Mormegil, skeleton fight, loss of savant, et cetera.

{NARRATION} A spire - a mountainous figure, really, far-off in the distant reaches and extents of the shadows of the deserted lands of the Sarab. A furious sandstorm raged, blanketing the 'world' in a thick cloud of sand and otherwise. To navigate it in any small group would spell risk or otherwise for the foolish, though a well-kept group of magi and skilled, trained professionals could see the journey a safe one! Whatever the case, the 'group' or squadron in question was, needless to say, above such a threshold. While they'd find it arduous, some due amount of effort would provide to them the very near sight of what was once Mormegil in all of its wicked, vile glory - that is, decrepit glory, which was to perhaps add to the effect. The sands nearby were littered with blackened... tar, perhaps, greyish waters having seeped up to the surface as a result of more than multiple decades of caveins having existed thereunder. Depravity washed over the scene with huge abundance, likely making some sort of effort to suffocate - though not successfully so - any Exorcist or otherwise well-intention-ed magi of any sort. It was malicious. Evil. Absolutely horrendous. To venture inward would be to call oneself not only brave but somewhat insane, too - to venture inward would be to condemn oneself to the world of a forgotten Dread Necromancer and Lich - to venture inwards would be to seal the pact of Hell's Embrace. To venture inward would be to acknowledge death.

To accompany, travel across the lands, arrival set to be within the Sarab. Not far from the adopted home of the seekers, comrades to be met, faces to grace oculars, some remembered, others new to him -- the influence of the organization having seemed to reach rather far-and-wide. Something the Kyros was not to be evident to, to only now understand the true scope of grasp afforded to those who sought knowledge with a fervency akin to a Dragon's lust for treasures.

To remain silent, to act as an observer, yet one to participate; words would not be shared so easily, so pleasantly -- a purpose for being here, one perhaps known to a few, individuals to know of his drive. To serve Alteros, to acquire knowledge, hopes to appease rulers, to gain favor, and to receive.. Appreciation.

As he steps forward, to have feelings of.. well, welcoming; the air to linger, the forces to weigh upon him, they were welcome -- masses of depravity, waves of dejection, malice, abhorrence; neatly wound together, to plague, and permeate, to engulf the gathered lot. Finding reprieve in this, the Crosier to be positioned upon his back to react, to glow brighter, no longer a faint light, but a strong glare, luminescent, so powerful was the pull of ancient magics to be found here, so enticing, to enthrall him, attention turned from others, to focus on what would be a point of entry, none to truly be marked, but to allow a stare to be afforded to the ground, the sandy floors, sediment to bury, to obscure what was sought.
(Tertius Kyros)

{NARRATION} It would soon become increasingly apparent that, in truth, none of the squadron or whatever they might be deemed had managed to find some sort of solution to their presented issue in due enough time. If nothing else, they were to fail as a single group, not single individuals - one could perhaps take solace in that. If they did not, though, no time would be allotted for mulling over the issue. The sandy rock beneath their collective feet would begin to crumble! Square foot by square foot of space would drop into the cavern below, falling to such a demonic depth that one might expect immediate death at the end of its provided fall. It was an extreme length - far too distant for what any usual individual might ever expect from the likes of Mormegil. Cavern-based or not, the punishment for their arguable failure would surely seem just far too... simple, perhaps; was there not more to a journey? Would life or death or otherwise be so utterly anticlimactic so as to devour and soak up the entities provided to the forgotten Undercity as if some sort of villainous, gluttonous creature? Evidently not. Such a fall would slow, towards the end; drawn to a halt by otherworldly forces, likely related to gusts or gravitational magicks or similar. A savior! Or, if not that, something kind enough to at least prolong the fate of the many due to approach further inside. Just as it had been a seemingly mile or more depth was it a seemingly just as tall ceiling, their figures deposited - unharmed - into a wide, wide arena, seats on every side and rotting with the natural decay of wood and all other natural materials. Decades had done this to such a place. Dust and shredded wood and blood spatters and otherwise existed there, scattered about in great quantity by beastial invaders long since gone or otherwise. The only real artefact of any note would be a seeming statue - a skeletal statue, firmly placed within the very center of the room. It was upheld by its own stucture, ligaments forgotten and replaced by solid bone. No other protrusions existed there. One would be left with few options, many of which related to the individual at hand, and, with no available entrances or exits... was there anything to be done besides inspect the supposed skeleton? Perhaps. It was up to them.

To stumble, to fall, and to roll, a rather unsightly thing. For the figure, one to demand authority, dominance, reduced to a rather paltry existence -- to trip over head, to appear as a mere fool; arms to flail, mimicking flight almost, the Kyros to have visage graced with an expression to dictate nothing short of pure, and completely founded stupefication. To fall from beneath them, the floor, a sudden turn of events, one to surprise, too busy to now notice others, so intent on not.. well, going splat.

An effort, to tuck, and to perhaps roll, an instinct, to mitigate damage, to land with a thud, the act.. a poor one, and horribly exectued, a flop on posterior, a loud echo to resonate, and to appear with teeth grit, and a strained expression. The others.. Some to fair better than him, and some to be in the same straits he found himself, yet for the most part.. whole? Yes. All seemed to be better for wear than he, albeit a little haggard, this whole sudden drop proving to be quite the shake, even to he.

Now. To find time to stand, admist the others, to give a cough, a clearing of throat, to let eyes set upon a.. Skeleton, one to warrant the gazes of the others -- to observe, to let the scene sink in, their perimeter, to be surrounded by what appeared to be a citadel. Cages, and gates, and such, why, a familiar symbol in a wall not to far from them! The mark of a Deity worshipped by he, a fleeting thought though, something he found pleasing, but for now, this.. remnant strewn in the middle of the floor would take precedence.
(Tertius Kyros)


The ground trembled as Iris' servant approached. Perhaps a mistake. Perhaps not. Evidently a mistake. It wholly disentegrated, its own bones turned to complete and utter dust by merely approaching the skeletal figure in the midst of the center of the room. Its entirety would be blown away by nonexistent winds, and duly would the aforementioned form raise itself to meet those who had approached. Whatever ligaments or connections or tendons or otherwise had been formerly hardened to prevent movement were simply... capable of movement, it seemed, and bent to the will of the owner quite easily, as was apparent. "A foul error," the fleshless beast moaned forth, shambling towards Harper and companions. Each step - visibly weak things, to be sure, given the skeleton's lacking composition - wrought, somehow, a plethora of issues forth. Through the ground did violent outbursts of darkness rumble, smashing betwixt each and every brick and their interconnecting mortars as if to bring yet further quaking to the whole of the room. It would manage, somehow, to maintain composure - though it was surely not certain if such an effect would last forever. Whatever the case, an opponent had presented itself! They were due for a fight, unless they wished to roll over and die. Again. It was up to them! Fight or die.


[16:40:44] Approaching the form of this bone-bearing figure, a kin of sorts, erected by one of their own; a skeletal cousin to the remains to approach, to attempt a touch. Only for it to wither, an act of violence against it, the physical remnants to be done away with in a instant, leaving nothing to remain. The creature, to rise, to speak, a voice hollowed, to come from nothing really, no organs to boast speech capability, no flesh to hide the vocal chords, no chords to be seen at all!

It shifts attention towards them, to approach, to come at them, proclaiming a mistake made on the part of the group.To step, with it a fragility to be observed, one to deceive, to trick those found to be inexperienced into assuming this to be a game perhaps. From the Kyros, such a thing is to not be allowed, to find a reason to grab for armament; Crosier to be upheld, drawn to oppose this one, the power to radiate, as it steps, the ground to give way, dark dealings to ooze out, to encroach, to threaten to plague them.

Shaking experienced, and something to ensue.. Violence, a bout upon them, would the others stand to fight? He knew not their resolve, what drove them, but faced with this -- to follow the teachings of Alteros; to burn, and rend, to erase that which opposed. Praise to be Given to Vindicators while carried out, never to forget Azrael's name during any moments of worship of course.
(Tertius Kyros)



Progress! The skeleton was entirely ruined. Destroyed! Bones flew in every which way as they completely ruined whatever 'body' it could have formerly claimed as its own; for a few minutes, such would remain the case, the meal betwixt each bound of the cadaver's limbs smattered across the ground with each pool of dried blood and otherwise. Strangely, though, the sight of such a thing would fade into black nothingness. The aforementioned pools would refuse reality and shimmer away into the void, blanking out entirely as the room, too, would follow suit, true-black existence racing up to meet with the feet of the adventurers within swiftly. It'd be difficult to resist - impossible, even. It came from every which way, consuming and devouring the walls in an instant and creeping about every inch of Harper, Savant, and otherwise. Trapped! As with everything in the wretched mound deemed 'Mormegil,' though, it'd not be permanent, nor even 'real' for any length of time at all. The so-called trap was vanished from existence, too, and all of the Seekers would be plunged into a perhaps endless fall once again. Darkness was abound once more, and so were the depths of their downward tumble. Feet. Miles, even; an illusory distance, to be sure, if their last experience was to be of any sort of hint. Within moments were they then thusly deposited upon the same flooring as prior - within the same room as prior. Everything was exactly the same. However, the blood spatters and debris had been, somehow, magically rearranged to form symbols on the wall. They all collectively spelled out: "O N E." The skeleton, rather than sit idle, bore gloring red eyes, and pointed towards a singular member of their varied group. Savant. What was to be done? It was, once more, up to the group.

With victory comes.. assault; the remains of the figure to dissipate, and to give way to a black substance, to motion owards them, to surround the group, a threat of violence. An aura flared by the Kyros, to offset this, only to find no need for such an action -- to fade away, as did the bones, the residue left over, gone, all of it, the scene to change; the floor to vanish from underneath once more. This time, to warrant preparation, to look at this, a victim to it for but a moment, his arms extended to flail once more, to be abated though. A call upon racial traits, a blessing from Ryujin, legs, to lengthen, to scale over, and otherwise, appear as armored reptilian features..

With these, he finds balance, a strength in the appendages, newfound, and properly exerted, to alleviate a fall, one to be seen as factual, while just a cleverly disguised illusion, even so; he would not accept a blunder as one to previously occur with his stumbling about.

Now. Set, the group would be, the figure to return, blood... to be along the walls, caking it, in a way, letters spelled out, to allude to something, to someone. The Skeleton to move, to motion, and to make it known, though silent, his will is to be understood or so the Kyros is to believe; a finger to fall upon the Malpercian, Mr. Savant. For all to watch, a bystander up until now, to watch this unfold or to press a claim, no longer staying quiet after violence had found it's way to them.



{NARRATION} "One," it gasped through an open jaw. How was it speaking? Uncertain, to be sure, though a voice was evident regardless. Its bony, skeletal finger twisted with the whole of its torso and ignored the speech of the others, for the most part. "One must fight," the corpse continued. "One must sacrifice," it uttered. The finger pointed to Harper - to Tertius - to Eirik, Iris, Scathe, Astraeus, Peaches, Andras, and even back to Savant. "One must give for all."



Sacrifice

The word to stick within the mind of the Kyros. To imply, to prelude to something, the man, to give little heed to the words. His presence here, a purpose yet to be fulfilled, little reason to extend himself in such a way with this to still be the case with him.

To eye Savant, to let gaze shift, to spare a look for all, some to step up, some to remain silent, what would happen. He was not to say, he did not know who would approach, or if the words would even be taken as a demand for blood right then, and there.

"This is something to think on, the words of the creature -- while direct, do not tell us much; a sacrifice is mentioned, but is it needed at such an interval?" To speak up, for once, one quick to promote the sacrifice, to offer death, for a greater outcome. This, while not unsettling, was something to be hastily assumed, this creature, bested once before, was not one to have to be adhered to.

To serve as the victors, their word, their might, to carry sway, not that of the defeated. "Take what it says with grains, Comrades. Let us not jump to conclusions so soon."
(Tertius Kyros)

Savant's limb was grabbed. The skeleton, with swiftness beyond what one might believe capable of such a cadaver, grasped its individual fingers about the whole of the Malpercian's provided arm, and he would see himself... Not attacked. Nay; in fact, it was perhaps the direct opposite. His feet would sink into the ground with whatever other gear he might have donned, and with haste would 'Spike' or 'Savant' vanish into nonexistence, disappeared into the depths of the very darkness that the whole of the group had only just recently came from - twice. "Tricked you," the skeletal figure cackled out, its jaw clattering violently as it backed away from those of the group. "Tricked you! Tricked! The sacrifice of one has proved the selflessness of that same persona," it screamed and wailed. "It has proven your selfish humanity and for that fact..." "Punishment awaits." Darkness once more broiled to the surface of the brick flooring, melting apart mortar and other connections to sprout massively demonic, Yokai-borne constructs of Occultic value. Fighting was due once again - and it was likely to be less simple than the first battle.


[18:05:13] With this, a brave display, to be sullied. The underhanded tricks of the creature, to have the room filled with an echo, the chortle of laughter, the trickery to be present. Fooled by the lack of hositlity it seems, they are to be down a man, and forced into another bout, this time, their fire power, quite literally, halved, if one were to look to the lone pyromancer to now stand there.

Teeth grit, feeling like quite the fool, having not spoken up, to remain silent during discussions, how it had led to this, now to fight again, fiends of grand proportions to tower above them, and the group, to scramble to face this new threat poised to oppose. With this new scene, to shift, ire to fill him, and from it; the gift of Ryujin to truly give way - to have his person enshrouded by flames of shadow, to lick against flesh, to coat in scaling, a snarl under breath, dentition bared, pupils to flare, serpentine slits to narrow, and in a burst of magnificence, a stark display of power, of heriditary superiority.

Horns to sprout, rather painfully from his head, wings to jutt from back, wrenching chunks of armor out -- blackened, tainted by occultic miasma, dyed in the color of his practice. tail, spiked, to flay at the end, the thorny appendage to coil around leg. The Crosier, taken up, and battle.. to begin once more.
(Tertius Kyros)

{NARRATION} Once more, the skeleton was obliterated! It was evident enough that skeletons were, in fact, weak to physical blows. Who knew! Whatever the case, victory was victory - even whatever foul illusion the daemonic figure commanded could not deny them a proper, well-earned win, truly. Of course, it could manipulate it so that perhaps such a thing might be equivalent to a loss, in reality... Nevertheless! A door - or rather a wall - split in twine, its entirety bending to reveal an entirely new room equal or greater in size in compare to the former arena. "The selfless will suffer for the selfish's crimes," the jaw of the cadaver muttered prior to crumbling to complete and utter dust, the former glow of scarlet-red present within its sockets fading swiftly or even instantaneously. A slithering could be heard, and Savant sat distant in the furthest reaches of the provided new cave! Would it really be that easy, though...? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It was up for them to decide and to figure out.



To watch as the opposition is once more to be smited, the victory, one to be bitter-sweet; the return of Savant, not a reward to be given it seemed, and so.. To journey deeper inward. An opening to appear before them, perhaps their companion to be at it's end, even if not the case -- they were to move onward, now having to, to atleast attempt to recover the Malpcerian, if not an artifact pertaining to knowledge within the confines of this forgotten realm.

To stow Crosier, and to allow a blanketing of wings; furled together, to provide space for others, yet not forgo'd for the appendages were to be kept, to remain at the ready, serpentinue pupils to flit around, to observe, now to be alert, now, and forever. For the loss of the Malpercian meant more than just a simple guide, but a reliable body to lean on for support -- to make up for this, to cover this newly torn opening in their congregation. He would attempt to fill this role, with a power to be constantly exuded, perhaps a bad thing, to alert another to their position, yet an undeniable fact of the form he found himself in, unwilling to drop it for the ease of mind.

Such a pleasantry to be lost when they had allowed for the usurping of their comrade so easily, against the wishes of the Kyros, to give himself to the group, and to be let down in the end.

(Tertius Kyros)