A Winter Night

[Cinnabar]

"I don't think so. Intrigued, yes. Mad? Not especially."

Though given his calm progress towards what he's being assured is certain doom, others might disagree. Onwards towards the fight, a steady and relentless pace regardless of whether Sventon might resist or not. Left hand on the cultist's shoulder, right hand kept free and ready.

"So. Hans, is it?" The name that the man in the cell had given him, at least. "Why worship this Baie, if he's so terrible and cruel? Where's the benefit in such an arrangement? For you, I mean. Does he protect you? Grant you power? Heal your sicknesses? Anything like that?"

Nearing the entrance to the main chamber now, slowing as Cinnabar leans to peer around the stone arch, eyes narrowing as he regards the maelstrom of whirling blades across the way. Huh. Too many blades for the number of people involved, from what he can see. Curious.

"Or is it just a matter of fear, where you worship that which is terrifying and powerful in the hope that it won't crush you?"

Possibly a poor time to be asking questions of faith and theology, but the apprentice is curious as to what would draw someone to worship a god who demands such things - such horrors - as Ariane has mentioned. Murder and sacrifice and all manner of atrocity. Why would anyone want anything to do with such?

[Quincy]

Ignas had bade her warn the others, but when Athena came upon them, she was steadfast; the young, armoured will-o'-the-wisp was slightly taken aback by the sheer number of limbs that came from the barmaid's cloak. But Quincy had seen a lot of things in her short life, had spent some years nursing the wounds in her mind due to horrific sights, only to burst the stronger out of darkness.

She was not the fastest learner or the strongest swordsman; her remarkability was firmly centered in has passion, and it was this quality in her that kept her from surrender, from departure, and so she warred against Evil without being consumed by hatred or worse: apathy. Resilience could be a frightening thing in battle, and she would proudly wield its power to the end. She knew no other way. She knew to strike fast and hard; she knew to pour her lifestuff into victory. This was a girl who wanted two things from this world: she wanted to protect her home, and she wanted to make her sister smile.

Her shadow skimmed the ground beneath her when she moved thoughtlessly to accomodate Acteon's tactic, spacing the three of them evenly around their six-armed foe. She was the smallest of them, but she had the largest weapon; this might have been comedic, foolish, or tragic, except she clearly had the strength for the task.

There was only an instant of suspense; her knees were slightly bent, and she was balanced, braced on the balls of her feet - her body poised at a thin, slightly turned angle, guarding herself.

Now!

The girl sprang forward, the movement swift and graceful - the sword an extension of her furious, young body. Simultaneously, they struck with their swords like lightning-bolts.

[Sventon]

~*~


Jons' mace slammed into the heavy door, splintering his side of it; the cultist on the other side jerked in surprise, and its boots skidded on stone when the warrior's full weight hammered against the door. The cultist was determined, though, it seemed - determined and strong; or, more than likely, there was more than one of them, for Jons was a great beast of a man, and one would be hard-pressed to withstand such brutal force, keeping the door firmly shut to the frame. Over the noise of fire beyond him, perhaps Jons could hear the indistinct urgency of voices - hushed words and the sound of something dragging, heavily. There was more than one of them for sure.

One cultist quickly pushed a bench up against the door, and the two, white hoods regarded each other for a split second; then, they both ran from the torched room of Thadius, their strides made of haste, their monkishly wide sleeves flagging back like wings.



~*~

[Sventon]

"You ask too many questions," Hans gasped quietly in reply, feeling defensive because of the painfully honest wording of Cinnabar's curiosity. Maybe Sventon's idea of cooperation had nothing to do with telling him what he wanted to know; it had nothing to do with confidence, and everything to do with what he felt like was a fast approaching, inevitable death. He was also left stung by Magnus' words. It made his mouth reckless. It was bad enough that he was going with the apprentice. He did not need to add to it by speaking foolish words with The Baie so near to them; the mere thought of it flushed his bruised face with splotches of heat.

They stopped to look around the corner at yonder fray. Sventon immediately shrank back from the sight of flashing blades, turning his head. All the colour was gone from his face again. It made little sense that he would be blood-shy. That could not be the source of his hesitation. He had clear, second thoughts about giving in to Cinn's directions.

"Do we have to be here?!" He hissed urgently, never answering his questions. His eyes drew back to the muddle of movement despite himself, narrowing slightly.

Cinnabar must have been right after all. This could not be the Baie. All those people were still standing.

[Vanidor]

Jons hammered twice more with his mace against the door itself, enough to hammer free a piece of planking and allow him a sight of the world beyond the 'frame. Darkness and shadow on the otherside, with a baleful flare of oil-wrought fire behind him. Jons laughed softly and turned about, dark eyes sweeping the room he had so recently set ablaze.

Jons laughed again, then turned back to the door. With a half snarl, Jons raised his mace again and set to hammering it against the timbers. He wasn't certain on the strength of the door itself, but damn him if he'd not go down without trying. And so the Lieutenant continued to slam the weapon against the door, sending splinters of wood backwards at himself with the force, more kindling for the fire that was slowing growing in intensity behind him.

Another glance behind him at the fire, a choked out laugh, and then back at the door. Aloud he bellowed, hopefully enough for any cultist (if there was even anyone out there) to hear the frightful malice in his voice. "Fuck me in the eye if I'll be going to my own fire. When I get out of here, by Adon's Flaming Balls, you had already better be dead!"

[Cinnabar]

"I get told that a lot. But evidently I'm not asking the right questions, to gauge from how few answers I get." He grins at that, despite Sventon's unease and the fight raging on the other side of the chamber. He considers the cultist's question for a time, then shrugs.

"Well, since you're my prisoner, I should pay close attention to you in case there's clubbing of heads or poisoning of throats or what-not. Apparently you're a dangerous sort. However, there is also a fight going on which I should probably assist with. Though that said," Eyes narrowing to regard the wolf-pack tactics, surrounding and harrying the six-armed woman. "it looks like my associates have things in hand."

His gaze returns to his reluctant captive, pondering for a moment.

"So. Why worship the Baie?"

[channe]

A split-second decision; that's all you really have time for, in moments like these.

"... follow," she says, taking off down the tunnel in the direction Rhaena indicates -- towards Jons and the cultists laying in wait. "... when we get there, you disable 'em best you can, keep 'em from whackin' about, and I'll take care o' the business."

[Jirai]

No reply - none was necessary. The veiled girl hurried after Agnieszka, still mentally tracking the two cultists. When the pair of girls drew nearer, Rhaena would lash out with her mind. Taking a leaf out of her brother's book, she'd try to force a sick feeling on the two minds - hopefully rendering them less effective in combat.

[Awry]

Somewhere out in the woods, Sefall blinked into existence - it was easy enough to have slid past the people in the tunnel under the veil of invisibility. He tucked the empty potion bottle back into one of the pouches at his belt, and, with a glance back towards the far-off complex where the others were milling about, started off. Smoke ran with him, having trailed the others somewhat; she had never entered the complex, however.

His seal of office had thrummed just as people from both sides had converged upon him, and he had taken the moment to relieve himself of ocular attentions with the potion - the telepathic message coincidentally delivered at that pivotal moment was of much importance... and, to his chagrin, meant he was needed back in Snowhall.

Another trip across the sea, huh? Oh well - they had things well in hand, here.

[Minty]

Ignas was puzzled. This was an enemy that would surely make combat -tricky-. He was pretty sure it was a puzzle he could solve on his own, but...others insisted upon fighting her. Fine. He worked in unison with them. When Acteon's voice calls out, Ignas also rushes forward.

However, he does something different. They get in a decently guarded position and strike. Ignas leaps forward, body quite unguarded, and reaches for two of her arms on the left side. They are attacking. Ignas will attempt to cripple her defense. Acteon is -good-. This is a good way to make sure it will be troublesome to escape.

He prays this is quick. They're wasting time here, and putting themselves in unnecessary danger. This strange woman needs to be put down quickly.

[Carnath-Emory]

Ariane is swift and light down that narrow, winding corridor, boot-heels striking a militant percussion from its stony floors. There is a slender blade held low by her legs, its glittering point dragging air scant inches from the ground -- but then, it's hardly the woman's only gleaming facet. Her flesh sweats mercury, her loose garments writhe with the glutinous stuff, so that perhaps the shine of her would have caught the eye of her companions before the sound of her footsteps did.

Excepting, of course, that they are presently quite ... occupied.

For it is chaos that Ariane bursts upon, by the time that she's tracked down the echo of Baie to its source: a swarm of weapons with Athena for their focus. The tumult of it leaves her halting very suddenly, skidding on the edge of a boot-heel as fingertips graze a wall for balance's sake. And:

"Poslushay ty, zassat!" she hails this storm of naked blades, for that is Athena at the heart of it, and her sister's sword, and Acteon's cry, and the unmistakably-garish Ignas. And Bromn very near, with his own weapon drawn, and Cinnabar closing on her --

And not once in three encounters, has Baie required a weapon for his massacres.
Not once has he worn a face that didn't distinctly benefit him.

"Ni khuja -- Quincy, this is not Baie!"

[Vanidor]

"In the Name of the Council! This is Sergant Rautha of the Brotherhood of Janerio! Throw down your weapons and put to heel, or by Adon's Hairy Sack we'll start shooting again!"

This from the cavern's mouth, in a voice that would ring out over the clash of weapons one on another. If any dared look, if they -could- look, they would see a man bearing a lighted torch and holding it in his left hand. In his right a crossbow with one of those painful blunts loaded. To either side stood two men, each with drawn and readied longbows. Oh, true, the melee within was too pell-mell for them to aim. And the entrance too small for such a thing either, but that wouldn't stop the five of them from doing what it was they had said that they'd do.

[channe]

It's an extremely good thing that Agnieszka and Rhaena are currently pushing their way up a passage at this point; at the end of which is flame, and shadows beyond. Else she'd simply sheath that sword of hers, have a minor temper tantrum about how stupid and idiotic and utterly dumb the rest of them were, and drag Rhaena back off towards town.

... but, instead, she's throwing up a hand to block the heat, and turning to Rhaena. A hand points to the door beyond in question.

[Jirai]

The girl nodded furiously to Agnie's questioning gesture.

"That one! Quick!"

[Rattrap]

They gave Athena additional time. Acteon was circling and the plan all too clear; and fragile, in such a small space as this. Athena's feet shuffle, backing herself to a nearby wall while Acteon traces his arc. Already, their intended 360 degrees of combat has been cut in half. The coat is lifted from her shoulders and held high, readied as yet another weapon - the heavy fabric of the garment, along with its size, makes it ideal for snaring and dissuading blades.

Acteon opens his mouth to shout and Athena's hand is in motion before he finishes the word: the dagger is thrown for the man's throat. Athena's aim with such a sized object is good, but her technique non-existent - should the blade even strike the man, it was just as likely to hit him with the hilt or the flat side of the blade than any truly damaging attack. But that wasn't the full intent, though it would be a lucky bonus; that strike's goal was to make Acteon falter - even only a little. A person can see a full half circle, but that doesn't mean they can fight in one.

They all begin to move. The freed dagger hand reaches down to draw the fourth and final blade, her falchion. Athena's attention focuses on Ignas and Quincy - leaving only a little enough for Acteon to know when he's coming. When he does, the coat sweeps down to envelop his smaller blade amid its many thick folds. A defensive maneuver, to be sure, that requires little accuracy. Ignas comes, and the falchion is drawn and swept up at his midsection in one swift move lacking any finesse, but it is all the barmaid has time for. Quincy is greeted with the bulk of the blades; the longsword and scimitar scissor on her blade, not to stop, but redirect the attack away from her - toward Ignas. Right behind the blades is her one empty hand, opened for a simple palm strike at Quincy's face. The rapier idles given the great degree of balance taking on three opponents requires.

Her left side was most vulnerable, given Ignas' targeting and the only secondary attention Acteon was given - her heavy garment didn't guarantee the man's blade wouldn't find her flesh.

Ariane comes and yells. Athena hears and and doesn't recognize, having no attention left to decipher such details. More yelling from the other side; the only information taken in at this point are the number of immediate threats, right now poised by two blades and two arms.