Mine! All Mine!

[Prophet]

60th of Spring
7th Bell

Drykas Players :

Here is a description of the mine. http://www.mizahar.com/forums/post486567.html#p486567

The mud was flying especially slow today. Even the slavers were tired of the oppressive weather and the endless list of tasks and chores. It was then when Allister walked out of his tent. His normal entourage was not with him today. The man was leading a slaver out at the tip of his long dagger. The blade was pointed at the young man’s chin but amidst the brisk walk of two men on opposite ends of a dagger were the conflicting stares. The younger man was as pale as a corpse and so afraid of his superior that his eyeballs were shaking. Allister was quite the opposite. The calm demeanor was gone and a rage filled his face that seemed to manifest as a scream that raced through his veins and caused his pulse to be visible on the man’s forehead.

“Bafoon!” Allister spat. He flicked his wrist which caused the blade to swivel in a strange arc towards the slaver’s face. It was an easily dodged move but one that was right out of the boss’s favorite playbook. The slaver jerked his head back and to the side but it moved his center of gravity away from the stability of his feet. Allister took full advantage with a sly grin and snapped his left foot out in a low sweep. His boot kicked the ankle of the slaver with just enough force to upset the man’s balance completely. The younger man landed on his rump and turned to crawl or run away but was stopped immediately. Allister stomped down on the man’s Achilles heel which caused him to let out a scream. His chances of escape were slim to begin with but now he was done for. The constable stalked along the body of his fallen employee in plain view of the entire camp as his tent sat up towards the trees on the only bit of ground that had any elevation for miles. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Allister bent near to the earth with a slight squat, dagger still in hand as he lingered near the man’s head. His hand flicked out with the blade once more and carved a small slice into the young man’s cheek. All assembled would think that he had lost an ear but the small incision told otherwise. Allister moved with the slaver as he continued to crawl away from the tent. Whatever was up there was worth the effort, apparently. Allister cut him again on the arm and again the man let out a cry of immense pain. The sweat on Allister’s forehead ran into his brow and dripped slowly into his eyes. The dark-haired man stood and wiped the back of his right hand to clear the stingy liquid. When he shook it out to his side, the red veins on the back of his hand became visible. The boss motioned to several goons who had been standing in the shadows. “Bring it out here… it’s time these worthless fools realized who they’re dealing with…”

Allister sheathed his dagger and made several long strides which brought him over top of the slaver. He bent down and grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of the young man’s head and lifted him up in a slow yet powerful motion. Allister’s muscles bristled through his thin black shirt revealing that he had more than just power of position. The foreman jogged over from his horse and dropped a mighty blow to the gut of his prod. The big fist deflated the body so that between the foreman and Allister, they were able to drag him back up the hill. The goons had emerged from the tent with a strange looking chair…or table…hard to say exactly which piece of furniture it resembled more but it didn’t look natural. The dissident was tossed into the contraption and strapped down by his wrists, shoulders, thighs and ankles. Once this was accomplished, the foreman left to resume his duties with a disgusted look on his face. He was obviously opposed to such things but was either afraid of Allister or very well compensated to cooperate. The goons moved back to the shadows with sadistic looks of anticipation coupled with drool slipping from their open maws.

“Mr. Widowsong, please!!” The captive gasped. “I’ll pay you back three times what it’s worth! Ten!!!” PLe-aaaAAAHHAHHH!!” His words were cut short by his screams of agonizing pain as Allister began his show. The man had retrieved a straight razor from his belt and was carving off the man’s clothes with long, careful strokes that not only cut the material but opened up the flesh as well. After several chimes of tedious labor and ear-shattering screams, the man was naked aside from the material trapped underneath the restraints. Allister was studying him as if deciding how to landscape his yard, razor still in hand.

“Bring me some buckets.” He said this to his men standing up by the tent and then stepped forth. He winked at the man in the chair. “Let’s take your screaming down a bit.” He grabbed the man’s jaw at his sockets and squeezed until his mouth popped open. Allister was quick to grasp the lower jawbone and yank down leaving an audible pop. He had dislocated the man’s jaw and the fellow could only groan and wail in a strange call that was very similar to the ones heard several nights ago. The boss then made three quick cuts and severed most of the man’s tongue. He held up the chunk of meat then tossed it into the buckets that had been fetched. He winked again at his prey. “Now they’ll understand.” He took his razor and cut along the bottom left rib from the base of the sternum clear to the side of the slaver. This scream was almost identical in its howling sour notes from the ones that woke the caravans. Allister pulled the blade out slowly so that any who were close enough could see that he had sunk it into his victim several inches before pulling it along the bone. The wicked supervisor then dug his fingers into the wound causing more painful howling and wrapped his skilled digits around the rib. He yanked his hand up and along with a shower of red blood came a crack. Allister showed the man his own rib but he was half choking on his own blood amidst wailing. The boss was slightly upset by this and called for his stove to be brought out and fired.

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the camp. Mud, clay and brick flew from the base of a structure at the southeast end furthest from the command tent and bloody spectacle. The sound was louder than any thunder and the eruption was felt in the legs of all within the mine. As the debris cleared, several strange figures emerged. They were armed and while some looked stunned, others went right to work; the work of war.

Deathspark stepped through the hole he had made and had to shield his eyes. A slaver ran at the strange looking man with his scimitar raised but the Path Guardian was quick to respond. He drew his twin daggers and sliced the man four times before the striking arm could even be lowered. As the slaver turned in disbelief, he was stabbed through the neck and fell as the blade was removed. Sparrow came out and hurled a spear at another prod some fifteen feet away who was whipping his group. The shaft pierced his thigh through the center and brought him to the ground. The group of slaves turned and began attacking the man while others tried to break their restraints. Aris stood outside the hole and was trying to direct traffic. He knew some were fighters and others were healers. He was trying to group them together but he didn’t have the time.

These events set off a chain reaction through the entire mine. Some slaves cowered in fear while others rose up against their oppressors. Allister walked down a ways to study the situation. It took the space of a single tick for him to realize that his project may fail because of these invaders and his heart hardened. He walked back to his victim and punched his fist into the man’s chest. It took several tries but he was eventually able to wrap his hand around the beating heart…and then as he watched the howling man’s face, he ripped it out. Boss Man Widowsong ran into his tent and retrieved his rapier then motioned or his squad of goons to follow them into the fray. The foreman and his crew were busy fighting down escaping slaves as well as closing in on the new arrivals. Some of these men were on horseback and all of them armed. It soon became apparent that if the slaves were distracted with trying to remove their chains they would be knocked out while those attacking the slavers were being cut down.

Allister bit into the beating heart and sucked on the blood even as it ran down his hand and along his arm soaking his shirt. He had eight men with him and they walked in a steady line killing all in their path towards the location of the explosion. The entire time that they were marching, the dark-haired man with light eyes ate the human heart and grinned that smile…the one from the story of the old slaves. The smiling faces had returned.

[Waisana]

She'd just wanted to make sure that Deathspark was all right. He'd been the closest to the explosion after all so she'd expected him to have sustained some manner of injury. The fact the magic that had caused the explosion had come from him hadn't really crossed her mind. Of course he wouldn't have done something like that without having a fair idea what he was getting in to. She'd had a brief glimpse of his back through the clearing dust before the light hit her.

She couldn't remember how long it had been since she'd encountered natural light. Time in the tunnels was something of a mystery but it must have been at least a day, a day where she had spent most of her time in conditions of near complete darkness. Her response to the first contact with it was to stagger back as if struck by a physical blow, shielding her eyes and squinting as she tried to adjust. There was some manner of commotion, a fight by the sounds of it, only a few feet away and she was inclined to retreat back in to the safety of the darkness. Considering the grisly death she'd just seen Taggert experience, Waisana thought better of it and simply moved away from the sounds of the scuffle and blinked as rapidly as she could so that she'd be able to see. She heard Aris's voice and he came in to focus as he tried to organise everyone coming out of the newly formed voice. He was having trouble directing anything and given the chaos that had erupted, she wasn't surprised. There was the tang of freshly spilled blood and the stench of bowels that had loosened in death. Fighting was breaking out all around them and all the teen was aware of was that she wasn't cut out for this sort of thing and she wasn't the only one.

"Amunet!" she called the healer's name, even as she ran towards the distinctive redhead. She had to dodge back in to the relative safety of the bathhouse to reach her but when she found her, Waisana's hands fluttering backwards and forwards nervously as she tried to communicate with sign. Death. Fighting. Cannot stay. "We need to help people but we need somewhere safe first. That thing killed Taggert and could kill us too." Follow. Quickly. Run.

The young Drykas woman beckoned Amunet and made a grab for her arm as if about to drag her but aborted the gesture as she thought better of it. Instead, she tried to edge out in to the fighting, giving the clashing bodies as wide a berth as possible but trying to remain near to the Drykas party. She didn't want to lose sight of her allies, not in this strange place. There was a swathe of death moving towards them as men approached killing all in their path. They hadn't reached them yet but it was only a matter of time at the rate they were moving. She let out a little scream and backtracked, searching for Amunet's companionship in this dire situation because she didn't know what else to do. There were chained people, obviously keen to escape and fight against the men who were moving against the Drykas and so they might be the key to their survival.

"Amunet! Help!" she cried as she approached the place where the slaves were ripping at a bloody mess. With bile rising in her throat, she realised it had been a man and judging by the mess, they'd torn him apart while he was alive. Swallowing her feeling of nausea, she dug her hands in to the mess in search of a key to unfasten the bonds of the enslaved. Failing that, she would take whatever mining tool was handy and attempt to bash the chain apart with it, a foolish endeavour given that she wasn't strong enough to do much of anything although with the adrenaline pounding in her blood she just might be able to do something.

[Ixzo]

It was chaos. Something more than chaos, something the lioness couldn't immediately comprehend, but she didn't need to. She'd spent her life as a predator, so knowing her surroundings was little more than an instinct. Understanding them was a little more work. Reflective eyes flashed out of the opening as she took in the scene.

First the thick and sickening smell, it was impossible for her to differentiate. Sickness, death, blood, sweat, feces, all of the functions of suffering stung her nostrils, fighting past the thick aroma of smoke from the Reimancy explosion. An involuntary scowl was already setting on her mouth as Ixzo spread her bow across from her. The massive weapon was in place immediately, an oversized hand already reaching back for her four arrows.

Her ears picked up on wails of pain just as her eyes found the source. The surprised of the chained people, of their pain. Something inside her skipped a beat, and the scowl widened into a purr of satisfaction. The Lioness didn't need an explanation for the fight, her Myrian instincts had already joined in. Any fear was interpreted as excitement and her mouth started watering, in anticipation for the oncoming bloodbath as the world seemed to break around her. Adrenaline coursed through at the sight of the first blood, fresh prey. These strangers had begun to attack, attack them, attack their own. It didn't matter to them, just as it wouldn't matter to her.

Two long strides brought her forward, only a few feet behind Deathspark who was already set into action. Yet the lioness did not go further. Her attention was set on the bodies closest, unable to identify enemy and prey. They could only be one or the other, for her Pride was behind her, safe… for now. Darting but fluid motions brought her arrow back, and Ixzo sized up the advanced human closest to her. It would be nothing to aim at this length, even with her competency.

Yet she paused, watching as the strange pale man decimated his attacker with ease. She would not have to worry about him. Her aim shifted, letting the arrow fly just as she saw the length of her new target. A broad, muscled chest with one arm raised to strike. Strike with what? Strike whom? To the huntress, it didn't matter. The long bolt buried itself into the man's abdomen, spreading his crimson life force. The sickening and giddy feeling that grew into satisfaction warmed her finger tips just as her prey was struck with another weapon, a spear.

Switching her second arrow into place, Ixzo glanced back to Sparrow, who now was weaponless, still recovering from his pose to strike. And for the first time in the nearly chime it had taken the chaos to start, she remembered she was not alone. Aris caught her eye, signed something she didn't have time to understand. The huntress inside her begged her to ignore him, but as her silver gaze skitted between her company, she remembered why she was so quick to fight. For them. This thought, pierced through the instinct in her and sent her taking steps back, coming closer to the woman closest to her. Not lowering her bow, Ixzo glanced back at the opening, unsure of where the next attack may come, still she tried to get close to Waisana. There was no way the blonde was a fighter, she took the bravery of a different role, a caretaker, a fixer, a healer… She would need Ixzo, wouldn't she?

Scanning the area before her, Ixzo's eyes locked on a horrifying sight. The sharp blue eyes of one particular human, Allister, far enough back he was nearly difficult to see, but her feline eyes had little issue with the distance. Yet it was not his icy eyes that twisted her stomach, it was his bloodied mouth… Ixzo was never one to be against eating raw meat, but what he held was not normal, and he was human. Humans never ate their meat raw. She gave herself half a tick to pause, eyeing the strange lump that he chewed just in time to realize it was a heart.

A human heart.

Chaos reigned, but Ixzo remained calm for just a moment. She was far too familiar with the adrenaline of death to have it take control of her now. This man… he was eating a human heart. She knew it was wrong, something in her told her this wasn't good. But the Myrian only noted one thing about the event, he had already begun fighting. Nevermind the idea that this may be barbaric to the Drykas, it only told her that he was to be her most important target… yet not at the moment. He was no immediate threat to her, even if he was sickening. The immediate threat was the Pride of men who descended from him. They cut those in their way, not seeming to care who, even their own chained people. She didn't need to think it over before her aim was brought back up towards them.

Thankful for the distance, Ixzo steadied her hand, letting the flint of the arrow follow the top of the head of one of the men. She counted eight, their movements were so steady they became almost easy targets to pick off, barely moving from their position in line. Although, like prey, they might scatter as soon as she took the first one out.

The Drykas behind her were reason enough not to hesitate.

With the lithe and familiar twang, her second arrow flew. She had aimed to low and where the strong bolt was supposed to enter the neck of the closest man, instead it lodged itself into his shoulder. She did not wait for his reaction, her third arrow already in place. Once more she let it go, this time not bothering to aim. What a mistake. It flew far passed him, not even close enough to graze his ribs, as he jerked out of the way. She didn't account for his reaction to her previous arrow. One more…

The last arrow in her hand was flipped and the string pulled back with little hesitation. She gave herself one breath to aim and then let the arrow fly again, leaving her target to his broader chest rather than his neck or head this time. She may not kill him with this shot, as was preferable, but she would be surprised if he continued afterwards.

With no more arrows in her hands, Ixzo ducked into her bow quickly, securing it on her shoulder. Even though she was not as used to blades as her bow, it felt familiar to unhook her left tomahawk and the wicked curved blade on her right, bringing the weapons forward for those enemies closest to her. The roar the exploded from her pent up adrenaline was not nearly as deafening as it could have been in her lioness form. No ears would ring, but no one would miss it either.

The form closest to her was the bound woman from before. The thick wave of braided brown hair flashed in her vision and while Ixzo did not know this stranger nearly as well as Jasmine or Waisana, the few Drykas she knew or was friends with, she automatically moved towards her. Maybe it was the obvious strength and dexterity that drew her, this woman would not cower. She would make an excellent hunting partner, especially with her bow.

Wordlessly, she fell into step beside her. One large paw lightly brushed the woman's arm, then extended towards the two people coming towards them. They were not bound, and relatively healthy, bearing sharp blades that Ixzo didn't particularly like. This woman, who so clearly was not a foreigner to the fight might understand. With her hands full, she could not sign, instead she let a low growl of thickly accented Pavi loose to share her thoughts.

"I take left, you the right?" The stream of Pavi left her mouth, seeing the two figures nearing two meters away. The one on the left paused, breaking her stride for only a second in order to push a bound human, which Ixzo's brain finally provided her with the name, a slave, down, before continuing. These humans had spotted her and Merevaika too, and Ixzo found she was not the only one thirsty for a fight.

She was going to enjoy this.

oocEh, sorry, I'll make it shorter from here on out.

Myrian | Pavi "Speech" Sign | Common | PC/NPC "Speech" Sign

[Amunet]

The sound of dropping debris first hit her ears as she wondered when she should open her eyes. Hesitantly she lifted her head and cautiously opened her eyes to the stream of light that came through the now significant hole. The shapes were vague and surreal. In those few ticks the smoke, dust, jagged rocks and streaming light were oddly beautiful as the young lady captured those details before rising completely up and helping Evain to her feet. Waisana and herself seemed to be of the same mind as both of their eyes were on that pasty white scared back of Deathspark. Her hand beckoned Evain to stick behind her as she moved forward carefully.

In the next tick all kinds of hell broke loose as the noise from outside the hole permeated her senses. Deathspark disappeared through the opening as did Sparrow and the other more combative members of their party. Next thing she knew Waisana was quickly signing to her they had to move quickly. The red head beckoned for Evain to follow her but rather she did or not was unclear as she stepped into view of the scene of carnage before her. It almost made her whole being gasp at the enormity of suffering that poured from the expanse of mud and misery she saw. It stunned her into place for what seemed like forever. It was an impossible amount of suffering. “Rak’keli, what do I do?” She said to no one in particular. There was a little urge in her mind ‘only what you can’. The girl wasnt sure if it was the Goddess voice her her perception of the Goddess's voice but the feel of it more or less translated into those words. 'do what you can'. it made little to no sense as she followed Waisana. The smell was nothing compared to that wall of suffering as she looked around for a tick or two. Why did people do this to each other? This was insupportable and absolutely a token of the failure of what it was to be human. Her definitions of humanity shattering and rebuilding in the ticks it took to scurry out of the way of this or that.

Waisana’s voice cut through the fog of that wall of misery that hit her like a ton of bricks. Of course the slaves would be desperate to get out of this situation. She picked up a hammer and a chisel on her way to Waisana as she rummaged a victimized slaver of the result of what suffering does to the mind of sentients as it rendered them down to the most savage parts possible. She looked behind her to see if Evain followed as she knew Drykas were stronger together and stuck to Waisana like glue. Her small size used to advantage. The girl looked up and past the slaves.

“We need a spot a bit out of the way. “ She pointed to a ‘shelf’ up the way that could be defensible. She moved forward as she tried to block out the suffering and dieing as she came up to the first cowing slave. “Be at peace” She said in soft common as she tried to set the chisel to the base of the rusted chain. The girl has seen her father do this many times as she didn’t have a lot of time to practice swinging the hammer with a careful swing. Father had said that when you strike the chisel to strike with a certainty. It didn’t have to be hard but it had to be sure. She was darn sure she wanted to end as much suffering as she could. The hammer came down on the chisel that had to be repeated four more times to get through the link of chain while Waisana rummaged for the key. It was inefficient, but it was something. She thought about it for a tick or two as she chiseled carefully and with certainty at the link to break it, maybe she should pick her father's hammer back up. Metaphorically picking back up where he left off. Maybe, just maybe. The musing was short lived as she refocused on the situation the next tick.

“There is a shelf up a head that is defensible to triage our situation. “ The red head said to Waisana in Pavi and with sign. She also needed time to try that strange magic to see if she can find a better way out and gather as many of these slaves as she could. To that she turned to the slave she was trying to chisel the links broken. “If you want out and want to live, come with us. “ Her hand would land on the muddy dirty shoulder as the mark on her face blazed in elegant opal shimmers providing a relief of discomfort and uplifting them, giving hope. There is a subtle shift to the eyes when the healing is felt. The little Drykas healer nodded to the slave and motioned forward.

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

Merevaika opened her eyes to the scene of slaves and blood. The noise of the explosion rung through her ears, dirt and dust dislodged by it stung her eyes and the rest of her senses exploded with the fresh air and sunlight. Light... what a strange feeling for the sun to be on her face. After the caves and their tight spaces, stepping out was a desperate relief. A little bit of a shock, her senses overpowered, but Merevaika adjusted quickly, forcing herself not to care. She took in a deep breath, sucking in the fresh air, then snapped her eyes on the scene, already swinging out her bow. A fight, finally. This, at least, wasn't hard to understand. Shoot anything that attacked her.

Her arrow met the bow with purpose, arm muscles tensing as she drew back the bowstring. It glided softly, her breath steadying despite the chaos around. Hair invaded her view as she moved out from behind the pale man, but with a directed breath, she pushed it away. She picked out one from the many, a larger man, a larger target, and lined up her shot. With a sharp exhale, she let the arrow fly through the air.

Whether it hit or not, she didn't know. She had stopped looking, already snatching her next arrow. The sharp point brushed against her hand as she settled it into place, smiling at the deadliness. She scrambled further to the side, keeping an eye on the closet incomers. An arrow whizzed past her, but from their side, not from their enemies. Merevaika turned her head slightly, watching the dark skinned huntress pick out her prey. She spotted them quickly, the group moving slowly towards them. The huntress had a good eye.

The string on her bow was pulled back without struggle, grazing her cheek before she lined up the shot, aiming towards the other end. His head - a small target, but a deadly one. Without a thought, she watched the arrow leave her bow, heading in the right direction. Another was notched, her breath heavier, but still controlled. For a second, she even closed her eyes, but then snapped them open again, feeling adrenaline rush through her. Then she came up with an ever better plan than aiming at the critical spots. If she stopped them, they couldn't fight, they would be easier targets. Before she released the arrow, she shifted it down, hoping a hit to the chest or stomach would render him immobile - or immobile enough to make it easier to hit an moving target.

Something brushed her arm and Merevaika spun, already reaching her for scimitar. She stopped moments before she smashed the woman across the face with a fist, realising this was friend, not foe. Someone who was open for the fight, who knew how it all worked. The dark skinned woman growled out orders, or orders in the form of a question. Merevaika didn't even need to provide a response, eyes glinting with such determination that it was clear that she wasn't thinking of anything else.

She had already pulled out another arrow from the quiver, already drawn the bow string back, already turned back to the fight. Shades of hair and familiar faces pushed past in the corners of her eyes, all busy at work. Merevaika focused them out, concentrating just on the man to the right. He was too close to shoot at, but she did so anyway, directing the arrow towards his chest before he got too close. It met its mark, the man stumbling with surprise of this woman he thought had been distracted. But Merevaika didn't allow herself to halt, like he did. Without stopping to even breath, she slung the bow onto her quiver, drawing the scimitar.

She clung to it with both hands, not used to this weight. She tried to hide this inexperience, however, slashing forward without any hesitation. It moved well, but was met with metal, quickly forced to the side. Merevaika stumbled back, open for attack, and the man stepped forward, stabbing weakly. She curved away, missing the tip of the blade, and swinging it back around, hoping this time to hit the man who was a lot closer. Her eyes flickered to the dark skinned warrior, almost asking for help, almost offering it. The moment of distraction was used by the man, who swiped forward despite the fact she had managed to injure him yet again. Merevaika knew that it was only due to the arrow wound, but it gave her confidence, and she skipped around, knowing that she was lacking the skill with the scimitar. Avoiding the blade was her goal.

It hit her, lining a cut just by her ribs, but Merevaika ignored the pain and blood, darting left and right before swiping again, this time much firmer. His blade stopped her own again, pushing it out of the way and stabbing forward. She moved her arm forward to stop him hitting something more important, grunting with the pain. The scimitar fell to the ground, but still in view. With her other hand, she took her knife, and shuffled towards the other woman. Now she really needed help. Focusing on her breath, Merevaika hunched over a little, eye on the blade on the floor. Suddenly, she kicked out, followed by a backhanded slash with the knife. Before anything could happen, she dived for the larger blade, rolling as she caught it. Hopefully, she would have time to counter any attack he made while she was turned around.

[Jasmine Stormblood]

The loud explosion rang through the blonde's head as she used her arms to keep any flying debris from hitting her eyes. Slowly opening her eyes once the dust cleared Jasmine saw a sight that made her almost want to cry. Smiling brightly at the sight of Syna's rays the quick movements and screaming brought her back to reality. Watching the spotted several men attacking the others. Knowing that she would little to no good in battle the woman quickly used to confusion to slip past everyone fighting. Panting she quickly descended planning on getting the slaves free. Looking at the chains the blonde fought to ignore the man she had seen eating a human heart. Taking a deep breath she got one of the pick axes and and slammed it down on the middle link of the chains between the people. The chain clinked loudly when the metal tool hit it, but did not give. Groaning she raised it up again and aimed right for the same spot. Sighing gently she slammed down this time the chain breaking in half. Calming the excited slaves Jasmine worked on getting the chains between their legs broken so that they could move once more.

"Quickly look for a young red head and another young blonde woman," Jasmine said helping getting them up top and pointing to the pair.

Looking around she spotted where another group was at. Quickly the blonde used crates to hide where she was. Panting gently looking around Jasmine knew that if she stayed still for too long then one of the enemy would find her. Spotting another hole the woman ran dodging by any slavers. Sliding across the ground she fell down to the first lower level before working her way down to the last of the slaves on the bottom.

[Verena Lorak]

The days had passed without anything of note. Verena spent most of her time under the dark shadow of the healing tent. The air reeked of desperation and blood and despite her insistence, her request to let more air in was denied. It was not the most comfortable of places, but the healer was used to places of sickness.

She was content to fall into the labor, but then scream ripped through the air. It was different than the sounds of slaves being forced into labor. It was something much worse. A second cry quickly followed. With a quick glance, the Lorak made sure that none of her patients was in need for immediate care. Resolutely, Verena straightened and grabbed her healing bag. Anyone who made such a sound was likely to be very injured.

“Miss, I do not think you want to see what’s happening out there,” Saf said suddenly as she noticed. “Especially with that mark of yours.”

The woman’s words made her hesitate, but the Lorak couldn’t possibly do nothing. For days she had steeled herself to all the noises of suffering ringing through the whole mine. It had pained her and left her restless during the night. She was brought here to oversee the well-being of every last person in this mine. That’s what she shall do. Again and again, Verena had been prevented to help. She couldn’t let that happen once more. “I think I do.”

Verena ducked under the tent flap and was immediately slapped by the searing rays of the sun. Squinting slightly, the healer looked around for the source of the screams. With so many people meandering about, it took her a few tries until her eyes landed on a group of people at the other end of the mine. Straining to see what was going on, the Lorak began to walk. The scream continued and as one of the men moved away, she could see a man strapped down and Allister hovering above him.

There was nothing else in her mind other than getting there and stopping whatever it was that was happening. But then, the building on her right shattered.

She was a bit too close to the explosion. The blast flung her and knocked her into the ground roughly. A cry escaped her lips as she landed, feeling the uneven, rocky ground at her back. Black spots clouded her sight and she knew it would take a few chimes before they would be gone. At least, she was not entirely blinded. Her ears were ringing and her head spun.

The sounds of feet turned her attention back to the world around her. People were coming out of the hole that was made from the blast. They were all armed to the teeth, looking as confused as the people of the mine. Most of them were female, but nothing like the women of Kenash.

She was not the only one who noticed their sudden arrival. Allister had begun walking towards them. A gruesome thing was in his hand and Verena could not stop looking at it. It was a human heart. By Rak’keli, he was devouring it like a wild animal. Her stomach churned as she watched the blood gushing down Allister clothes. He did not seem to notice. It took every bit of her willpower not to heave and retch right then and there.

As the fights broke around her, Verena was reminded of the danger she was in.

The Lorak had been in a similar situation before. When that riot broke out at Bloodflower. But her betrothed wasn’t here to protect her. The only reason she had survived relatively unscathed was because Cas had fended off most of the attackers and drag her to safety. She was alone now and she knew if she didn’t leave quickly, someone would soon recognize her as a Dynast. Last time, the only reason she escaped relatively unscathed was because of Cas protecting. He’s not here now. She was on her own.

At least no one noticed her for now. She was covered in mud from her fall, making her blend in with most of the slaves. Maybe she could get away unnoticed. But say, she did manage to get away from the general chaos, then what? They were nowhere near any sort of civilization as far as she could tell. She would a carriage or a horse, but she had no idea how to operate either.

Shakily, Verena rose to her feet and reached for her bag. She needed to get everyone away from the thick of the fighting. That was all she needed to worry about right now. Thinking too far in dire situations rarely helped. Alright, now she needed to find a way to release all the slaves. Cutting through the chains might take a long time – more and more slaves were being cut down with every tick. The Foreman. He must have a key of some sort. Anything to release these poor slaves.

Unfortunately, her luck did not last long.

The Lorak never saw the guard running towards her and shoving her on the ground, pinning her down. “How did you get out of chains, bitch?”

[Achenar]

He hadn't expected to be tossed from the mud slicked fields to the tents as he was. But in the days before the commotion, he worked as he once did on the Whiplash plantation, toiling away with the laundry, the cleaning and the caretaking along with the woman who seemed to have been the only amicable person in the mines. Achenar tried to leave his thoughts to the wind, to focus on the now, but also to listen. He'd escaped Kenash once, he could do it again.

And so he watched the comings and goings of both orderlies and slaves and the slavers who stood watch with their weapons held aloft in a dark omen. He could say he was thankful to be out of the blistering heat for the most part, but there were always threats no matter where you were as a slave.

The screams and cries of dying slaves and punished transgressions rang through the mines like a macabre cacophony, and soon it became second nature. But what he hadn't expected was a blatant scream that ripped through the air. He paused in his work and glanced up, turning to peer through the flaps of a tent.

"Get back to work!" An orderly barked with his whip held aloft. "There's nothing to see here." Achenar shrank back and turned back to his work, but the resultant explosion shook the ground beneath his feet, and sent him and the orderly to the floor.

"What the petch?" The ethaefal's eyes were wide as he got to his feet. It seemed that the orderly had a similar train of thought, as he darted toward the tent flap and disappeared, leaving the slave both bewildered and confused. He stumbled toward the exit, peering out into the sun as the commotion grew and was consumed by chaos. He saw swords flash under the heatwave, screams, bodies jostling as they fought amongst each other. The slave would never have assumed he'd ever be caught in the middle of a battle.

I need to escape. That was his first thought. Self preservation. It drove his legs as he ran, though a sudden shove knocked him to a roll, and he landed with a heavy thud in the mud. Beside him, a woman had been shoved to the ground, his words laced with a threat that he knew would result in a tortorous end. Something in his gut churned. Was he going to just run like a coward? Or was he going to fight for the slaves? For his people?

Djed seeped into his left arm, prying apart his astral limb, siphoning from the magic that churned from his bones. He got to his feet with one arm limp, and extended his projected arm until he shoved the man abruptly off of the woman, grasping at the dagger that lay dejectedly in the mud. "Not this time, you mother petcher," the ethaefal hissed as he kicked the man square in the head as he struggled to get on his knees.

He reached for the woman then, extending his free hand to help her up and realized then, as he looked into her eyes, who it was. "...Verena?"

y

[Prophet]

The chaos had erupted into a battle of survival with a body count that rose quickly on all sides. The massive machine of souls had ground to a bloody halt as cogs were cut down or rose up in defiance of their intended purpose. The Foreman and his prods had run into resistance from several bound gangs of men and woman that had found a way to use their shackles as an advantage against the horses. Sparrow, grateful for the aid of a few well-placed arrows, had rushed in to help them. He found it rather easy to dehorse and demolish some of the slavers. It seemed the bosses and their crews were more concerned about the massive number of slaves that had suddenly stopped working than the handful of warriors who had come from the ground.

While many fought, many more flocked towards the comforting calls of healing and freedom provided by several of the Drykas. As groups of chained slaves began to cluster, the free roaming prods had initially tried to engage but found themselves quickly overwhelmed and turned their attentions on the stragglers. This teeming mass became a panic as no one wanted to be on the outside and the tired and abused faces looked to the strangers for answers to all their problems, foremost of which was the issue of the chains. One old man stepped forth with his pick and told the redhead that he was a smith once upon a time and could free the others if he was freed first.

Elsewhere, several female slavers were cackling wildly as they ran around relieving individuals of their limbs shouting things like “You’re free!” after an arm had been hacked off and “Ya can’t run without legs!” just before amputating someone at the knees. Their almost attractive forms were splattered in blood and guts which made them look like apparitions. Terrifying and effective, they were picking off friend and foe alike and each strike seemed to fuel the other’s next move as if they were trying to out-murder one another.

Aris was back to back with Deathspark. This team was simultaneously leveling any who opposed them and freeing slaves as they twisted and turned along the western ridge of the strip that had been mined. Aris was pointing people towards the south and into the grass. He knew many would die on their way but he had hopes of surviving and figured he could round up the hearty ones on his way back home. The mute at his back was something of a savant as he picked apart man after man who challenged him. His cuts weren’t always lethal but every strike was precise. Severing arteries and tendons, it rarely took him more than three or four swings to decommission an opponent. This display of skill caught the attention of Allister who quickly turned his guard and strolled at this impressive pair. The twinkle in his eye was almost as scary as the half-eaten heart which he continued to maul.

Suddenly, a tremor shook the area. Anyone not on both feet would certainly fall and even some where thought they had a sure stance might tumble. The world seemed to be angry with something. The fighting paused but resumed very quickly. Aris was continuing to free people as the Tunnel Guardian repelled a trio of slavers. One slave went running by and held up his shackled wrists while holding a small, muddy bowl. Over all of the noise, Allister’s voice pierced the nonsense. “Bring me that mortar!” He pointed with his sword at what the slave held and then charged towards Aris and the small group. The slave was so afraid of the mine’s boss that he dropped the small relic into Aris’ hands and ran off.

Deathspark was quick to engage the newcomer leaving Aris to fend off the less-skilled prods. With the first contact of the sword of Widowsong and the daggers of the mute, another tremor ripped the center of the mine open. The rift was small at first but by the time the shaking was over, the mucky ground began to pour into the chasm which was steadily increasing in size with each passing moment. Fights became even more frantic as slaves overran friend, foe and fellow alike to try and get away from the terrible fate of being buried alive in this horrid place. It seemed that Semele was trying to swallow the entire mine which was nothing more than a scar of pain on her skin.

Note :

I will make one more post after everyone has gone. Please prioritize this thread so we can wrap it up and all move on to the current season. Thank you. Take all questions to the Quest OOC.

[Waisana]

Amunet had resorted to Waisana's back-up plan and she was certainly taking a good crack at the chains. It was slow and heavy work though and so the blonde doctor continued rummaging in the slimy mess of a corpse. She had found cloth in among the squishy organic parts and it was only a matter of working out what it had been and what structure it now had. The slaves had managed to tear at the former slaver's clothing before they had pummelled his body into a pulp and as a result, it made things a little more difficult for her. However, she managed to find a heavier lump in the cloth that turned out to be the key rather than a lump of flesh or bone. She pulled it free, doing her best to clean it and her hands, which had become quite slippery in their search of the body. Her clothes were considerably less white than they had been seeing as they'd been dunked in dirty water and dragged through mud so rubbing body on them wasn't going to make much difference. Besides, it wasn't the first time that she'd gotten blood and other matter on her clothing. Having left gruesome trails on her clothing, the teen set about using the key that she had worked so painstakingly to obtain. Her companion had managed to get a good way through the links of chain she was trying to smash so the Opal left her to it, rather than let her hard work be in vain, and moved down the line to unchain the rest of those nearby.

Her head turned to catch Amunet's words and she made a rapid sign of understanding before continuing her work on the locks. The healer had freed her slave but Waisana was able to free quite a few of them at a faster pace now that she had the key. Regrettably, as she made a move towards a new group, she found that while the key entered the lock, it would not turn. At first, she thought something had blocked it but after feverishly removing the key and wiping it, there was still no result. Then she realised that this group was not in the scope of the man she had gotten the key from and that there must have been different keys kept in the hands of different men. The blonde despaired, running quickly back to the slaves she had managed to free as she saw how close she was to danger. There were several battles now raging as the fighters of their expedition fought off their attackers, the very men and women who had recently been in charge of the slaves. She would be no use in a fight and it wouldn't do to get caught by one of the malicious slavers because then she'd be no use to anyone.

Her eyes fell on the women who were running around hacking madly at slaves, chopping off limbs so that they were crippled or in danger of bleeding to death, and killing others outright as they cracked skulls or severed vital blood vessels. The sight was a sickening one but there was nothing the blonde could do. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she managed to get herself running again, arriving back at herself and Amunet's little group slightly out of breath. Confusion and terror drove many of the slaves and so a great deal of them were left cowering or unsure where they should go now. They milled around in a tight group, pushing and shoving one another as they tried to stay in the gathering's centre, creating a buffer of bodies between them and the oncoming bloodthirsty slavers. Some of the slaves had picked up picks and shovels to use as weapons and joined the fray, where many of them had met their doom. As a group, they seemed to stand a better chance as it appeared to be the stragglers, the lone wolves, who were getting blades in their guts. They needed to remain in a group and they had to get the slaves to the shelf that Amunet had pointed out. Waisana had an idea.

She signalled the redhead, calling for her attention before she explained the rough outline of her plan. Herd animals, she signed. "We move around them and drive them towards there." No horses. Shout. "We'll just have to use other ways to get them to move. I haven't herded before but it looks easy enough." Herding. Seen. Question.

The doctor got behind the group, imagining they were all pointed towards the shelf rather than facing off in different directions, and starting in the middle, she shoved hard against the crowd. "Move!" she screamed in Common, her voice cracking in her throat from the hysterical note. She moved a few paces to the left, moving quickly and repeated her action. She hurried back towards the right to give another shove and scream as she tried to appeal to the herd mentality. The teen made a sign for the little redhead to copy her and continued her hurrying back and forth. Sometimes, she got pushed back as the slaves rebelled against another person trying to drive them, especially so soon after they'd achieved freedom. One threw a fist that glanced off the side of her jaw as she dodged belatedly, shocked that such a thing had been attempted. For the most part though, when she shoved someone, they went pushing their way further into the group. The more she shoved, the further towards the shelf she moved the heart of safety at the slave mob's centre. The teen actually thought that it was working! They were going to succeed!

Unless they were stopped, Waisana would continue to work the slaves in the right direction to the best of her abilities, hoping that her partner was doing the same, or at least, taking steps in the right direction.