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Into The Depths; [Minor ST 3]
Topic Started: Wed Mar 15, 2017 11:02 am (2,479 Views)
Lorica
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Her first victim was covered in tough scales beneath their armor, overlapping layers of protection to keep them from harm. It was a sign of weakness to rely so heavily on defense. It meant that they feared being weak, that they anticipated injury. Lorica suffered from no such constraints. She was strong, stronger than this lizard person, strong enough to fear nothing and no one. She would show this cretin the error of his ways.

She drew a pair of heavy cleavers from her belt, a length of chain connecting their pommels. Black smoke wafted off of the flat of the broad blades, trailing in their path. The spear came stabbing towards her. She deflected it with contemptuous ease, not towards the ground but rather aiming it toward her side. It slid between her ribs, sinking several inches into her flesh. The pierced skin and muscle hardened, clutching at the weapon, refusing to relinquish their hold on it. The stone-like consistency of her flesh should resist any attempt by the Al'shari to withdraw the polearm. She did not bleed, for she was strong. A lesson this fool would learn in short order.

Lorica flashed a smile at the Al'shari, her teeth lengthening into fangs. "Surprise." Then she whipped the chain stretching between the cleavers forward, attempting to loop it around his neck. If she managed to lasso the lizard she would pull the weapons in opposite directions, calling on all of the unnatural strength the Wellspring had to offer, the muscles in her arms swelling to two or three times their normal size. Even the scales of the Al'shari shouldn't be able to resist that degree of raw might.

If the lizard-person managed to avoid the ensnaring chain she would instead hack at it with savage intensity, aiming for the gaps between the plate armor. There was no plan or stratagem beyond trying to inflict as much bodily harm as possible, to rend him limb from limb as quickly as possible. This was an inferior creature, unworthy of her attention. He was simply meat to be butchered.

Her eyes went to the other challenger, one in a shape she was familiar with. Her grin stretched from ear to ear, tongue running over the points of her teeth. "Maksym," she purred, shivering with anticipation. "Killed her mother, killed her mother, killed her mother!" She continued to chant the mantra as she crouched down, the muscles in her legs bulging. Lorica leapt straight at the downed werewolf, slavering and cackling. She descended on him, a furious storm of hacking blades. The black smog surrounding the cleavers expanded into a ebony fogbank, completely surrounding the Keeper and the werewolf as she attacked, thick and humid and cloying. She chopped at him as fast as she could, racing against the lycanthrope's natural regenerative abilities, attempting to simply outpace its ability to recovery with savagery.
Abilities
 
Here's what I'm using. I included their descriptions in a spoiler below, for clarification and to make the ST's life easier:
  • Wielding Slave Soldier Cleavers, which are also responsible for the fogbank effect
  • Used Is This Yours? (Genesis Arsenal) to trap the spear
  • If the gambit with the chain works, gonna use the Brawn feat to pop his head off like a champagne cork ; D
  • Activating Rip and Tear (Epic Scroll) to attack the Al'shari and werewolf
  • Corona Alta (part of the Twisted Skeleton fusion) allows Lorica to jump like, super far
  • Cut Deep (Murderer)makes it so any wounds on the werewolf keep bleeding without regenerating
  • Scalpel (Murderer) used to hopefully cripple the werewolf

Ability Descriptions
Edited by Lorica, Mon May 22, 2017 2:52 pm.
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Kalim
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Perhaps holding back from the initial strike hadn't been the most helpful contribution he could give to his comrades, but it did grant him certain advantages. Unengaged, he was able to take stock of the battlefield and determine where he would be most useful. Nearby, Lorica was setting upon one of the werewolves. He was happy to let her have at it. The previous encounter had proved to him that wasn't equipped to deal with them. Throatslitter himself was moving into the camp proper, and the mercenary spared a bit of concern for him and Ahkrum, but he knew both were competent enough to fend for themselves. The massive explosion and accompanying fireball where Shirine and Mistalee had positioned themselves, however, definitely caught his attention, and the gestures of the human woman and the accompanying Na'hill weren't lost on him.

The others he felt confident they could overwhelm, but magic had the potential to beat them back. Shaking his right hand and muttering, he wrenched a steel plate over the metallic gauntlet as soon as it finished transforming, while with his other hand he slipped his fingers through the metal rings of a weapon holstered on his hip. At the end of the steel knuckles, a green-tinged, long and extremely narrow dagger protruded.

He went up on his toes, straightening and stretching his entire body as he set his focus on the human woman. He recognized her now, of course. She was the one they had found near-dead before. He cursed his kindness towards her now; at the time it had been a logical action but things would have been easier if they had just let her die there.

Oh well. No time like the present to right past mistakes.

Kalim settled back onto his feet, and in the next instant was gone from where he stood, leaving behind only a small cloud of dust and twirling leaves torn from their bushes. He streaked past the other combatants, reaching the Na'hill commander in a matter of seconds. It seemed that one of Mistalee's arrows had found their mark; she was injured. Fortunate for him. His first wide swing, quick as a bolt and primed with the metal plate, went for the side of her head. It was followed almost simultaneously by a quick stab towards her throat with the poisoned stiletto.

There were no thoughts or apprehensions in his head now, only the intention to cause as much harm as possible. He thrust the knife over and over, wherever he could find an opening, accented by kicks and punches to keep his target off balance. The blows were so quick and seamlessly blended together that there wasn't an instant where he wasn't launching a new strike. He did not stop, even though he could feel his muscles screaming and his strength draining; he would not stop until he could strike no more or was forced away. He knew that the shaman was nearby, and he would have to contend with it, but if he could strike down their leader, it might give the others the chance to deal with it.

ooc
Edited by Kalim, Mon May 22, 2017 4:18 pm.
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Mistalee
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It was not too much of a surprise when her arrows did little damage. She was just thankful that her volley had not been completely useless. Their foes had a lot of magical protection and enhancements, so normal means of attack would not be enough.

When Tyrist unleashed some sort of power that erupted in flames around them, she paused just long enough to realize that it was an ally power and would not harm her. Turning her attention back to the battlefield, she knew she had to do something about those frustrating abilities their enemies had.

She raised her bow again, this time with arrows that would do no physical damage, but could still help turn the tide of the battle. The next several arrows she released would seemingly bounce harmlessly off her targets, but she was attempting to remove as many protections and abilities. Once she was confidant she had removed at least a few abilities from her enemies she would begin using her light arrows.

Spoiler: click to toggle


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Shirine
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Shirine felt mentally exgausted from her abilities backlash, but she endured the pain. It helped that anger towards the woman cleared the rest of her head. It gave her something to focus on. Shirine hated anything that touched her mind ... like that drow had .... not again. Plus the woman had done some serious harm to her own men. That was unforgivable.

"Your mine!" She growled before leaping toward her enemy. She enhanced herself as far as her body allowed. She was pushing herself, but she intended to end this as fast as possible. She had to run on instinct and training as her mental powers were slugish. Still she was a frighting fighter even with the slight disadvantage. She unsheathed her relic blades at rediculous fast speeds once in range. Her draw slashs were her signature move and a strong opener. She aimed the blows to take advantage of Kalim's strikes. Still she knew the armor was tough and aimed to wedge her blades into any joint she could to hiddern the woman's movement.

Once the woman was slowed or hiddenered by her blades shirine ready for her next move. The She spoke to Kalim, "Help supress her and I will finish this." Abandoning her blades she moved in closer to a graple. She focused more on getting these next strikes then defense. Her armor was tough and she coukd acfept some truely scarry wounds before faultering. She did not fear she hax survived near death too many times to fear it. She aimed to get her claws pointed at the heart and the head and used her last trump card. Moonlight claws creating three foot blades that passed tgrough armor. They wluld burn this woman in her brain and heart ic it worked. Shirine was even willing to partialy stab her self with her own blades to get this attack off. She would grip as long as possible to try and kill this person. She fulky expected to be out of the fight after this set of moves. So much strain on body and mind. Only her unatural endurance allowing it to go this far.
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Lachesis[ST]
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The Rabble (Lorica, Ahkrum, Mistalee, Throatslitter)

Everything devolves into the depths of madness, as is always the case when the true fury of battle erupts. Your best laid plans lay shattered on the ground, and your enemies prove to be far more angerous than they had appeared at the outset. It doesn't matter, though, in the end. It was never going to end any other way than this; your enemies were doomed to die as soon as their ultimate goal was made clear. Either here, or before they arrived at the capitol city. Either way, they would never have succeeded once the jig was, effectively, up.

Blood and chips of bone fly as you savagely attack your foe, Ahkrum, but even as quickly as you strike, the blows do not have any immediate effect. Despite your best efforts, the beasts wounds heal simply too quickly for even your fevered attack and, worse, this enemy isn't like any of the others you have fought on this journey. It knows very well what is attacking it and, rather than feel helpless against the onslaught from a creature too small to accurately track, it begins to strike at itself with the sure knowledge that any wounds it delivers to itself, painful though they may be, will simply heal. The beast manages to deliver a fearsome blow to you, and it is only by some miracle that you are not killed as claws punch through your flesh. Maybe it is just the Gods smiling upon you, or some other entity; the moment the blow lands, one of Mistalee's arrows strikes.

The archer knows exactly what she is seeking to stop, and as soon as that quarrel strikes your opponent, its healing factor suddenly fails it. Suddenly, you are tearing through flesh that is no longer healing anywhere near quickly enough. Your small weapons are now delivering damage the beast cannot cope with, and it isn't very long before it goes down, refusing to die despite the brutality it faces.

A streak of rage, pulsing with a corrupt power streaks past you. Lorica is focused with a single mindedness that is terrifying to behold. The first werewolf she simply bypasses; afterall, Ahrkrum is enjoying himself despite everything and there are plenty of targets to go around. Instead, she reaches one of the Al'shari, and goes in for the kill with a quick, quiet efficiency. Rather than avoiding the incoming blow, you step into it and, inm the process, trap the weapon the saurian is holding. But you didn't count on the fact that the Al'shari do not care over much for a single weapon - that is why they carry more than a single weapon with thim, one hin one hand and several clutched behind the bucklers they all carry. Rather than try to draw the weapon free, the beast leaves it in you and quickly snatches another spear from the other hand.

You manage to step forward and get the chain around the saurian's neck, but even as you do, even as you begin to crush his neck, he drives another spear into you. At such close range, there is no way he can miss hitting you in some fashion, and this one is driven deep into your right thigh, even as his neck snaps, thel ght in his eyes going flat.

You rush on the fallen werewolf as it is getting up, but your are hampered by a stick jutting from your leg. An arrow flits just above your shoulder as you close to engage, the fletching brushing your ears before the blunt headed arrow strikes its mark. Immediately, the regenerative ability of the wolf slows, and then you are on it. It is probably for the best that the obscuring bank of black fog hides the fate of the werewolf; despite the fact that you are concealed, bits fly into the air and the beast has only enough to for a final, frantic howl of negation before it is all over.

The Cunein Al'shari intercepts the last of the Na'hill Al'shari in the process of trying to get into the wagon they had protected al this way, and the saurian dies to a spear through the back of its head with a limited amount of fuss. Unlike the others, it was trying to access the weapon they had intended to use on Norwood as a whole. It has failed.

The Worst Of It (Kalim, Shirine, Mistalee, Zilyana, Tyrist)

Ailish laughs in your face as she closes with you, Shirine. Blades clash as, despite the fact you have pushed yourself to nearly the limit of your abilities, your weapons can find no flesh to strike. The woman moves with seemingly supernatural speed. One of the arrows carried by the elven noblewoman strikes her, too, but it doesn't do anything immediately obvious. The Na'hill al'kaef is not slowed in the slightest, and she redoubles her efforts to lay you by your heels. The woman is exceptionally skilled with her blades, an is a match for you in every way in this regard. You manage to strike her once with your weapons, but the only result is a shattering sound as part of her armor breaks under the blow. The breaking itself seems to absorb most of the force of the impact, for the woman doesn't even appear to notice.

You probably should have continued pressing the offense, though, Shirine. Instead, you toss your weapons aside and step forward to grapple with your foe. Even as you call upon other abilities, you realize the depth of your mistake immediately. You are barely half a step into your unarmed attack when she drives a blade through your armor with staggering force, through a shoulder. But you were ready and willing to take this punishment in order to achieve your goal. You attempt to grapple with her, drawing upon other abilities-

-And are immediately thrown off, slammed into the dirt of the forest floor powerfully enough to drive the breath from your lungs. [Unarmed: Journeyman/Athletics: Journeyman are insufficient to this task.] In a way, this serves as a fine diversion for Kalim - you had requested that he suppress her, but in truth you have done the service for him.

Kalim moves like quicksilver, like greased lightning. You are nowhere near as skilled as Shirine is with the weapon in your hands, but that doesn't matter; unlike Shirine, you are faster than the Na'hill woman is. Even so, she manages to turn your first blow aside, and then the second, and then the third. A shattering sound, as of glass breaking, reveals shards of armor falling away from her torso, a blow you have struck through her defenses. She manages to parry a further blow before you strike her with righteous rage, several blows seeming to connect at once. You actually manage to knock her from her feet, sending her flying several paces to land in a heap that quickly gets up, blood leaking from a variety of deep wounds you have just dealt her. But Ailish doesn't go down even so. She weaves drunkenly, as though something has been rattled in her head.

The shaman has not been idle, of course, and is already turning to lend aide to those he can. Drained from his previous assault, he has regained enough of his strength to assist the Na'hill Al'kaef at the very least. The Al'shari is just beginning to work his magic when everything seems to twist, and suddenly the ground erupts in roots. Zilyana stands with an arm outstretched, fingers splayed - blood runs down her face from her own fighting. The roots immediately wrap themselves around the shaman, and begin to smoulder as that worthy attempts to free himself from the sanre.

"Not today," she whispers and jerks her hand back. The might of the trees of the forest is often misrepresented; roots that could break stone and move mountains drew the shaman into the earth with a terrible shriek, cut off abruptly and drowned by snapping bone and wood.

Everyone

The Na'hill chief stares at your with thunderstruck eyes, blood dripping from wounds that had been delivered from her. She has lost one of her knives, which lays somewhere within the hollow, and hold the other before her as if she could possibly stave off the entire lot of you with that lone blade.

Tyrist stand from where he had been crouched, winded from the burst of power he had enacted to save the lives of his companions. "And so the whole plot fails." He draws his short sword from the hip, and shakes his head. "All of this because of you and your allies in Balefire, but it all boils down to this. Where is the weapon? In the wagon?"

She spits at all of you, regaining some of her composure. "If I don't tell you, what are you going to do?" she spat in defiance. The best she could hope for was a qick, clean execution here and now. But she had to know that it asn't going to work out that way.

"I would be more interested in knowning whom it was that set all of this up. Surely it wasn't the Prince, but I am sure than you know.

You have defeated the enemy and capture the weapon. What do you do?

OOC
 
The final ST post for ItD will be posted on Saturday, May 27th This final post will include response to any questions you have for the NPCs and fro the enemy, plus any suggestions for what is to be done in addition to the epilogue of the event.
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Ahkrum
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The world was so much bigger to Ahkrum, normally small or mundane things were completely different to his perspective. The wold-creature was tough, it continued healing despite his best efforts, the poison in his blade was not effective enough to cause it any ill sensation-- maybe being ignored completely by this healing. It was frustrating, and each healed strike just made the fae even more furious. When the beast he attacked the hide of from its own hide finally managed to strike him, much like many other things in this world, the strike was much bigger to him.

It was like several large spears piercing him, raking him, knocking him aside. His eyes went wide under his hood as he felt the pain in his teeth and he began to fly from the beast's form. It recoiled, something he barely registered, but he was fortunately already lost in rage, and all that did in his loss of clarity was stun him. Oh, its effects would be felt in later, but it was for that future that Ahkrum had to punish the were doubly.

Once again Evilstitch and Pixie Eater soared through the air to bite into the flesh of the beast past its fur, and with a strong pull the tiny berserker returned to his furious strikes with a completely newfound security with each strike. The wounds were no longer healing, sticking behind with each of his monstrous blows. He dug his blades deeper than before, he took his time, he put extra force into that beast's hide, its neck, its face. Was it dead? Was it not? did it matter? He blindly continued striking at that one enemy, infuriated by all the frustration it had put him through, the damage it had dealt, each tinge of pain from the wounds it left in him, big and obvious to his size, just fueling more hatred for the beast until at last the battle was over.

"Ahkrum stand!" The fae roared through pants of rage. Eventually he took a moment to examine the battlefield, done as the combat was, the rest turning their attention to the final one standing. He was still enraged, lost in it. Perhaps that rage was the only thing keeping him standing, and he had no idea how much longer that would last, only that when it finished, he would not be standing. Maybe he would die, maybe he would live, but he needed to keep moving, he needed to keep acting, because if he stayed still for too long then he knew it was just going to catch up to him much quicker.

There was one left, brandishing a knife like it would do any good-- and maybe if desperate enough it could, one way or another leading to a quick death. Ahkrum rushed forward and leapt at the hand holding the blade, seeking to pull the Na'hill to the ground with his strength, and holding onto her with Pixie Eater while raking Evilstitch through her flesh. He hoped that if he could bring the weapon deep enough and strong enough into her that she would see something horrible enough to make her will buckle for them. He was blinded by rage and desperate to get something done before he lost it, maybe it was a good idea, perhaps not, but he was paying little thought to thinking things through, "Tell Force everything and Ahkrum stops!"

ooc
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Shirine
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Shirine got up as she felt the pain. Damn she had made a mistake. Her brain had really been messed with.... she needed to work on that it was too much a weakness versus mages. Sure she hadn't controlled her, but making her get made and screw up was bad. "Damn I hate things that **** with my mind. Stupid rookie mistake... well at least she is dead."

She made sure the woman was dead she had been surprisingly resilient and weirder things had happened around Shirine. Still soon the fight was done and they had the device. Shirine came over and looked at it. "Well then how is the best way to destroy this thing. Can we drop it in some lava or something once we break it up? Want to make sure this thing is destroyed for good.

Oh yeah Throatslitter I got my men coming. A hundred strong. We got a lot to clean up down there. Even with your people taking care of things I imagine a bit of help wouldn't be a bad thing. Mind if I help you clean up everything down there. I want to make sure we clean up all evidence of this stuff and helping you clean up a few enemies of yours probably wouldn't be bad. My men could probably use the experience of fighting with you people too."


Shirine was mainly doing this as she wanted to watch all the related items to this weapon being destroyed and it was true her men could use some good fighting experience. Throatslitter's people were different and a good warrior could learn a lot from different types of fighters. She really wanted to forge her men into a true elite group. So far they were just good fighters for the most part with a few veterans.
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Lorica
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There was the rusty tang of blood in her mouth. Whether it was hers or the werewolve's was impossible to tell. She ran her tongue over her teeth and spat out a wad of red phlegm, stumbling away from the corpse. "Have the good sense to know when to die," she said to what little remained of the lycanthrope. It was a common misconception that it was impossible to kill such a creature without silver. That wasn't true; you simply had to cut them apart faster than they could regenerate. Eventually whatever foul source of life that powered them would reach its limit; until then it was a test of endurance.

Lorica had weathered that test and survived. Her clothes were sodden with blood and splattered with chunks of gore. There were slash marks across her clothes from the werewolve's claws, but the Wellspring had healed the flesh underneath already. She yanked out the spears trapped in her side and thigh, allowing the font of life energy to get to work on those wounds as well. It left her feeling drained, like every drop of energy had been drained away. Her whole body ached, but pulling a red kukri off of her belt reduced the pain to a manageable level. She limped down into the hollow, eying the fate of the rest of their enemies.

All that remained was the ringleader, who turned out to be the woman they'd discovered at the fort earlier. The Keeper gave her a long look. "Kill her. Make sure it takes this time. If you need information from her first, flay a finger or two. That should loosen her lips." Lorica glared at the Na'hill chief. "Should've run when you had the chance, bitch. If no one else here has the guts to slit your throat I'd be happy to do so. I don't really care who betrayed that bed-wetter of a Prince. I'd do it just for fun."

"As for the weapon, destroy it. Your engineers can do that much, right? I'm not letting anyone leave here with that thing. I'd trash it myself if I didn't think it'd blow up on me."
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Lachesis[ST]
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Ailish remained silent, to questions and to comments. She had lost the stunned look in her eyes, and replaced it with insolence and defiance. Here was one that would not die begging, and would not yield an inch. It was only when Ahkrum tored across the field of corpses and drug her down, that Throatslitter, turned to her, and nodded to Lorica. "I seriously doubt we will have to worry about the traitor. If I were the enemy, I would erase every trace of this disaster, make it as though nothing had ever happened." He gave a coarse laugh. "Of course, we will know it happened. It will be fun to taunt the Marquis with this failure, at some later point in time."

Ailish spat at him as he approached, hefting one of his spears. She lay on the ground, pinned by the Fae - a measure of how drained she was that something as small could hold her down. "The end of the line, Na'hill. It would be too much to hope that your clan shatters after this setback." With a feral grin, he drove the black-tipped spear into the womans chest so hard the point shattered on the hard ground, and then twisted the thing viciously. Despite herself, she gave a mewl of pain...and then went limp.

Tyrist, meanwhile, had gone to the wagon and thrown back the cover. For a weapon of such terrible purpose, it looked almost...ordinary. A cylinder with a pointed, almost artistic cap on it, and a tripod of legs, laying on its side in the wagon. Arcane lines covered the thing, and despite its inactivity, it seemed to radiate a sense of menace that was baffling. "I am sure one of the engineers with us can make this thing inoperable, or incapable of being activated. And then we can destroy the thing properly, down to its basest components."

"It is a thing that should never have existed." Throatslitter eyed the thing, and shook his head. "It should have remained in the distant past, where it belonged." He turned and faced Shirine. "Bring your men. We can deal with The Cellar. I do not think our friends here will appreciate it, but here shall not be a soul left alive with the knowledge of this weapon and its making, nor one scrap of evidence of its existence. We might go and hunt down the remnants of the Na'hill, as well, while we're at it." He gave the werefeline a wide grin. "Shall we?"

Zilyana came up alongside Lorica, face unreadable. "Let us oversee the end of this thing. And the end of all of this."




Impossible. He could not believe that the ploy had failed. It was both frustrating and frightening; after all, he was wedded to an enemy of the state, and that enemy had proven their capacity for brutality more than once. Most recently, of course, was the Taming, a brutal affair that he had felt Norwood could use, guided in the appropriate manner. To call him a traitor was only half true.

He had meant to use Balefire to cleanse Norwood of weakness, but those dreams would have to be put on a shelf for later, now. Now he needed to make sure to cover his tracks, to make sure nothing could link him to these events. Perhaps he could pin it all on the young prince, fool that he was? Yes, he was certain there was a way he could manage this.

The man turned from the desk in his chamber, and stopped dead. An apparition stoodi n the doorway, a door he had not heard open. The creature was as thin and bony as a skeleton, flesh stretched tight over those bones. Overlarge eyes were little more than pools of shadows in the murky dimness of the halls. "You failed usss," it said, a voice like crumpling paper. It took a single step into the room, into his room, with a very unpleasant smile on its lips, the tips of fangs just exposed from upper and lower lips. "The Marquis is displeased. A punishment is in order."

"You can't do anything to me," the man growled, but a faint trembling to his words betrayed his fear. "I am still useful to Balefire, damn you. You'll have to look elsewhere to satisfy your thirst for assigning blame."

"All are replaceable. Even you. Your services are no longer required," it said, and then opened its mouht wide, shrieking in such a high pitch that to all but those with the right range of hearing, it seemed silent. The man froze, paralyzed where he was, unable to do anything about the ghastly death that walked at a leisurely pace towards him.

OOC
 
Rewards for this event will be slightly delayed, as they are still in the process of being worked on. I greatly appreciate everyone participating and staying on through the nightmare that was Into the Depths, and hope you enjoyed yourselves as much as was possible through this. When the rewards are completed, there will be a claim thread in the IC activites section, as per protocol.
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