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The Drow and Dragon Wench locked eyes; measuring one another's skill they almost circled eachother....enacting a strange, ritualistic dance. Both tensed; movements fluid, they melded into light and shadow, as if suspended in a single moment. The moment between decision and indecision.....the moment between life and death....finite yet infinite....fragile...yet unbroken...

Then, like a piercing scream severing a temple's silence..... a blade glittered. The Drow, with a skillful parry, had made a move. Ready, Dragon Wench blocked and countered his attack.....forged steel clashed against finely-honed adamantite. Again...a pause.....

This time, taking the iniative, Dragon Wench wove her sword against the dank and dark, bringing it down....striking against armour. The Drow cursed, not because he had been hurt, but rather, because he had been struck.... a matter of pride..... Dragon Wench smiled, and taking advantage of this momentary weakness....struck again. Her sword met with exposed flesh....the Drow muttered... a nick perhaps, little more. Angrily he turned to his opponent....hitting hard. Dragon Wench felt the edge of his sword....easily slicing through the enchanted mail. Blood began to seep through her armour....willing herself to ignore the hot pain below her shoulder, Dragon Wench once more focused on the Drow. Her sword arm, although injured, was still deadly. The Drow, satisfied that he had hurt the impudent surfacer, grinned confidently. Seizing the window offered, Dragon Wench grasped her enemy's brief flicker of hubris; with an upward thrust of her sword she lunged at his unprotected throat....leaving a bloody gash....

Enraged....the Drow pulled down his sword....striking her just beneath the ribs. Dragon Wench gasped, and painfully grimaced. She thought about the healing potions in her belt...but she knew that to pause even briefly could well be her death.

Intense pain seared from what she suspected was a jagged, open wound. Trying to channel her years of training, she gazed at the Drow, who was engaged in a struggle similar to her own. Not for the first time, she questioned why this letting of blood was so necessary..... But she couldn't be weak...Dragon Wench reminded herself....somebody would soon die and she did not intend for it to be her. Perhaps driven by the knowledge that her wounds required attention...... Dragon Wench brought her sword down in an arc towards the Drow's neck. He attempted to block her....a desperate bid for this thing he had called life.....but it was too late...... seconds later he collapsed to the ground......a muted gurgle the only testement to a valient struggle.

A little dazed from the rush of battle and loss of blood. Dragon Wench knelt down and quickly searched the lifeless, yet still warm, body. She found a few potions, a small amount of gold and the sword that had caused her such pain. Remembering her wounds, and the present state of her armour, she quickly wrested away that of the Drow. He lay on the ground, virtually naked, vulnerable now to the decay that crept mercilessly through the tunnels. Without really knowing why she closed the staring, unseeing eyes, and, almost gently, rolled his body into the shadowed depths of the wall.

Yshania, her blood boiling with the long buried corruption, moved trancelike down the tunnel...obliviously standing on bodies that lay strewn in her way...

And here she was, proof that what you buried you should tend once in a while…until eventually your garden was of roses and not of briar with thorns that threatened to tear a careless foot. How could you avenge such a loss? Her soul had struggled to bury its pain, to find a niche where she could maintain the memory of the child she had been…before the drow, and the violation she had witnessed

She gritted her teeth and savagely kicked at a carcass, its broken body barely responding to her violence, only its head rolling to face her, its half lidded eyes holding contempt even in death...She kicked it again...

Brief flashes of her attempts at escape. Twice she had been recaptured and beaten within an inch of her life, but the third occasion many moons later, following the death of the horse, had been a success. Still bleeding badly from the last attack, she slipped her chains at the dead of night and ran for her life. Hiding and running, hiding and running. Eventually, half mad and close to death, she came upon the druid, Mael, in his isolated home deep in the forests…

Mael...His kind face swam into her mind forcing back the tidal wave of cruel memories. He was smiling, reaching out his hand and she felt his love for her. She stopped, momentarily disorientated, then raised her scimitar before her...her blade and her forearm were coated in blood, which glistened darkly in the torchlight...a voice within her screamed for more as it receded, but all she could do was stare stunned at the carnage around her. She remembered little of this...and recognised now she was too much of a burden on her comrades.

Retrieving a cloth from her pack, she wiped clean the blade and sheathed it...half wondering whether she should ditch them altogether. No...in this place she would need them, but she should no longer risk her friends...She turned to leave. She would have once argued it was a suicidal mission but there was no logic to her desire, running was all she knew. And the last thing her friends needed was to have to mind a druid with chaotic tendencies...she would die in this pit, better alone, she was of little use here...

As she neared the end of the passageway, she heard a laboured voice call her name. For a moment she stood, before turning to accept the blade. Nothing. Eventually, she turned around and squinted down the tunnel, and moments later it came again 'Yshania!...I...'

'Dragon Wench?' cautiously she started to move towards the sound of her friend's voice. She found her slumped and bleeding heavily against the wall...surrounded by the bodies of fallen drow. Kneeling beside the fighter, Yshania removed her armour to assess her injuries, they were severe and she had already lost a lot of blood. Placing her hands, one on each of the two deepest wounds, Yshania closed her eyes and began the incantation for heal...feeling the blood flow stem, and the muscle start to knit themselves back together. As she worked, a silent tear traced down her cheek as she wondered what had possessed her to want to leave her friends...

Charging into battle, Mysteria soon lost sight of Aegis once more, Fang closely at her heels. Deprived of their commanding force, surprised and overwhelmed, the drow fought fiercely, but with little strategic thinking.

Once more, Fang buried his deadly canines into soft flesh, covering himself in with even more blood. He'll really need to be washed after this , she thought, the moment of inattention almost costing her her life as a drow warrior sprang forward, aiming a vicious blow at her.

She barely noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye, instincts letting her rise her dagger to parry the incoming blow. Dark adamantine steel rang on hard iron as the blades connecting, the fierceness of the contact sending waves of pain down her arm. Springing back, she brought around her sword, catching yet another blow barely in time, staggering back upon the sheer force the drow had laid behind his thrust.

Merciless, the drow advanced upon her while Fang was still engaged in his fight. With a sudden burst of hatred, Mysteria caught her balance and threw herself forward, putting the drow off balance in her turn. Exhilarated by her success, she aimed her next thrust at his neck, stabbing fiercely at her opponent with ... uh? ... a bundle of flowers?!?

For a moment, both opponents stared at the flowers in disbelief, but Mysteria was the first one to react, being more used such unsettling events. Cursing, she buried her dagger into her still surprised foe's throat. As he sank to the ground, motionless, she quickly cast aside her former sword, picking up her opponent's dark blade.

Still cursing, she looked over the battlefield...

Gwalchmai turned to the cat creature and watched it struggle in the briar and bramble of his spell. He should go help his friends, but he couldn’t leave this strange critter alone to free herself or to wait out the Entanglement spell. But someone might be hurt, in need of healing! Best to just kill her on the spot. He remembered the evilness of the black dagger he had found embedded in Georgi’s headboard. She could probably kill him from where she stood with one of those. He should kill her right away. Her clothing appeared to have arcane symbols embroidered at the edges – magical iconography or simply the style of her evil cat-people kin? Best to kill her now, before she launches a spell! All these thoughts and more flashed through Gwalchmai’s brain, only to be dominated by the image of Yshania mercilessly slicing the throats of the held Orcs. He knew he could never do such a thing to the helpless cat woman.

Instead, the retrieved the bow and a handful of arrows from the dead Drow at his feet and fumbled with nocking an arrow. Standing at the edge of the entangling vines and brush, he was dimly aware of several cows that had begun to munch happily on the grass. He held the bow pointed vaguely in the cat woman’s direction, with the arrow incorrectly placed on the bowstring. “I’m warning you! I am quite skilled with this, uh, bow! No sudden movements or spells, or I’ll have three arrows in you before you can blink!” It was obvious to even the most casual observer that Gwalchmai had never held a bow before.

“Now,” he said with greater assuredness than he felt, “Who – What are you?” Then a thought struck him: “Er… you do speak Common, don’t you?”

Thantor raced the final few meters into the cavern, reaching Gwalchmai's position in time to hear him say, “Er… you do speak Common, don’t you?” Stopping suddenly, Thantor took in the weird scene before him. There was a dead drow warrior on the cavern floor, a unhappy bull caught in an Entanglement spell, various cattle everywhere, and Gwally, apparently unhurt but smelling very badly, was talking to some vines. Thantor scanned him for signs of a Feeblemindedness spell or pumpkin seed intoxication, but found nothing. Approaching Gwally cautiously -- Maybe it's hot tub withdrawal syndrome, Thantor thought pensively -- he saw that there appeared to some sort of creature caught in the vines that Gwally was talking to. Feeling very relieved, and a little apologetic, Thantor looked closer... some sort of cat... no, tiger....

Thantor blinked. "Aquarimarachan Calligo?"

Aegis was staggering now, and his side ached with pain. He knew he wouldn't last long in the melee, as any drow or even orc could strike him down in his condition. He stopped, and leaned his back up against a wall. He spun Sunfang wround in his hand, and drove the blade into the ground. He then took the bow from his shoulder, and grabbed as many arrows as he could. He put each arrow into the ground, the feltching's sticking up close enough fro to grab as needed. He notched the first arrow, and took aim. The arrow whistled through the air, and pierced into the neck of some unsuspecting drow. Aegis didn't wait to see the body hit the ground. He already had another arrow notched, and ready. He took careful aim, and let it fly. This one buried itself deep into the chest of an orc.

He side was spilting with pain, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could remain standing, much less conscience. He strung another arrow, and launched it into the melee...

The surfacer began to speak to her, but Aqua-chan was still quite nervous. He welded the Drow's bow, and even though it looked like he had little-to-no experience with such a weapon, it would be hard to miss with the elven-crafted item's power.

“I’m warning you! I am quite skilled with this, uh, bow! No sudden movements or spells, or I’ll have three arrows in you before you can blink!” he shouted, and she decided to follow his advice...But it was hard to be intimidating when you were holding the bow shaft backwards with the string pointed at the target instead. He realized his mistake after a few seconds and fixed the bow's position. “Now, who – What are you?” He then paused, “Er… you do speak Common, don’t you?”

Instead of doing the obvious by replying verbally, Aqua-chan just nodded her head. She wasn't going to risk her words coming out in the form of Drow again. Such mistaked were liable to get her killed...But then again, she was known for making careless mistakes in the past. She wouldn't be down here with a man pointing an arrow at her with a Drow's bow if she didn't take chances.

Then another surfacer entered. He looked completely different from the one who was threatening her, but he was ungodly familiar. At first it seemed as though she knew him, but brushed off the thought soon after. But he turned up to her and called her name! It took but a second, but Aqua-chan was finally able to place his face.

"Thantor," she muttered in a relieved comfort. She wasn't safe yet, but it was a start. Maybe he would be able to help her clear this up.

The man with the bow lowered it slightly in a confused stance. "Than?" he started cautiously, "You know this...thing?"

"We've met," Thantor said with a slight grin in rememberance. Aqua-chan sighed heavily in knowing that things were going to be all right. Finally, she made a saving throw against the Entanglement and walked out casually towards the two with her weapon at her side in a non-threatening way. She was careful not to make eye-contact with anyone but Than --it was unnecessary to make the man with the bow think she wanted to challenge him. Now, they just had to get her story out to the man with the bow and anyone else who was down here with him.

Thantor bowed slightly in acknowledgment as Aqua-chan walked up to him and Gwally. "This is most unexpected, Lady Calligo," he said, somewhat formally. "Please excuse our suspicions, but your past history with the drow and the fact that you are here, in an enemy compound, seems incongruous. I would appreciate it if you could explain quickly what you are doing here."

Vivien stood ready with spell triggers at the ready, her spell book fresh and sparkling and urging to be used.

But…. No.

One of the stupid cows had gone the wrong way and decided her corner of the world was the best place to be. How it had gotten free from the webs was a mystery, apparently cows intent on mischief have a higher magic resistance? It was big too…and she wasn’t sure exactly how, but had her pinned against a rock wall, her face pressed into a rather smelly coat. She’d tried to see over it to be able to help her friends, but short stubby hairs and a big white backside were her current viewing choices. She could HEAR her friends calling out in battle, HEAR iron ringing on iron..but couldn’t see into the darkness above the stupid cow well enough to be of any use. A mage really needs to see in order to be useful in battle. If only she’d had an oracle or farsight memorized…but no…those weren’t the spells a ‘true mage’ would use…not nearly good enough for a self stylized ‘battle mage’ as she called herself secretly at heart.

She tried pushing at the cow again, but it merely grunted. She then, tried to bend down to see if she could squeeze underneath, but there were squishy feelings against her feet down there and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to crawl through that muck. It would have to be over. Upper arm strength not being a strong suit for Viv (the very thought of doing a push-up usually made her wince), but we all must make sacrifices. After what seemed like ages of straining and trying, she managed to pull herself almost on top of the cow. Granted, she was now laying across the silly thing on her stomach like a sack of turnips, but at least she could see.

Her new view was dazzling; short bursts of light and figures frantically milling in various battles. She pushed the silky fabric of one sleeve upward to free her hand for casting, determined to do her part, but her plan was dashed when something spooked the cow. With a lurch it began running, and Viv found herself slammed firmly onto it’s back, her face now hanging over a white side with a nice view of running feet and upside down people.

“Listen.” She muttered quietly, hoping no one else had noticed her predicament. “I don’t like riding horses, and I most certainly don’t like riding you.”

Her courteous statement was met by another painful bump as it jumped over what looked like a body on the darkened ground.

“O-ow! Okay, that’s it! When we get out of this, it’s barbecue time and I’m not stopping them. I hope you all turn into big cow steak things.”

The only reply was another painful jerk, as the cow made it’s way on a course not even fully known to itself.

Spotting one orc, that had been drawn towards the battle earlier, now trying to escape death by rushing down a corridor, Mysteria quickly tore off after him. Running, she swapped to the bow but the orc disappeared around a corner. Disappointed, she rushed after it, passing by Yshania and Dragon Wench, then came around the corner, bringing the orc into view. For some reason, he had stopped dead in his tracks and she had no problem to lodge an arrow in his back.

As the orc tumbled forwards, Thantor and Gwally came into view, just as Fang caught up with her. Glad to see them, she approached them, then suddenly her eyes widened as she saw a third figure, half hidden in the dark. There was no doubt to who, or rather what it was though ...

"Watch out!", she called out, bringing up her bow, letting lose at the cat-like creature behind her friends, barely managing to deflect her arrow as Thantor threw himself in in front of the creature, calling for her to stop. "Are you MAD?!?", she raged, "Get out of the way!", she shouted, nocking another arrow, oblivious to the fact that Fang had launched his own attack, but strangely had stopped a few feet short of his target, observing it almost curiously.

"Mysteria! Stop! This is Aquarimarachan Calligo. I debriefed her some time ago after she had escaped from the drow. Lower your bow!" Mysteria hesitated, knuckles white on the bow... this had to be one of those cat creatures, the ones who took Georgi...

"Mysteria! Lower the bow! Do it... NOW!"

Aqua-chan slightly bowed in respect to Thantor. She knew him somewhat well; he was not to be feared unless you had a reason to fear him, so showing any signs of doing so would be pointless.

"I know that this...My presence here is not doing well to favor my defence," she began, quite unaware of the new archer that began to start at her, "but I have every intention to tell you why I am here. But could tere be abtter time-?"


"Watch out!" came the enfuriated call from the shadows behind Thantor and his companion. Aqua-chan's natural infrasion allowed her to see the form of the archer, tense and battle-ready with a wolf by her side.

"Mysteria, stop!" Than snapped quickly and explained who this was and how he had known her. Despite his story being true to every last detail, the archer seemed quite unconvinced.

The wolf stealthily slinked up to his target and bared white fangs in warning. However, when the two made eye contact, he dropped his guard. Canine to feline, wolf to tiger. It was something that would make an obvious fight, but, it didn't happen. In the wolf's eyes was a look of pure curiosity. He inspected Aqua-chan carefully, most unlike his companion (to Aqua-chan, animals had as much dominance over people as vice-versa).

She was careful not to anger or scare him, but carefully put out her hand to show she was not a danger to him. The wolf's ears raised in a look of surprise while she gave him an inviting smile while crouching down to his eye-level. He reguarded this as a sign of friendship and stepped lightly towards her out-stretched hand.

The archer --Mysteria, Thantor called her-- didn't lower her bow to much. She kept her grip on the string and the arrow aimed. She didn't seem to know how to react at the scene before her: her animal friend was taking kindly to this...creature?! How was it possible? She was obviously one of those who had taken Georgi, she knew it!

"Mysteria," Than warned again, "Lower the bow. Do it NOW!"

She ignored him casually.

Then the feline-type looked away from the wolf and stood up straight. She spoke carefully, hoping her words would come out in common as she expected. Luckily, they did...Though she felt her knees buckling beneath her.

"I know not of any quarrel between you and me," she began with a bold tone in her voice, "but if you must slay me, do it in the light. My name is Aquamarachan Calligo, I am of Ishiatorian blood, and as long as you fight the Drow, I will fight by your side until you say otherwise on the surface...Whether you like it or not."

Blades clashing, orcs dying, and cows bleating, one voice rang strong and true from the battle.
"I walk through the valley in the shadow of death, and I fear no evil, for I am the baddest Mother ****** here!" Laughed Farscape as he threw orcs left and right, Retribition and Redeemption flashing amongst the chaos, the beasts folding beneath his onslaught like cheap fabric.
Suddenly, a new foe appeard on the battlefield.
"Drow. Hehe. Come here pointy! I know you've been wondering what you left arm tastes like!"
Fighting his way through fleeing orcs, Farscapes blades found the flesh of dark elf. The cleric in the back row never felt the rush of having a finely crafted human blade run up her throat. The warriors lasted longer, taking several hits each. Finally, the last of his opponents gone, Farscape emerged from the chaos bathed in gore, some of it his own.
Nursing his right leg, and with a drow bolt protruding from his right shoulder, he regretted turning instead of ducking. Clear of battle, he suddenly saw Aegis leaning heavily against a wall, bow in hand.
"Elfie!" Shouted the dazed warrior. Maybe that last mace to the side of the head had hurt more than he thought.
Rushing over to the injured elf, he knelt beside his comrade.
"Hold still Aegis" Calling upon Lathander, the Lord Scape lay hands upon the ranger, and subsequently collapsed. Breathing, but out cold, with a broad smile across his face.

For moments that seemed like an enternity, Mysteria kept her bow up and ready, her eyes going from Thantor to the cat-creature and back again. Than knew this creature? Puzzled, she still maintained her aim.

What was going on here? Finally her gaze fell on Fang... He wasn't attacking and she frowned. This was strange ... back in Georgi's room he had started growling as soon as he had picked up the creature's foul scent.

Then it began to speak, startling Mysteria so much she almost loosened a bow at her, not heeding if Thantor was in the way or not. But... it began to dawn on her that she had been mistaken ...

As the creature began spoke, there was even less doubt of her mistake ... the cat creature she had fought once had never said anything, and certainly not in common ... and there was Fang's behaviour. Slowly, Mysteria lowered her bow, coming forward, with a reassuring gesture towards Thanor, just now, she wasn't going to shoot .... Aquamarachan Calligo?

As she came nearer, her rage left her as she slowly took in the other's armor, her scimitars, so much different from the deadly blades the cat-creatures carried, and her eyes, telling of intelligence... Eventually, she lowered her bow completely, realizing that she had just made a complete fool of herself.

Embarrassed, she began, "I... I'm sorry... I mistook you... I ... there was an evil cat-creature ... you resemble it a bit ... and yet you're different ... more human... less monstrous ... I mean .. I didn't want to imply that you're ... sorry, I... " She snapped her mouth shut, she wasn't really improving the situation, almost calling Aqua-chan a monster. Stupid, she was just plain stupid! She bit her lip, shifting her feet, not knowing what to say now.

Meanwhile, Fang had sat down and was wagging his tail, he liked this newcomer, she smelled ... right.

Meanwhile, some distance from the Dark Flames...

The kobold tribe was in a state of high excitement over the upcoming raid, a fact that the tribe’s shaman noted with some satisfaction. Climbing up onto one of the many tree stumps in the woodland clearing to gain a vantage point from which he would be sure to attract the tribe’s attention, the shaman drew them from their preparations for the upcoming battle with a sharp yap. As the tribe gathered round he launched into a tirade against the nearby halfling village, inciting his warriors into greater and greater levels of anticipation for the combat ahead. The speech would hardly be necessary; the halflings were poorly defended and had no knowledge of the upcoming assault on their village, and his fighters were both savage and fond of battle. Still, the shaman hadn’t become leader of the largest kobold tribe in the region by being unprepared, and was well aware that any advantage his warriors had in the soon-to-be-commenced raid was yet another point in their favor.
His enjoyment at the thought of the upcoming skirmish faded when he noticed that almost all of his tribe had stopped paying him any notice, and in fact were all staring in avid fascination at a point roughly 12 feet directly above him. Glancing up at the mysterious object of his tribe’s rapt observation in annoyance, the shaman was more than a little perturbed to see a strange sort of vortex (which unbeknownst to the shaman was in fact a planar gate) swirling above his head. A vague feeling of trepidation, arriving simultaneously with the notion that perhaps moving out from right under the shadow cast by the gate might be a good idea, was dawning upon the unfortunate shaman when the planar gate resolved itself into the dimensions of what appeared to be a large black Mack truck with a duck on the hood, coming from which could be heard the sounds of three voices raised in drunken argument. For a brief moment the truck hovered in mid-air (the arguing voices inside continuing unabated all the while) until gravity kicked in and the truck plunged to the ground, crushing the kobold shaman beneath it’s chassis and shattering the stump he had been standing on into splinters. Once it was settled on solid ground the black truck appeared to shimmer momentarily, before being replaced with what was by all outward appearances a fairly typical gypsy caravan, drawn by two magnificent black stallions. A sign on the side of the wagon proclaimed the caravan to be “The Rolling Thunder: The Mobile Party Thread (™)”. Written in slightly smaller writing underneath was the number “666-PARTY.” Written below that, in even smaller writing was another notice, reading “Please note: Due to an unfortunate incident in Sigil we no longer cater for weddings. We apologize for any inconvenience." A slightly put-upon voice could be heard emanating from somewhere inside the wagon.
“Look, Ode, we had to leave. The Lady of Pain has a lot of power in Sigil. If we’d stayed for the rest of her wedding there probably would’ve been trouble.” In answer to this a melodious voice could be heard to reply
“Well, if Beldin hadn’t punched out the groom we wouldn’t have had to leave in the first place! I almost had that cute little tiefling in the hot-tub!”
“You mean the maid of honor?”
“Yeah, that was the one, Eerhardt.”
“Ooh, tough break. She was cute.” A third voice, this one gruff, replied
“Look, he was coming at me with a sword, alright? I had to punch him out!”
“Yeah, Ode. Just have an E.S.S. and be reasonable.” The first voice rejoined, drawing from the melodic-voiced speaker a reluctant sigh and a wistful “ Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks, mate.”
Plucking up his courage, one of the braver kobold commandos tentatively made his way to the caravan’s door (complete with a doormat that read “Welcome”). Cautiously the commando raised his club and knocked on the carriage door. Without warning a window to the left of the door flew abruptly open, badly startling the commando at the door; a half-elven head poked itself out and, when a cursory look around failed to provide the source of the disturbance, looked down, noted the presence of the commando and cheerfully inquired “What’ll it be?”
The head was rapidly withdrawn an instant before three kobold arrows flew in through the window. Inside the wagon, which for some strange reason was far larger than the outside of the wagon, the half-elf called out
“Hey, guys! There’s a bunch of really unfriendly kobolds outside. I offered them a drink but they just fired a couple of arrows through the window. Feel like some fun?” The owner of the gruff voice, a hunchbacked human with closely-cropped white hair, a beard, and a rapidly growing devilish grin, drew a lochaber axe seemingly out of thin air and proclaimed to his companions
“Finally, some real entertainment! I haven’t had a good fight since…”
“The bridegroom on Sigil, which was less than a day ago.” Interrupted the melodious voice, now revealed as belonging to a young elven ranger in the process of taking off a hooded black velvet cloak. Having removed the cloak the elf draped it casually over a bar-stool, revealing that whilst the cloak was black on the outside it’s interior was purple.
“That wasn’t really a good fight…” protested the black-robed hunchback, pushing back the hood of his robes with one hand. “We didn’t even use any weapons. Well, I didn’t anyway.”
“Will you two let it go already?” asked Eerhardt, growing a bit impatient. “Those kobolds won’t stick around for ever, you know. And anyway…” Eerhardt’s voice trailed off as he noticed a growing trail of liquid flowing around his boots. His eyes followed the trail with a growing sense of dread; his worst fears were confirmed when he saw the puddle stemmed from a cask of shine that had been broached by the kobold missiles’ errant flight. Pointing wordlessly to the offending cask, Eerhardt drew Frost Viper, his enchanted long sword, with murder in his eyes. The other two, noticing Eerhardt’s look of outrage, followed his gaze to the damaged barrel. There was a brief moment of silence, then
“They spilt our shine!” bellowed Beldin, and, pausing only to take a quick swallow from a hip-flask of shine, charged towards the door, Eerhardt right behind him. Drawing his personally hand-crafted ivory longbow, Swansong, Ode pulled a red-flighted arrow from the enchanted quiver at his back (the magic of the quiver ensured there were always plenty of arrows ready for use), and nocked it to the bowstring.
“I’m all set.” he called to the others, who were already almost out of the door. Calling his familiar with a high-pitched whistle, Ode paused only to whisper “We go hunting.” to the bright-eyed female peregrine falcon that flew down and perched on his wrist, and with the noiseless passage that was his birthright stalked out the door on supple leather boots.
Beldin and Eerhardt were plainly having great fun. Eerhardt threw a couple of exploding potions into a large group of kobold archers, slaying the group instantly, then uncorked his hip-flask of Electric Shine Stinger and took a hurried swallow before wading into the horde, Frost Viper wreaking havoc amongst the kobold ranks. Beldin’s axe bit into the flesh of any kobold unfortunate enough to get in his way, slicing effortlessly through upraised blade and armor alike. His familiar having taken to the air, Ode pulled back an arrow, causing Swansong’s bowstring to shimmer with a faint blue glow, and let fly the shaft into an enemy throat. Drawing another arrow and setting it to the still-singing bowstring before the first missile had found it’s mark, Ode fired shaft after shaft at the kobold forces until, finding himself getting bored, he propped the enchanted longbow upright against the side of the caravan, withdrew a set of pan-pipes from a pouch at his belt and, sitting down on the caravan steps started to play a tune on the simple instrument. Meanwhile Beldin had taken to using a wrist-mounted flame-thrower of his own devising against the kobold forces with dramatic results; whenever a foe got within melee distance he simply crushed their skull with his steel-capped boots. In mere minutes very few of the once-large kobold force remained, most having either fled or been slain by the enraged drunken companions. Pulling a rag from one of the many pockets secreted about his robe, Beldin started wiping down his studded leather armor just as Eerhardt, his blade covered in gore, took out the last of the fleeing kobolds with a well-placed fireball. Realizing the short-lived battle was over, Ode, his still-spotless elven chain a dramatic contrast with the armor of his companions, looked up from where he sat playing the pipes, lit up a joint, and wryly commented
“Perhaps this stopover wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

Wondering at Yshania's wildy dishevelled appearance and tormented expression, Dragon Wench smiled gratefully at her druid friend.

"Thank you," she whispered, I think I was close to passing out."

Yshania, having noted the fighter's efforts to provide her opponent dignity in death, glanced at Dragon Wench with puzzled concern. "Are you okay?"

Dragon Wench nodded slowly......"I think so.....," she trailed hesitantly. Uneasily she spoke again. "It all seems so pointless sometimes....I have no trouble fighting monsters....but despite everything the Drow represent...these are elves......" She paused and then continued, "What went so terribly wrong?" Shrugging absently she spoke again, "I'm probably just tired.....so much has happened of late."

"How about you? Are you okay Yshania?"

Worry creasing her brow, Yshania wordlessy helped her friend to a standing position, and together they made their way to the cavern ahead where Mysteria, Thantor and Gwally seemed to be grouped around a new figure that had somehow appeared in their midst.

Nippy stood taking stock of his surroundings. The battle was hard-fought and many enemies had fallen upon the field of battle, Orc and Drow alike. He had many small cuts and knicks on his arms and chest and his shirt was ruined.

"Not another one!" Sighed Nippy. An Orc was just retreating from battle but Nippy ran after it and quickly stunned it, breaking it's neck. It was then he saw one of the strangest sights in his life. Vivien was pinned up against a wall by a cow and had just climbed on top of it, presumably trying to get out. Nippy was dumbfounded he couldn't say anything at all, which was strange for him...

The cow then decided to run off and Nippy suddenly realised that he was the only person to see Vivien be abducted.

"I'm a'coming' Viv, don't you worry yourselfs!"

Nippy began running after the cattle that was set up at quite a crack of pace, he carried on following the beast, watching it bounce Viv about like a sack of spuds...

Yshania was relieved her friend was ok but was a little perturbed by Dragon Wench's apparent compassion...Instinctively she said nothing and pulled the fighter to her feet. Another time perhaps. Adjusting her pack and her belt, she then wiped the blood from her hands...watching as her friend approached the party in the cavern.

Yshania froze as she caught sight of a creature only ever spoken of in hushed whispers around a camp fire...the village elders, animated as they related their stories of mythical beasts...the elven children wide eyed and rapt and completely believing...she almost rubbed her eyes...then a soft breeze suddenly lifted her hair, it's glance against her skin cold, threatening and distracting. Her skin crawled, she knew there were still others, she turned in the direction of their flow...

"It's ok, Mysteria," Thantor said, reassuringly. "Aquamarachan is... unique and a bit startling the first time you meet her."

"That's an understatement," quipped Jennabard, gazing piercingly at the newcomer. Deciding to trust her instincts, she held out her hand. "An enemy of my enemy is my friend. I'm Jennabard." Aqua-chan accepted and returned her greeting. "Aquamarachan Calligo," she said in halting Common. "But please call me Aqua-chan."

As Jennabard was introducing herself, Thantor became aware of someone behind him and turned to find DW and Yshania there. Competing priorities confronted him and though he wanted to interrogate Aqua-chan further, other things needed to be attended to first. He went up to the two women and asked if they were in need of healing. "No, we're fine," replied Yshania, looking warily at Aqua-chan.

"Where are Vivien, Nippy, Blood.... " He was interrupted with by the sound of an explosion in the tunnel. He heard Mysteria gasp behind him. "The others... "

**********************************
K'lethya emerged from the Maze, appearing suddenly in the tunnel, a cyclone of rage and fury. Only her long years of training and warrior instincts saved her. There facing her in the tunnel were a ring of grinning skulls, floating silently in the air with an aura of eternal patience. Standing absolutely still, she considered that someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to arrange them in this fashion, since the Spell Traps could have been set to trigger as soon as she emerged. "It took you long enough," mocked a voice to her left. Looking up, she saw Simbul floating well out of range, her wand leveled directly at K'lethya's face. "Not a very intelligent corpse… are you?" K'lethya screamed a battle cry, instinctively stepping back as the fireball discharged from the wand…. and was consumed in the conflagration.

The party had barely entered the tunnel when they saw Simbul float into view. "What the hell…" Thantor demanded. "Just tying up loose ends," Simbul said, absent-mindedly working on her pinkie cuticle.

Seir had cut a red swath of death and blood through the cavern, bodies of drow and orc strewn about in his wake. The axe he had taken was drenched in the blood of his fallen enemies. His beserker rage had died down, and now he only wore a grim smile of satisfaction. He was out of the clutches of the orcs, and free to do as he wished. Behind him, the battle was begining to die down, most of the denizens of the underdark being mopped up by the Dark Flames. He worked his way into one of the side tunnels, eager to make it back to the surface.

"Seir..."

Seir stopped in his tracks. He turned around to see if someone had followed him. He could only see the breif flashes of steel, and combat in the dull underground light. He spun his head in front, to see if someone was there. He was clenching the handle of his axe tightly enough, that his knuckles went bone white. Sweat began to form on his brow.

"Seir, you have escaped the clutches of the orcs, but to what avail?"

The voice seemed to be coming from inside his head, echoing in the chambers of his skull. His face drained of colour. He knew the voice.

"Leave me be!" He yelled out into the darkness, his words echoing down the tunnel. He franticly looked from side to side. It seemed to be growing darker, and the walls seemed to be closing in on the warrior. "I have served my debt! I owe you nothing!"

"We both know you are not finished... You will never be satisfied with your life above... Come back, and you will have all the bloodshed you can handle..."

The words were followed by a hollow, bone chilling laughter, one of smug victory, or self assuredness. It continued to grow louder inside of Seirs mind, echoing, taunting him! He dropped the axe to the ground, he didn't even hear the sound of it hitting the cold earth beneathe him. He clutched the sides of his head, covering his ears, trying to block out the cold, vile laughter he heard inside. He screamed out in anguish! He couldn't stand it. He dropped to his knees, lowering his head to the ground, his face scrunched up tight, trying futlily to bloke out the sound. He began to sob out in pain, he wished for the sound to stop, but it didn't. He wished to be free!

"I can make it end. Your pain, your suffering... Your desire... All you must do, is come to me...."

Seir thrashed his head from side to side, tears flowing from his face. Finally, the warrior could bear no more, and fell completly to the ground. "Fine! As you wish!" He screamed out, giving in. Almost as soon as he did so, the laughter seemed to fade away, leaving him a broken husk on the ground, weeping over his own weakness. Somewhere in the tunnels, he knew, the Shadow Master was smiling smuggly...