Blue Firebird

Seresse parries the creature's clumsy attack, her sword singing with the impact. She looks down at the beast down mingled disgust and pity. The necromantic energies holding its body together and binding it to attack are failing, like a cord stretched to its breaking point—only to snap when Celeg delivers the killing blow. Seresse watches the beast fall with contempt. She wants more. Glancing to the yawning darkness of the mine, she knows more are coming. Seresse feels their presence, like cold drafts issuing up from deep underground. A part of her wants to wait, to face them in bloody, glorious hatred made manifest. Without realizing it, she takes several steps away from the platform, as if to intercept the approaching monsters. Or join them in the fetid darkness of their subterranean tomb....

Defense against the Dark (Rabbit) Arts!

F.I.G.H.T.

Seresse spares a glance toward her companion. One jackalope lunges, intending to gore her, and she parries the blow with the clattering ring of metal against bone. Spinning gracefully with the momentum, the elf scores a cut along the beast's hide. She draws back and raises her blade, dark ichor sizzling upon the glowing metal. "Celeg, I think we can handle them, but if the worst...take my sword and protect them. Agreed?" Seresse springs lightly to his side, brandishing her sword, prepared to do whatever it takes. "Would you prefer the platform?"

Lllllllleeeeeeeet's get ready to... checks dice ... edit: RRRUMBLLLLLLLLE!

This is my Fight roll.

Seresse wavers, torn between valor and pragmatism. She looks at Gert with pleading eyes, her decision made. While her own safety means nothing, seeing the others in danger is a wound that pierces more deeply than any blade or arrow. The sword hilt creaks in her fingers as she tightens her grip. Melisara's eyes widen, deep and blue and lit with terror, as spectral energies coil about her hands. "I'm sorry, Gert!" Seresse springs from the platform and lands in a nimble crouch, cloak fluttering softly down behind her. Ghostly hands reaching, clawing, leeching the warmth from her soft skin. The Elf charges into the fray, sword ablaze, desperately crashing into the monsters' ranks. "Go!" Seresse runs, screaming, tearing Melisara away from the cursed thing. "Hurry! Get out, Meli—!" She points frantically back at Gert and the platform before her sword clashes with the beast's antlers. Metal on bone rings in a symphony of life-or-death battle! "Get on the platform! Hurry!"

Seresse brings up the rearguard, fighting the urge to turn and face—join?—face the things behind them. She stops at the platform and turns, drawing her sword again. "I am sorry about the horns, Aron. Perhaps I can get you some...." But her voice is distant, her will not entirely her own. With a hiss of effort, the Elf pivots and joins them in heading for the exit platform. "It seems Orchibank the Old was onto something."

Athletics roll! (Never you mind the timestamp!)

🎵 Ah, push it! P-push it real good! 🎶

Seresse nods, sheathing her blade. "Thanks to your bravery." She looks at the warrior for a long moment. "We are lucky it is so." The sound of other things crawling up from the abyss draws her attention. "That luck may not hold long. Let's be hasty." But the Elf does not turn to flee. Instead, she runs to the dire rabbit's carcass and sets her shoulder against it, straining, her shoes scraping on the stone.

Seresse glanced sidelong at Gert before raising her sword above her head. The blade shines with a silvery-blue light, like the ray of a star taken the form of a single leaf upon the branch held aloft. The pallor it casts upon her features makes the Elf seem ghostly, a memory given shape, or perhaps a shade of the past. But she is no memory, and the strength of her sword-arm is more than just a phantom. Desperation drives her to hew the foul beast, hoping to separate its head from its neck. The sound of another menace fuels her desperation, and the others are now trapped. If swords won't work, she has only one other option. The blade bites deep, cleaving undead sinew, bone, and tendon, leaving naught but scraps of flesh holding the skull to the neck. "Hrmph." Seresse flicks her blade to clear of it of the thing's black blood.

Duck season! I'm going to try something: hitting it really hard! It's bold, it's new, but it might just win us this fight...

"Ai!" Seresse cries out as the monster turns its hideous appetite for warm flesh and blood on Celeg! Unwilling to watch it happen, she charges the beast with a war cry, her sword glinting with frosty light as she drives it into the beast's hide.

Slow and undeady wins the race, Br'er Rabbit!

Burn Roll Notice.

"I'm fine." Her voice betrays a hint of excitement for just a moment. The magical interaction provokes her curiosity, and with it, the most frightening monster of all: hope. If the powers once worked here governed the undead, perhaps they had some way to reverse that condition. Foolishness, Seresse. Foolishness. You know better than this. "I think that they did. Perhaps due to my...mm, kinship with the things they apparently raised here. I am alright, thank you." She bows her head politely. "Perhaps our expert would know best. Gert?" The Elf studies her for a long moment. She knows too well the price of curiosity unchecked. Seresse opens her mouth to ask if Gert has anyone to bear the burden of discovery for her, as Seresse once did for— Forget it. Just don't let it happen. "Be careful," is all she can muster. Seresse sweeps up her blade and meets Celeg's gaze. Hers lacks fear—not out of resolve, but simply a lack of care. Bodily harm means little as a threat to Seresse. She's already dead, after all. Yet, the thought of a similar fate for the others is what tightens the grip on her sword-hilt. Following his lead, she melts back into the shadows, becoming as inky and ethereal as they are. The soft blue glow of her irises remains for a time. The Elf watches him draw out their hulking enemy, despite his obvious fear. She can only bear to watch for so long. Then she breaks from the shadows, an umbral figure gliding through the tunnel. Materializing at his side with her sword in hand, throws back her hood, spilling silvery-white locks. "Celeg, if it overmatches us, take my sword and get them out." Curious in a way that might make Gert proud, Seresse doesn't attack, but instead stands before the creature, wondering if it will see her as kindred...or competition.

Seresse winces as the lights filled her eyes with red haze. Pull back! She should pull back. So why does she not let go? Instinct. Compulsion. Something about her broken nature. As her cloak billows in the hot air currents, Seresse presses her hand into the stone. I will not let go. I will not! The Elf hisses through her teeth as she calls up magic, letting it wend its way from her feet up through her arm, pouring it into the stone.

"A feather fall spell, maybe, but that wouldn't help us get back up." Seresse's attention remains on the glowing rocks. She shares Celeg's curiosity. Though she also trusts Gert's judgment, perhaps compelled by something more than just curiosity, the Elf walks to the wall and puts her hand on one of the rocks, as if to tear it free.

The stoic Elf stirs at the mention of necromancy. Infernal or shadowed powers...if the stories were true, what a lovely choice offered them. "Do you think that is what happened here? Dwarves and...necromancers?" Seresse shivers. She knows full well the consequences of delving too greedily and too deep into the realms of the shades and undying. Hefting her sword, Seresse whispers an elven prayer—not that any of those gods were listening, surely. "These are not magic, but it sounds as if they interact with it?"

Iris Summerdew HP 20/20 • Focus Points 1/1 • Hero Points 1 Iris devours the cheese, her eyes brightening with delight. "Mm, the perfect blend..." she says between mouthfuls, "...of sharpness and flavor. Delicious!" As she finishes the remaining bites, her mask settles in once more. Brushing crumbs of cheese off of her robe, she gives Hrotha a blank look. "To answer your question: it is not common. I believe that my people and Orcish kind spare little good will for one another." She shrugs and moves into the northern hall, though finds it disappointingly bare of answers. The Elf examines each of the paintings, hoping perhaps to find a clue. "That alone is reason enough to do it. I'm afraid kindness isn't my strong suit." At the doorway, she pauses and speaks back over her shoulder. "I am glad that you enjoyed the cheese, Hrotha." OOC -

Iris Summerdew HP 20/20 • Focus Points 1/1 • Hero Points 1 "I see. How disappointing, although not unexpected. I have traveled in many human lands where this is so." Iris notes the girl's elven tongue, and her grace, and makes a note to remember. It seems Lady Myrthe has history with this group, and perhaps that is normal. There is an awkwardness to these interactions that even Iris can feel. No matter. The swiftness with which she draws her blades denotes a skilled hand. She may be good with traps and other deft-handed pursuits. "Fleeting, perhaps, but the cycle remains unchanged. Years pass them by quickly; faster still at the end of a blade." "I speak Orcish, yes." Iris turns and leans back against the door, spreading her slender arms across it. She tilts her head curiously toward Hrotha. "I thought a familiar tongue would lighten your anxiety. Does it not?" Watching Hrotha pace, Iris rummages around in her pack and produces a small wedge of magically-preserved cheese. "Our lives do not appear to be in immediate danger. Will food help? This cheese is quite good, I'm told." She offers some to the half-Orc woman.

Iris Summerdew HP 20/20 • Focus Points 1/1 • Hero Points 1 Iris stares intently at the half-Orc woman, not in challenge but curiosity. Her part in the battle is evident in blood and grime, but as rough as she looks, Iris suspects her opponents fared worse still. There is a curious tenderness in the way Hrotha tends to Armen. "A healing touch?" she says softly. "Unusual, yet interesting." "A blessing on you and yours," Iris says in Orcish, and bows lightly, surprising even herself. Iris Summerdew HP 20/20 • Focus Points 1/1 • Hero Points 1 Iris shrugs. "Myrthe? I suspect that is in short supply here." Did she make a joke or is that simply the way her mind works? The formality feels strange; Iris has never done anything to deserve noble entitlement. "So be it," she says, but whether it's her thinking aloud or answering Myrthe's question remains to be seen. "Going out alone seems likely to end in death. It seems we are witness to a coup." The Elf takes off her badge and turns it over in delicate hands. "All for this, strange chance though it is." OOC -

Iris Summerdew HP 20/20 • Focus Points 1/1 • Hero Points 1 One moment, intense battle fills the hall with the clash and clamor of people killing one another. Her host, the Marquess Tanasha Starborne, eyes wide as betrayal rears its many heads like a devouring hydra, swallowing up the din in its fury. Silence. The steady thump of her heart. Sound rushes back in like a tidal wave: screams, clanging metal, sizzling magic. Fireworks fill the air with glowing bursts of color. The Marquess turns her arcane wrath upon the traitors. Iris calmly points her staff at one Ulfen warrior rushing toward her with his sword. "Betrayal is a storm that consumes all." A crackling sphere like ball lightning flashes to life at the end of her staff. "Those who raise their swords highest call down its greatest wrath." The warrior springs at her with a shout. A surging wind about the electric sphere billows the Elf's robes and floats her hair. Iris sends forth the arcane tempest. A flash. The treasonous warrior vanishes as lightning ionizes his form, armor and all. Thunder follows, deafening, crushing all sound in its terrible roar as white fills her vision. The tidal storm sweeps away thought and feeling for a long moment. Then.... * * * "Curious," the Elf murmurs. If she is shocked by the sudden transition, her tone suggests otherwise. Iris processes the events in an instant, flashes of sensation and sights blending into a cacophony of remembrance. As the familiar melts away into the new surroundings, she takes stock of her new situation. These people are strangers to her; perhaps one or two she saw at the Gala, but their names and faces are lost on the Elf. She realizes that it is dark, and that most of them cannot see once the light fades, but for the woman with Orcish blood. The other, in the hood, spoke in her native tongue. With a slight dip of her head, she responds in kind: "Le suilon." To the others, she ponders their introductions and considers one of her own. That seems the most optimal course. "Irinesse Summerdew. You may call me 'Iris' if you so wish." She bows politely, if stiffly, as if recalling the gesture from a distant memory. "I am afraid that I lack the answers to your questions. This was not my magic." The questioning gentlemanly one raises a light in the room by which the others can see, sparing her the effort. Ever a practical one, Iris walks to the northern door and presses her long ear to it. OOC If she hears nothing, she's going to open it up and go through!

Seresse takes up her sword and considers whether or not it might tear through the boards—or whatever dangers lie beyond. "Calma," she whispers, and the blade glows softly with a silvery-blue light. While it will not light the way as would a torch, to Seresse it is still a comfort down here in the deep dark. More and more, this reminds her of a situation that left her life forever changed...or ended, depending on how one sees it. She chose sacrifice, rather than accept loss. Not a choice she would have put upon these brave souls, who simply want to help. "Celeg. I see well in the dark. Please allow me to guide you. I would feel better if we meet with danger that danger meets first with my sword-point."