucid and reverted to the attitude of his youth.) The sorcerer turned back to the door when there were the resounding screams and a single bang, wondering what was going on out there.

That, of course, was when he was blasted off his feet. He partially flipped/tumbled down the corridor a ways before comming to a landing on his right shoulder, dislocating it again and sending the knife skidding off into the middle of the corridor. Vos picked himself up off of the floor with one arm and, once he figured out that the newcommer wasn't a threat, popped his shoulder back into socket, again. "I'm really getting tired of doing that," he muttered to himself as he retrieved his knife.

Then the elf walked back to the others and Master Arant Gorm, "I should have know it was you, Arant, you always manage to make an impression. Even though you're always a little late." The sorcerer didn't even bother with the respectful Master title, or even any respect at all; he was never very respectful to most people while in a good mood, and in a good mood today he was not.

_________________
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.