Thrown Into The Snow

As the brawl began Sorrow started surveying the crowd looking for someone worth fighting but before he could he noticed that the elf who had tapped on him was approaching. He couldn't be bothered to put up with the drunken rambling again and decided he would kill the elf when he began. Before he could however the elf spoke normally all traces of alcohol apparently having left his body. He gathered that he was an ezermancer. This was very good. He had not met one of these before.

He decided it would be worth talking with him so decided to fufil the elf's wish. He got up and walked straight through the brawl without receiving a single punch, every man moving to avoid him. He quickly reached the guards who paused when they saw him.

"Move citizen or we will have no choice but to remove you ourselves" one of the guards barked.

When he didn't co-operate the guard swung a punch hitting him directly in the chest. The cracking sound rang out as the bones of his wrist shattered against his muscles. He was suprised at just how weak the guard was. Deciding that the distraction would work better if he didn't kill him he picked up the guard and threw him directly into the middle of the fight.

The second guard drew his sword and bellowed as he swung it "Now you shall die criminal sc-"

The words caught in his throat when he realised that he could no long move his sword as it was being held in the bare hand of the giant.

"Wh-wh-what are you?" the man stuttered.

The fool didn't realise that he was simply just so weak most normal men could have stopped a blow from him. Deciding that throwing one guard and taking on the other wasn't a sucifcient distraction he proceeded to pick up the man and throw him through a window, out across the street and smashing through the door of the opposite house before looking for the ezermancer.

Grumbling from having very nearly been run over and crushed by a half-ton half-wit, Cassuner ignored the Voice, which tried rather hard to incite the young pyromancer to unspeakable acts of vengeance. But no harm had been done, and Cassuner was complacent to believe that yonder hulk merely hadn't seen him. Their difference in height was considerable, and with a helm like that, visibility had to be nonexistant.

And then a homely barmaid came 'rough with a free drink, and all unpleasant thoughts were forgotten.

Many things seemed to happen at once, most of which Cassuner ignored as he reclined in a wooden chair and slowly-but-surely drained his tankard. He wasn't entirely sure what sort of spirit he was drinking, but he quickly decided that it was most acceptable.

"You're about to get punched in the face," the Voice said.

"What makes you think tha-," Cassuner gurgled through his drink, but then he was punched in the face.

Falling back in his chair, Cassuner slammed into the ground, hitting his head rather hard. Luckily however, he'd managed to tilt his drink as he fell, so none had spilled. All was well.

And then a booted foot kicked his drink from his hand. It sailed clear across the room, breaking across some drunkard's skull.

That was the last straw.

"Oh god. He's going to die," the Voice predicted as Cassuner lept to his feet and pounced on the pitiful fuck that had killed his alcohol. Though small and less than muscular, his was the One True Rage, and it could not be matched by any mere mortal. He never got a good look at the man before bloody fists reduced it to a bubbling crater. During the fierce one-sided melee, Cassuner's hood came off, revealing everything that marked him for what he was. He knew not what was happening in the rest of the bar, nor did he care.

His drink would be avenged.

And then the same barmaid came 'round with another freebie.

Talethal made his way back to his feet, the only damage done was to his ego. By now the brawl was in full swing. Dodging a wild hay-maker, he grabbed the back of the mans head and smashed it into the counter. Reaching behind the counter in the same motion, he grabbed a small sack and filled it with some coins and a few different bottles, nowhere near covering his full pay, but it would suffice.

Looking around the bar, the fighting seemed most pitched around a few individuals of different skills. He tried to find the female elf, but could not see her, though the man of impressive size had evicted one of the guards from the premise in a most spectacular manner. He would worry about her latter, first things first was to get to his lute case.

Weaving his way though the brawl, his movements screamed grace, until he broke a mans jaw with his elbow and anothers leg with his fist. Making his way up to the dais and securing his case to his back, he looked around the room once more, pausing to kick out the teeth of a man who tried to pull him down onto his back.

Then there was a flash of heat and the smell of boiling flesh, nearly gagging he looked around for the source and promptly stopped when he spotted a group of guards elbowing their way into the bar. One swept his eyes around the bar looking for a target to show they meant business and locked his gaze on Tal, smiling he shouldered the blunderbuss and touched it off.

Not having any other actions, Tal felt a tug in his gut as he pulled at the wind and made a iron hard wall around himself. Acting on instinct he quickly riposted and sent a solid mass of air crashing into the guard, smashing him into a far wall.

Before Aethr could successfully reply to his brother Elf's questions, several more guards attempted to arrest a third elf, only to be killed by a very large, intimidating hulk of a man. And before he knew it, Ten armed Guards barged into the bar, one of which shot at the same Bard that Aethr had shot at earlier, who responded by shooting a gust of wind at the guard wielding the blunderbuss. Except this time, some of the shrapnel managed to impact near Aethr's feet.

Beginning to think that those guards were not here to make friendships that would last a lifetime, Aethr quickly leaped onto the table, shouldered his rifle, and fired. Then fired. Then fired again, until he had unleashed the nine bullets that he had left in his rifle.

The nine remaining guards all dropped, holes freshly drilled into their foreheads. Aethr wasted no time in reloading his rifle, but not before he carefully gathering up his spent shell casings. Some things were just too valuable to put off, and making more of those bastards would be a pain in the ass. As he gathered the small brass casings, Aethr calmly noticed that more guards were shoving their way into the tavern, throug hteh mass exodus of the general population.

A great deal of noise and commotion came from the inside of the bar. Grom leaned slightly against one of the walls. Men ran into and out of the bar, one man came out through a window and had yet to move from the place he lay.

Grom stepped away from the building, fearing it would catch flames soon. He quickly crossed to the building opposite and casually observed the situation unfolding.

V was smart, and the smartest thing to do was make herself scarce. She grabbed her satchel and tossed it over her shoulder. Her sword was tied firmly to her belt, but she didn't want to use it.

She lifted the captain's head off the table, and he moaned something that resembled speech. Being hit in the mouth with a chainmail fist must really fuck you up.

She stooped under his arm and dragged him off the table. They made it a few steps before V collapsed, unable to carry his weight. The drop seemed to sober him up, because he got to his feet, grabbed V, and pushed his way through the ever intensifying brawl.

A farmer tried to stand in the captain's way, but was knocked down by a heavy fisted steel gauntlet. The captain pushed on, dragged V out the door and into relative safety.

The air was less suffocating outside, and she breathed it in with large gasping breaths. The captain seemed drained. The exertions thus far and all the drink were taking large tolls on his stamina. V had swindled many men to get where she was, but never had she met a human so determined.

A group of soldiers grouped around the captain. The captain gripped his sword, and the soldiers backed off.

"Sir! We heard there was a brawl. We've been sent to assist.", one of them said. The captain nodded, and tilted his head towards the door. The guards went into the building, shouting battle cries.

"Sir!", a guard shouted. The captain turned around in time to take a short sword to the gut. The captain grabbed the traitorous soldier's arm and slammed a fisted gauntlet into the helm of the soldier. Blood splattered over the ground as the captain beat the traitor to death one handed.

Almost two dozen other soldiers watched this happen, unsure of what to do. The captain dropped the corpse he held and ripped the sword from his side.

With a heave, he drew his own sword. Venetica drew hers as well.

'How did I end up here...', V thought.

Breathing heavily, Cassuner grabbed the drink the barmaid had placed on the table before she'd fled the tavern in a panic. He could hear the Voice whistle in amusement as it inspected the ruined face of the man by Cassuner's feet.

"Is he alive?" the Voice asked, for affect. Cassuner shrugged, knowing the Voice could detect life, and would have been laughing if the man was indeed dead, such was its humor. His head was swimming something awful, and he was dreadfully oblivious to the turmoil blowing about around him.

Throwing his head back, Cassuner prepared to have a much-deserved drink. But as he brought the drought to his lips, a bullet shattered the glass, throwing alcohol and shards everywhere. The Voice began laughing as Cassuner lost control of his mind.

Apparently whoever Cassuner had just bludgeoned was not without friends, and they had quickly made their way over with blood in their eyes. Cassuner did not note the fact that none of them had a gun. They would pay regardless. He did not give them time to jump him. Instead, he ran and slammed into the middle goon, superheating his body into a flaming tackle. They both flew to the ground, and Cassuner rolled to his feet as the man screamed and thrashed on the floor, thoroughly ablaze.

The other two began to back off, now aware that they had completely fucked up. Flames erupted from Cassuner's hands. Out of pity, and some semblance of humanity, he put out the flaming man on the floor. Maybe he'd live, maybe not. Regardless, he threw flames at the fleeing cowards, causing fire to belch out the doorway of the tavern, lighting their breeches ablaze.

A thick smoke filled the room, obscuring vision and creating all manner of chaos. He heard steel being drawn in his vicinity, and knew that at least one poor fool was prepared to die.

"Overreact much?" he thought he heard the Voice say.

"Pyromancers never overreact," he said before vomiting magma in the direction of the threatening noise, with no regard for others. Then, with a belch, "we merely act with a passion that reflects our element."

The screams were quite ear-shattering.

Talethal was about to turn his attention to the other guards when nine shots rang out and nine guards dropped. He was sure now that if the elf wanted to, he could have killed him, or attempted to at least.

Turning around he was meet by three more guards who had not drawn there swords yet. The first he sent flying with a blast gale force wind. Parrying a swing from the second, he slammed his foot down on the mans knee breaking it and then punched him in the throat. Being rewarded with a horrific crack, he turned to face the third guard who at the fate of the second, attempted to draw his blade, but in his haste lodged it in the table next to him. Tal felt a familiar pull in his gut as he created a solid buffer of air between his knuckles and the steel chest plate of the guard, caving it into his chest with a punch and killing him.

Again tasting the air, he smelled burning flesh. The pyromancer was certainly having fun, too much fun as it was, if he did not stop, he would bring the building down. Already it was starting to fill with smoke. He considered blowing it away with the sweep his hand, but thought to use it to his own advantage. Taking a deep breath, he partitioned a part of his mind, setting it to constantly filtering the air he breathed in, and at the same time, let the air currents seep into his conscious mind, he was now able to make out the defined outlines of people in the smoke.

Ordamos was pissed; strike that, more than pissed. The situation had gone downhill faster than the cunt of a cheap priced whore. Because of the sheer amount of drunks in the bar advancement was slow. To make it worse, when he finally reached the location the dark elf had been, she was gone. He looked around for a minute and spotted her being dragged out the door. His eyes darted for a companion and at the moment he had four to consider. There was the Fire Fingers, Sharpshooter, Tin man, and the bard. Thinking closely about his options he figured he had the best chance to request teaming up with Tin man. He liked that guy.

While looking around the tavern for his potential aid a random peasant looking for a fight swung a broken bottle at him and sliced the side of his neck. He clenched it immediately with his hand then withdrew to find it covered in blood.

“Why?”

Ordamos wiped the blood from his hand across his attackers face. Turning to head towards Tin Man he could only hear the man’s screams of pain and the dropping of his body; not having a knack of enjoying watching people die. Finally he spotted Tin Man and ran towards him trying not to touch anyone if he could help it. Another swing, this time a fist landed right on his Ordamos’ jaw. Arrow in hand he sent the tip in the man’s jaw without a second thought, punched him in the jaw, and retrieved the arrow.

“Tin man!” he shouted across the tavern. He turned and looked at Ordamos. “I could use your aid outside!”

He then sprinted towards the door wiping his blood on three more men who got in his way and listening to them scream in pain. He then saw the elf with the gun near the door.

“Care to save a damsel in distress with me?” he hollered out sending with it a grin.

With that he sprinted outside sending an arrow towards one of the guards. The guard went straight to the ground as he loaded his bow again.

“I fucked up…”

There were at least twenty more guards now looking at him; all of which surrounded the dark elf. His first thought was to run back inside and hide within the crowd. Too risky… There was no back door that he knew of. He fired the second arrow at another guard and loaded a new one. He could make a run down the street and save his own life. Too cowardly… He had a title to uphold after all. He fired the third arrow at another guard and loaded a new one. He could stand and fight like a man and take as many guards as he could with him. Sounds like a plan… He fired the fourth arrow at another guard and loaded a new one.

Picking up the last shell casing, Aethr slid it into a pocket of his cloak, then quickly gathered up a large coinpurse that lay abandoned on the ground. The owner was not here to object to it, and, Aethr figured, the bolces would get stolen anyways. As he was getting up, Aethr dodged a drunkard swinging a punch at him, then smacked him in the face with his rifle.

Before he could land a second blow, though, the drunkard collapsed, foam coming from his mouth. The Elf in Grey was suddenly next to him, wiping blood off of his hands, and hollered "Care to save a damsel in distress with me?", before running outside, loosing arrows as he went.

Aethr shrugged, then ran outside, too see a strange sight. The Elf was firing arrows into a group of about twenty more guards, in the center of which a Dark Elf stood, obviously their prisoner. Aethr sighed, then, figuring he had nothing to lose, ran up to his Brother Elf, exclaimed,

"Why, out of the pot and into the fire, as they say."

Aether then brought up his rifle and started to fire.

Cassuner was now burning and killing indiscriminately, with little to no sense of himself. He thought he felt the telltale nuances of aeromancic affliction, but surely he was wrong. People just kept coming at him, and he just kept killing them with fire. He hoped they all deserved what they got.

"A man after my own heart!" the Voice declared as Cassuner ripped a man's face off with sheer heat. Left and right, assailants converged on him, many in the varying stages of inebriation. Perhaps it made their deaths less painful. Turning, he grabbed a sword as it swung for his head, and melted the blade between his seething fingers. Spitting boiling saliva into his assailant's eyes, he turned to another attacker, igniting the very oxygen around him. As the second man crashed to the floor, skin falling from bone, Cassuner turned again to the man he'd blinded, who was rolling on the ground in pain.

Superheating the bottom of his feet, Cassuner slammed his heel into the man's skull, melting straight through bone and brain.

"Your father would be so proud."

Cassuner ducked just in time as another attacker swung a battle axe at his throat. Swinging his body around, he kicked the man's legs out from under him, causing the man to fall through the floorboards and into the puddle of lava seven feet below that had melted through the bottom. His death was loud and painful.

The smoke was getting ridiculous. Apparently half the building had already gone up in flames. In fact, he was surrounded by a veritable inferno.

"I think I've overstayed my welcome," Cassuner mumbled. With his rage thoroughly spent, he opened a path through the flames, stepped over several charred skeletons, and grabbed a solitary goblet from a half-flaming table. Though he knew not how the goblet had survived the chaos, he nonetheless was happy to drink from it.

Drinks always tasted so much better after a good burning.

Opening a path to the door, Cassuner quickly stepped out into the streets, followed by flaming, screaming bodies, all doomed to die. Outside, he found a few people he recognized from the bar... and a fuckload of guards surrounding them all.

"More fun!"

"Always room in hell for twenty or thirty more," the pyromancer declared, igniting his entire body, "Who wants to pave the way down?!"

Just then, an ear-piercing siren went up.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

And then a voice from somewhere in the distance, "MONSTERS ARE ATTACKING FROM THE FOREST!! MONSTERS ARE ATTACKING!!!"

Screams went up all around, as most of the guards bolted for the northern gate. A few stuck around momentarily, but quickly balked at the thought of facing the pyromancer. They too chased after their cohorts.

Last to leave were a few guards that had been holding a female dark-elf. They did not want to surrender her at first, but their sense of self-preservation won through after a moment.

In truth, Cassuner was not so sure he could have held off twenty organized guards... But fear was a powerful tool, and pyromancers had been sowing fear for eight thousand years.

To the north, Cassuner heard things... Terrible things.

"Must be the Messers;" the Voice said, "horrible things, Messers. I love them."

The building was well and truly burning now, there was even magma under the floor boards, Tal needed to get out now. Fighting his way through the smoke and stepping over bodies, he made his way to the exit. Five feet away from the doorway, a creaking sound made him leap back as the as parts of the exit and the ceiling next to it came crashing down.

Dazed, he rose to his feet and began looking for another exit. With a hiss of the wind he sidestepped a downward swing of a broadsword. There where still three guards in the building.

"WHY ARE YOU STILL FIGHTING, If you don't get out of here, you will die here, in the fire, or by my hand."

Two of the guards looked at each other and saw the wisdom in the words, but the third gave them a look of rage and yelled out.

"We must burn the heretic, kill the mutant, purge the unclean, he is an affront to the gods" Slathering, he corrected himself. "IT is an affront to the gods, where are your spines you penny-whore whelped bastards!" With that he charged forward again with renewed vigor with the other two at his side.

Sighing Tal pressurized a pea sized pocket of air, and with a flick of his wrist sent it smashing through the first guards helm, dropping him instantly. Diving under the seconds wild swing, he rose with one hand on the guards wrist and the other smashing through his elbow.

Turning he used the guards sword, still in the guards hand to parry a blow from the last and followed through with a quick slice at the throat. He let go of the guards arm as the man recovered his composure enough to grab at the dagger on his leg and lash out. With a silent cry, Tal lashed out with a kick that knocked him too feet back and into a pit of lava.

Tired and frustrated at the needless loss of life, Tal gave up looking for an exit and decided to make his own. Letting his mind slip back into its calmed state, he reached into the wall next to him. Finding what he was looking for, he had all the bubbles of air in the mortar expand causing a man sized hole to be formed in the explosion. He stepped out into the cool night at seconds after the siren sounded amongst a group of people watching the remaining guards running somewhere else.

The fire had truly engulfed the tavern now and Sorrow felt the flames as they surrounded him. As he began to make his way after the elf the fire caused one of the roofs beams to collapse in front of him preventing him from following the elf directly who carried on and ran out of the doors.

As he stood there for a while a man ran up to him shouting "If i'm going to die i'm taking you with me!"

He threat was short lived however as he was effortlessly picked up and quickly followed the path of the second guard as he was thrown out of the window and across the street though this time he didn't have any armor to keep the impact clean and he was turned into a pile of gore.

This gave him the idea that the simplest option was to go the most direct route to get outside he proceeded to take a few steps back before barrel charging his way straight through the wall (a fairly easy task after the fire had already weakened it) and out onto the street. He saw that his help was unnecessary as the guards were now fleeing.

Looking he saw that most of the people who had been worth a damn in the bar, including the ezermancer who had enlisted him.

He walked up and joined them as the sirens sounded over the streets.

“Pity, that,” began Ordamos extending out a hand to help the dark elf to her feet, “We were forming such a great team.”

Ordamos had done his good deed for today. Despite the building being in full flame, Ordamos walked back in to grab is liquor which had been left at a booth by the door. He doubted he still had all fifty bottles he had bought (Some damaged, some stolen) but from the weight it was still quite a bit.

“I suppose this is where we split ways then?”

Ordamos began walking down the street homebound and cracked open a bottle of brandy he had bought. Taking a swig, he quickly decided it had to have been the best brandy he had ever tried. Curious, and intentions to buy more, he read the bottle. “Adventurer’s Bare,” was scrawled on the bottle in thick lettering. Perhaps it was a sign, he was unsure, but it put a necessary idea in his head. He drank deeper.

“I…” he thought what seemed centuries for his next choice of words. He knew very little of this rag tag team of adventurers that stood in front of him. Placing his life for the sake of curiosity was not something Ordamos usually did after all.. Yet, this time felt different, as if these people were of a standard and worth venturing about with. It was settled: “Actually, I might go check out what beasts this village warns of… Perhaps cleanse my sin for slaying local guards, or perhaps just fulfill my curiosity. If.. Anyone would like to head with me I’ll be on my way. You lot seem like far travel companions after all. The name is Ordamos, once Beast, but newly to me today now Demon of Mekjar.. or in elven tongue: K’shvinatarna deno Oksm’akar. I’m ever so pleased to meet you all.”

With that he spun around on one foot and continued his journey. Cracking open another bottle of brandy..

It was difficult to tell what happened next, but after the fight she noticed that she had a cut on her right arm and that Morris was dead. A tear welled up in her eye that she could not control, but she brushed it off and pretended to wipe some dirt and blood off her face.

She was deaf from the fighting, the constant sound of metal on metal numbing her ears. The body count around her was immense. A few of the living stood outside talking, but she couldn't hear them.

Venetica wasn't sure what was going on, nor was she in a position to make any positive decisions. The bar in front of her was blazing fiercely now, and she knew that she was a major component of at least sixty deaths in a very short span of time.

Sound started returning.

"...Always room in hell for twenty or thirty more.", said a red haired man. Venetica recognized him, he was the fire mage she was looking for.

As the building burned ash had gathered in Grom's hair and had gathered on the shoulders of his dark overcoat. He brushed a neat pile of it from his left shoulder as he approached the diverse group of armed individuals. He studied them carefully, the Pyromancer he could spot from a mile away based only on how he lit up. He also identified the Ezermancer, who's aura was more subtle but still present.

Two near-extinct mancers and a lot of marauders, it seemed. Just the kind of company he needed.

Removing his flask he took a swig draining one of the eight pints of spirit (it had been too long since he last drank to determine what it was) that the flask held before screwing the lid back on, replacing it and beginning to follow Ordamos, quickly coming up alongside him. Deciding that if he were to now have a new travelling companion he would be with him for long enough that speech would be worthwhile.

"While you may have given me your name" He began "I unfortunately can't do the same in return. I've never known my true name though most people seem to have taken to calling me Sorrow due to this" he tapped the tear shape under his eye.

Pulling out a whetstone and his hunting knife he began to sharpen the blade as they walked along. He would prefer not to use his sword unless necessary but having something other than his bare hands would be useful when they got into the next inevitable battle.

"Be glad you do not know," Cassuner said in response to the unknown elf-woman's question. Waving a hand, he doused the inferno behind him, and immediately made for the northern gate. Black smoke billowed out after him, despite the wind moving in a different direction.

He passed the boozehound and the rude giant after several strides.

"I was just kidding," the Voice said, "I've never known a Messer to come this far south."

Cassuner knew as much, but did not slow his pace. "I've caught far too much attention. Now is the best time to leave."

"You talk as if you tried to be inconspicuous."

"You know me."

"Unfortunately, I do."

For the longest time, Cassuner said nothing, merely listened to the unnatural beating of his heart, and the rapid clip-clop of boots on cobblestone. As he went, he passed dozens if not hundreds of screaming townsfolk, all running in the opposite direction clutching loved ones. He wished them well. It seemed funny how he could be so senselessly murderous one second, and so senselessly compassionate the next. But he was a pyromancer, and by definition, his compassion only went so far. He would see them all burn before he saw himself delayed.

He had no time to spare. That stop in the tavern had been stupid, but pyromancers were nothing if not slaves to their passions, especially the more sudden ones.

Pulling up his hood again, he set forward with renewed vigor.

Up ahead, Cassuner thought he could almost make out the first telltale sounds of steel on steel. As he went, the noise quickly became much more defined, with shouts and screams entering the mix.

"It appears we've been misinformed," the Voice said, sounding amused, "Not surprising really, considering how dark it is. And I bet they have trouble with monsters around here all the time. Why, I'll be-"

"Get to the point," Cassuner growled, looking left and right as the sounds seemed to surround him, yet he saw no signs of battle. Just building after locked building, and streets that were becoming more and more empty.

"I sense no monsters, lad. Whatever is invading this village, it's humanoid."

"Good," the pyromancer said, his eyes glowing crimson, "There is no fun in burning animals."

The red haired wizard was getting away, but V was still clear headed enough to remember she needed him.

She didn't call to him, but followed closely behind. Not too close, not too far.

As the sirens rang, Aethr pondered on what he should do. If he left now, he may have a chance to outrun whatever beast was attacking the gates, maybe even be able to collect a trophy or two. Though, to be honest, it had been awhile since he Aethr had had a good fight.

So, after retrieving his shell casings and reloading his rifle, Aethr quickly jogged up to Ordamos, then said, "Aethr. Aethr Trueshot."

Talethal stood looking at the now smoldering remains of the tavern, thinking back he did not even remember the name of the place. The guards would start taking descriptions of the people involved in the bars burning, as soon as they got back from whatever had called them away that was, giving him hopefully enough time to get out the city. His best chance of survival had him of looking around at the now dispersing group of fighters for someone to travel with.

The elf with the gun was out of the question, and with him went the armored giant and the other elf. That left him just with the other man. Looking him over Tal knew instantly what he was, and why it was a bad idea to travel with him. Two wanted mancers in a group was asking for trouble, though he could not imagine any group of guards, of any size being able to do anything to stop them what so ever.

Sighing he checked the strap on his lute case and set off on a brisk pace to catch up to him. Walking up alongside him, he spoke.

"The name is Talethal, and what would yours be, pyromancer"

Though Ordamos didn’t look back he could hear the hulking man nearing his side. "While you may have given me your name" He began "I unfortunately can't do the same in return. I've never known my true name though most people seem to have taken to calling me Sorrow due to this" He tapped a point alongside his eye that was shaped like a tear. Ordamos opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another nearing his left. "Aethr. Aethr Trueshot." Ordamos was astounded. Though he had introduced himself he hadn’t expected for anyone to willingly travel with an Ezermancer. It was a pleasant surprise indeed.

“Sorrow,” he said nodding at the first man the turning to the second, “Aethr, it is nice to have both of you. There is an issue here however.” Ordamos had noticed Sorrow was still drinking from his flask however Aethr was without drink. This was a problem to Ordamos, and to fix it he reached into his bag. “You my friend,” he began, extending a bottle to the elf, “Are without drink… and to what extent is a battle without a slight buzz within the head?”

“If either one of you would like for your weapons to become slightly more lethal,” Ordamos then began, extending out his hand that gripped the bottle and pulling up his sleeve to expose darkened veins and a severely tattooed arm, “I’d be glad to help out. Some curses, though still curses, can have their pleasures.”

The Pyromancer had surpassed them by now, and was headed towards the direction of the siren; the bard following suit. “Fire fingers!” he yelled out, “What do you see ahead?” He pulled out his bow and quickened his step towards the one he had questioned.

A human joined the wizard, and an elf joined soon after. Venetica shook her head, and ran up towards the group too.

"You there, red headed wizard. Where do you hail?", Venetica asked as she tried to keep in step with him.

He gave her a blank stare. She looked at the human and elf, hoping for an answer to her question from them. They stared at her too.

"You're...not..a ginger, are you?", Venetica asked. "I heard they were always killed at birth."

A chill ran up V's spine. "It would be horrendous if one were to mature to adulthood."

"Friends!" the Voice exclaimed, as three people hailed the pyromancer in rapid succession.

"Fucking no," Cassuner muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the Voice, or to those around him. Cassuner's companions had a habit of dying, or giving away his already-difficult-to-conceal position at the very worst of times. Without turning to look at anyone, he picked up his pace, hoping they would get the point before he had to drive it home.

And then a building up ahead... for lack of a better word, exploded.

Cassuner could hear the Voice whistling as an Ogran stepped out of the dusty rubble, tossing bloody chunks of whoever had lived inside. He was a big bastard, over twenty feet tall, and armored in a suit of black mail that had to have weighed half a ton. His arms were so thick with muscle that they probably wouldn't have fit down a well. He was bald, but had more hair on his face than most men had on their entire body. Scars riddled the few places on his ironclad form where skin was visible; a testament to decades of murder.

The Voice was laughing at this point, "You know the-"

"YES I fucking know," Cassuner snapped. Ograns were naturally resistant to fire magic, though not so much as full-blooded ogres. Ograns were a hell of a lot smarter, though. And shorter, thankfully.

Just then, the Ogran caught sight of him, smiling with teeth as long and jagged as an old kris, and began stomping in his direction. Such conceit. The half-man did not even bother to draw his shortsword (which was far larger than the largest human claymore.)

Resistant or not, Cassuner was fully prepared to drown the poor sod in a sea of lava if he bloody well had to. Igniting the air around him, he began preparing the Hosaukual Warchant of Death. 'Twas a rather unpleasant incantation, hence why "death" was in the title.

... and then it started to rain, with a crack of lightning that lit up the world.

"You're fucked now," the Voice said as flame disappeared into steam. Cassuner's frown was considerable.

Turning on his heels, the now-useless pyromancer quickly had a change of heart. "I am Cassuner, son of Casseon," he said, sticking his thumb toward the lumbering giant behind him, "and I could use a little help with that."

Noting that the only person who stood the slightest chance of suriviving a direct hit from the monster before them Sorrow stepped in front of the rest of the group. As the Ogran reached him it swung it's first punch which he dogded with relative ease before throwing three of his own to it's ribs. As the third hit the same spot as the previous two it had the desired effect and a loud snap sounded as broke off inside of the creature.

However while this caused a considerable amount of pain and made the Ogran stumble backwards it also sent it into a rage. Though this could prove to be useful as it made it forget about the others and gave it the sole desire of crushing him into dust.

As it barrelled toward him Sorrow smiled expecting an easy dodge which he would follow up this time with a quick and easy kill using his hunting knife. However things weren't that lucky for him. This time when he dodged the simple punch the Ogran followed it up with a powerful kick that sent him flying backwards into a market stall.

Not giving him time to break the creature began charging at him. He reached to draw his sword but hesitated just over the handle.

"Maybe it would be better to just accept death..." He wondered to himself.