The blast forced Alteron to his back, but with strong muscles he quickly managed to raise his upper body back to it`s stature and to fix his eyes on the stranger that had just appeared. The rather messy and loud appearance made somewhat confusing effect, but Alteron was not one to waste time as there were more crucial matters at hand.

Alteron could not grasp who this person was for he was not familiar with the guild, being an outsider, he naturally was surrounded by people with already formed bonds thus making his position at least uncertain. They could easily want to sacrifice the strange human snake emitting dark powers and using magic unlike the others. Alteron eyed this `master` Arant Grom from head to toe before letting out a quiet hiss and gazing at the rest of the escapees.

"Pleasse, as we seem to have more support than originally expected, we might as well bust out of here first and then ask the questions shall we?"

Alteron said demandingly, as he brushed past the others towards the exit and master Grom, expecting for the mage to stand aside in front of the large human snake slithering it`s way forward.

_________________

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!

"Do I look dead?" Gorm asked, dimming the light in his sword and staff to reveal a raised eyebrow. His warm reception or lack of it didn't seem to impress him - a perspective Cirron agreed with. After all, the man had just saved their lives. Shouldn't a bit of gratitude be in order? As the naga slithered forward, Gorm's arm shot out, blocking the doorway. "I wouldn't recommend that unless you know the way out. You don't. I do. Kindly allow me." The nondescript guard's uniform hardly allowed him a dramatic exit, but somehow he managed it anyway, sweeping out the room such that his drab cloak might as well have been gold-trimmed robes billowing at his heels.

The first sight Cirron noticed upon stepping into the corridor outside were the inert forms of three mages, formerly invisible, now slumped on the floor. Lambent torchlight cast long shadows on the labyrinth of branching corridors, but Gorm seemed to know the way, leading them around corners and down two flights of stairs. They found no resistance but plenty of unconscious bodies. Cirron was just beginning to wonder if their savior had single-handedly dispatched the entire fortress, when Gorm stopped at a flight of stairs leading up to a pair of imposing portals, reinforced in steel.

He muttered something under his breath. Cirron thought he caught "shouldn't have come" and "supposed to meet me here." A full twenty seconds of silence passed. And then... noises on the other side of the reinforced doors. Sollerets clanking against stone floors. Voices barking orders. Gorm whirled around to face the liberated prisoners. "We have company, and the auxiliaries I brought are either delayed or dead. Do any of you have your magic?"

Cirron shook his head.

Gorm cursed and muttered, "Of course not. His Lordship knows better than that, eh?" He raised his voice and continued rapidly, "You have knives, staffs... throw torches if you have to. You'll most likely face guards and a couple fire elementalists. Follow me and don't stop running." Raising sword and staff, he half turned around, before throwing over his shoulder as an afterthought, "Oh, and don't stop if anyone dies."

That was when the doors at the top of the stairs burst open, and a swarm of guards came charging in. Gorm's fireball demolished the front ranks. Returning fireballs arced through the doorway, one grazing Cirron's ear by centimeters as he leaped aside.

"MOVE!" Arant Gorm roared, breaking into a charge up the stairs, blasting guards left and right. Gripping his staff and wishing to the gods that he still had his magic, Cirron had no choice but to follow.

_________________

A split second before fire arced between both sides, Adellis tried one more time to summon any fragment of the power that still escaped her. It had seemed as though the reservoir had disappeared without a trace before, but now it was just tantalizingly out of reach beyond her grasping fingertips. She could almost close her fist around it, almost feel power flooding back into her, when the doors burst open and mayhem ensued.

Armed only with a diamond-tipped staff meant for magic, not combat, and a slender Elven knife that was dwarfed by the smallest of swords, Adellis tried once to find magic in the dizzy confusion of clashing weapons and failed utterly. That strategy would find no success.

Well, being half Elven granted you more than pointed ears.

Steeling herself, Adellis tightened her fingers around her staff and waited, bracing herself. The first time fire raced past her and a blur of flame ahead indicated a guard, she stepped once sideways and darted in, blade a blur.

Quickness was an asset, even if her skill was limited, and even though Adellis certainly felt singed upon emerging from the brief clash, she'd evidently had success. If the limp body at her feet was anything to judge by, anyway.

_________________

Vos sighed and rolled his eyes at Gorm's exit. He started after the mage; all the muscles in his body tensed for movement, although his right shoulder still twinged. As he approached Cirron, he spoke. "Cirron, while I admire you willingness to stick to your principle of not killing, you may want to lose that now for the guards won't feel the same way about you. Nor do I think most of us feel that way."

The only weapon that Vos currently had was his knife; the small, but sharp, Elven blade that had proved so useful in making the Naga let him down now proved to be quite useful in the brief clashes with the guards. Of course, Vos had the advantage over most of the guards, they hadn't spent the most of the first millenia of their lives learning to fight for their very survival. Unfortinuatly, after a few encounters, Vos was breathing hard; he hadn't preformed this much prolonged physical exertion in many years, so he now made a vow to start to do so once again. It wasn't the running he had a problem with, he could run for miles without breaking a sweat, it was the hand-to-hand combat that wore the elven sorcerer down.

After one such encounter, Vos caught up to Grom. "Do you know where the armoury is? Because it would really help with getting out of here if we didn't all have to fight with knives." With those words, he bent down and scooped up one of the guards weapons, a thin rapier. Light and flimsy, most would think it was the perfect elf weapon, but Vos prefered his own sword. He parried a thrust from one of the guards with the rapier and shoved the dagger into the overbalanced guard's stomach. He then slammed his elbow into the now-dying man's neck, sending him sprawling to the floor. Then he continued to speak, "Or guard's weapons. For while this works--"he shook the rapier"--I'm not used to it and therefore not that good with it. And I'm sure that most of us had weapons that we would like to retrieve as they are better than these guards weapons."

With that, Vos grabbed a guard that was just passing him and threw the man in front of Grom; forcing the unfortunate guard to intercept a fireball ment for the only one of the group who currently had magic.

_________________
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 darted after her accomplices. Wishing more than ever she still had her magic, she followed them quickly, passing doors. She would have ran past them had she not glimpsed her knife on a table through a half-opened door. Looking at the others, she slipped inside the room.

Inside were her weapons that they had took from her when they had ambushed her. Her crossbow, the bolts, and her knife were on a table along with other weapons that she was not familiar with. As she quickly retrieved her weapons and loaded her crossbow with a hint of glee, she hesitated for a minute and then ran after the others. They were waiting at the foot of the stairs. She was about to alert them to the weapons room when the door exploded. And then chaos reigned.

With no choice, she followed their newly found cohort, Master Gorm, as he led the charge up the stairs. She dodged a fireball that threatened to burn off her face. Amidst the chaos, she raised her crossbow, aimed it at a running guard, and fired. As the guard fell, she grinned with satisfaction before following the rest of them

_________________

I was cured all right.

Airithnu watched and listened to Master Gorm intently, never meeting the man before, and then, to her own surprise, followed his orders, gripping her knife tightly in her right hand, she ran along with everyone else, cursing whoever had taken her and drugged her and her magic along the way.

Airithnu saw the table also, and quickly grabbed a fimiluar curved longsword and a thorwing axe, along with a curved short bow and arrows. She quickly put them all in there places and followed the group, pulling up the rear, dodging one fireball, barely, and she knew in her mind and heart that if she had not been part of the Elven race, then she would have been dead. She contiuned to follow there new leader, her eyes darting everywhere, taking in her surroundings, as she was alert and ready.

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Carlina swiftly sidestepped an incoming guard and slammed her crossbow at the back of her head, knocking him out if not killing him. She then darted behind a niche in the wall and quickly reloaded. Her only complaint about her crossbow was it took extremely long to reload, even with her unnatural strength and speed. Finally, she emerged from the niche with a loaded crossbow. Examining the chaos in front of her, she took aim at a guard and fired.

Then someone (Vos) called out, ""Do you know where the armoury is? Because it would really help with getting out of here if we didn't all have to fight with knives." She quickly approached him, tapped his shoulder, ducked his blow, and said in a voice that barely was above the din, "Down the stairs, second door to the right."

_________________

I was cured all right.

Vos swung around when a hand tapped his shoulder; his knife aiming at the throat level, his ridge-hand strike at kidney level. The knife blow missed, but his hand didn't. However, instead of striking the kidney, it struck the shoulder, probably doing more damage to Vos's hand than the vampire's shoulder.

"Down the stairs, second door to the right," the vampire said.

"Thanks," Vos replied, his voice lost in the chaos of noise that was the desperate battle they found themselves in. Without further ado, the elf dashed down the stairs, norrowly avoiding being burned to a crisp by a fire elementalist's fireball. He bucked under a clumsy slash by a guard and slipped by him, opening his stomach on the way.

He entered the armoury and instantly spied Elexorien. He switched hands with the knife and slung Elexorien's belt and sheath over his head, letting the actual sword hang at his hip. Vos usually put the belt on, but didn't have time right now so this would have to do. With Elexorien in one hand, Umethar (his knife/dagger) in the other, Vos made his way back into the carnage above.

He made his way towards Gorm again, this time with another question. "How far to the exit, we can't keep this up much longer without someone dying; and I do believe that is something we wish to avoid, is it 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.

(thx Doc! alright, here goes:)

Dyr'a ke Tamach crouched by the small scullery door, frantically manipulating the wire-thin picks in the lock. A bead of perspiration rolled down her forehead, over her clan tattoo, as she looked up at the dark fortress, looming over her like some menacing, ancient beast.

The rumors had been flying, fast and furious, as more and more Guild mages had begun disappearing. When the gilt parchment scroll had come for her master, they'd both known what it had meant. What Vos hadn't known was that his apprentice had followed, elusive as a moonshadow in dull grey silk.

Dyr'a had followed the elf and his captors here, to this place, which stank of evil and foul things. She'd spent much of the day inspecting the walls and observing the guard changes, then had scaled the wall at the appropriate break in the sentrys' rounds. Now, under cover of a thick, heavy dusk, she was applying one of her father's lessons: lockpicking. She wiggled the lock gently and felt the final tumbler click into place.

She turned the lock, removed the picks, and slid inside. The kitchens were deserted.

That was odd. Normally there should be servants washing and cleaning after the eventide meal.

What exactly did they do in this place?

No matter. Her task was to find her master and free him - if he was still alive. Otherwise, her task might prove difficult.

Loosening the knives in her wrist-sheathes, she crept out into the main corridors. If he was alive, he was a prisoner. His captors hadn't treated him very respectfully, so probably not a prisoner that they intended to treat well. Hence, the dungeons. Dungeons were usually subterranean.

Dyr'a found a likely looking set of stairs, steep and not very even. She was halfway down when her guess was confirmed - the sizzle of firebolts and clash of metal drifted up. Quinlan Vos was certainly alive. Knowing him, he'd instigated this confusion. It was the sort of thing he would relish.

No need for secrecy now. This was going to be close-range fighting, so her recurve bow would be useless. That was fine. She preferred knives, and her fledgling sorcerer's capabilities.

Peering into the corridor at the base of the stairs, she took a moment to observe the conflict. There were several Guild mages there - but not using magic. Odd. Unless they had somehow been prevented. In that case, she should focus her efforts on the mages facing them, instead of the guards.

A deep thrum filled her arcane sense as one of the mages formed a fireball in his hand. She focused on the thrum and dragged it up to a shriek. The fireball exploded, neatly crisping the mage.

A black figure spun across her field of vision, laced with silver. "Master!" Dyr'a cried.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Vos spun past Dyr'a, nearly slicing her head off with his sword when he heard her cry of, "Master!"

He spun back, "Ah, Dyr'a! How plesant to see you! Shall I assume you know the way out?" As he spoke, the elven sorcerer flipped Elexorien over and stabbed backwards without looking, scoring a direct hit through one of the guard's armor.

Normally he would have been annoyed that she had decided to ignore him telling her not to follow, but these were not normal circumstances.

_________________
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.

[btw, Maq isn't elven.. he's human]
Maq was lost, to say the least. No, he was utterly lost, since he had no idea where to go, and he would rather not go back to the dungeon to wait to be sacrificed. Just as he was roaming deserted corridors, the hall to his left was a loud chaos. He ran toward it. Someday, he would be smart enough not to run into trouble. But what was today? the 4th? Hm, not a lucky day, not at all. It symbolized death, and that was not very lucky, not at all. Especially since he was trapped in an unknown place without magic and only with his sabers for comfort.

Then he ran headfirst into what seemed to be a battle between guards, elementalists, a strange guard who did magic, and his former dungeonmates. Maybe it wasn't that unlucky a day after all. He saw the nearest person - who happened to be the vampire - and yelled in their ear, "Sorry I was late to this party, but I was delayed because I got lost. It's rather not a lucky day for me you know? It's the fourth, and that symbolizes death, and-" His explaination was rather cut short by a fireball zooming over his head. That does it. Thought Maq. They could sent fireballs when he couldn't. Alrighty then, He ran at the elementalist, and whipped across 8 slashes on the man's face. 8 was a lucky number, yes it was, maybe that'll counter the day's effects.

_________________

"The pleasure is all mine," Dyr'a assured her master, sending another fireball haywire. By now the guards had realized that their mages had an effective challenger. One of them identified her and flung himself in her direction.

Stupid.

But for Master Vos limiting her movement, she would have simply stepped sideways. However, this was no longer an option, so she deflected the rapier with her left-hand knife. His weight still bore into her, and she let him roll her backwards and over. Within three seconds, they'd finished the roll; he flat on his back, and she kneeling on his chest, tugging out her bloodied right-hand knife, which he had so conveniently thrust his neck into.

Dyr'a wiped the blade clean in his hair - no, that was a bad idea. She switched to his tunic. He might have lice.

She turned to Vos. "If you'll be so kind as to follow me, I think a discreet exit is in order." The apprentice started up the stairs, but turned as another mage formed a fireball. She'd have thought they might have learned by now. Stretching out her hand to aid in her manipulation, Dyr'a spun the fire into a wall, raking it over two more mages. She led the way up the stairs to the kitchens.

_________________


<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

Carlina winced slightly when the elf had punched her in the shoulder. She didn't blame him though and continued dodging in and out of niches and columns as she reloaded and fired. When another elf asked her what's going on, she tried to reply but was distracted by a guard that was coming towards her. Too late to draw her knife, she lunged at him and bit him in the neck, drinking his blood.

With blood dripping down her mouth, she felt nourishment rush through her body and with that, magic. She was regaining it, quickly. She hooked the crossbow to a strap across her back and unsheathed her knife. She began scanning for a fire elementalist. Upon finding one, she reached out her hand and made a strangling motion. Instantly, the elementalist's lungs began to be filled with water, drowning him. But she had only regained her magic and drowning people takes a long time. And another guard was rushing her. She was forced to let go and parried the guard's attack.

_________________

I was cured all right.

The elven sorcerer's advice was sound enough, but for one problem. Cirron's yew staff was not a killing weapon. As for his hunting knife, he was proud to say that it'd gutted its share of quarry, the most impressive of which was a wild boar twice his weight in muscle. The catch was, wild boars tended not to carry pointy objects. The enemies he faced now did, as demonstrated by the laceration running the full length of his left arm.

The first thing Cirron learned in his initial rush of battle was that these guards weren't used to his martial style, which incorporated hands and feet as much as a few whacks of his staff into vital pressure points. The first guard he encountered fell to a well aimed kick into his solar plexus, ensued by the staff coming down on his helm with a musical ring. He went sprawling, out cold. A movement to his right, and the druid spun, staff raised, knowing his reflexes were too slow -

A crossbow clicked, its dart finding his adversary straight through the neck.

Cirron nodded his thanks to the vampress and retreated, clutching his bleeding arm and panting from the unaccustomed physical exertion. Ducking a fireball, he sprinted to catch up with Arant Gorm, who was currently yelling at the sorcerer. " - not far! Straight down this corridor, up the stairs to the kitchens - " Whirling, Gorm executed a downwards slash with his flaming sword and almost took off Dyr'a's head on her way up the stairs. "Who in the blazes are you?" he demanded, a bare second before he spun again and launched another succession of fireballs that incinerated the newest enemy reinforcements clattering out from an adjacent corridor.

Cirron's staff lashed out, slamming low and shattering the nearest guard's kneecaps. When he straightened, booted foot snapping upwards into the next guard's chin, he thought he detected strangest whooshing sound, almost as though...

"Watch out!" he cried, just as two of the largest fireballs he'd seen yet - fully five feet in diameter - exploded towards them, targeted for the only two in the group who still had magic. The tattooed female dove out of the way, but Gorm was too slow. The flames devoured him, scalding skin, pulling off his scalp...

Cirron watched, horrified, as Arant Gorm's mutilated body slumped to the floor.

But no - he was still stirring. His lips, blackened and blistered, were forming words... Heart wrenched with pity, Cirron leaned in to hear. "Take this... ring..." croaked Gorm, feebly holding out his hand, charred bone protruding from the fingertips. "To Ammarindar... show them this... Shrine south of here... restore magic..."

"Shh," the druid whispered, taking the emerald ring as requested. "It's all right..."

"No!" Gorm hacked out the word, drenched with blood. "Blood rite... more... must stop..." A last shuddering breath, and his expression froze.

Cirron turned from the hideous visage, grotesque and burned, and slipped the ring into his pocket. He leaped up just in time to deflect another blow aimed as his head. He scanned the battle, growing more desperate by the second now with Gorm's elimination. His gaze settled on the wiry, tattooed female - the elf's apprentice. "You know the way?" he asked quietly.

_________________

Airithnu saw another gaurd come and he approached her, swinging a overly-large axe at her head. She ducked and rammed her entire body into his knees, buckling them and causing him to fall to the floor. With quick agility, she was able to move out from under the gaurd before he landed on top of her, and she quickly slit his throat before he could take another swing at her.

Airithnu watched the entire encounter between Cirron and Gorm, muttering a silent prayer for Gorm's soul. She ran up to Cirron, saying hastily, "We need to get out--fast. More gaurds are on there way from were we came." She also looked at Dry'a and said, "Can you lead us out?"

_________________


Just became a college freshman; be on sparingly

Carlina saw the mage, Master Gorm, take a giant fireball to the face, burning his entire body. But sorrow will have to wait, thought Carlina as she slashed at a guard across the chest, piercing the armour. She then looked up and saw a tattooed female run up the stairs that apparently led out of this mess and chaos. She seemed to know what to do. Several times, Carlina noticed her using the mages' magic against them. She reminded herself to praise her as she quickly followed her.

_________________

I was cured all right.