#talion is a damn show off

[shadowofwar-goober]

The Gondorians of Mordor- Retreat

The middle city was lost. There was only one course of action left, once the survivors retreat behind the last remaining safe haven in Minas Ithil.

    Already, the warning cries of the upper city’s horns cut through the sounds of the siege. The gates were closing, regardless if anyone was able to retreat to the gate or not. The surviving soldiers were already running out of time.

    “How many companies remain alive?!” The ranger, Talion, was breathless as he sprinted side-by-side with Idril. 

    “I-I do not know! S-Sergeant Tarandor and his men may still yet live, ranger!” Idril nearly tripped on her feet as the ground shook underfoot. Talion reflexively latched onto Idril’s shoulder to steady her. Idril gave the ranger a curt nod as they continued to run.

    The sound of fighting grew louder. Closer. It was total pandemonium and chaos as men and orcs clashed, one side desperately trying to retreat and beat back the side that threatened to overwhelm and overtake them wholly. 

Most of these men hadn’t seen proper action before the siege and it showed in the innumerable amount of bodies that were piled in the streets. The night spent in the lower and middle city took its toll and it left a mass grave in its wake. Idril could scarcely believe that the green sergeant Tarandor not only remained alive, himself, but seemed to have the bulk of his men still living under his command. 

No words or orders needed to be exchanged. Tarandor and his men were on the cusp of becoming overtaken. It wasn’t quite a battle of attrition, but if one or more men were to fall, the tide of battle would have been shifted too far into the orcs’ favour. 

Idril and Talion both were able to take several uruks by surprise. Six fell by their blades and suddenly, with a rallying cry, the Gondorians were able to push hard enough to cause the orcs to take pause before deciding the battle was lost. Seeing their heels brought another round of war cries from the men.

“C-Captain!” Sergeant Tarandor was red faced and winded. Exhausted, but invigorated from the sudden victory. “H-Herion-” He points towards the upper city. “H-He- They’ll need us, Captain!” Idril nodded, already turning to run.

“MOVE OUT, MEN!” 

Idril’s voice cut through the horns sounding and the rumble and crashing of marbled stone against the paved grounds. All turned to follow, the ranger and sergeant included, and continued to rush for the upper city’s gates. 

Sergeant Herion’s company was in far more dire straits than Tarandor’s was in. They were outnumbered two to one, yet still they pushed against the enemy with surprising ferocity. It gave the ranger brief pause, though he didn’t hesitate to cut down any orc that was within arms reach.

Herion was one of two sergeants who both led men that were unlike most that served in Gondor. They fought not like honourable knights but like street ruffians in the midst of a tavern fight. Once, Idril would think them uncouth, lacking in honour and respect of both the ranks they hold and those that command above them. Now? They are the difference between catastrophic casualties and acceptable loss of war. 

“D-Damn-! It looks bad!” If they weren’t in the heat of battle, Idril would have given Tarandor a proper tongue lashing for saying something so idiotic.

“No shit- It’s been bad for weeks!” Herion had scarcely broken into a sweat as he cleaves yet another uruk from shoulder to waist. Idril snarled as she separated an orc’s head from his shoulders.

“Shut the hell up and FIGHT! The gates are closing as we speak!” 

Idril wished she wasn’t speaking the truth. With their aid, Herion and his men were able to spook this group of uruks into fleeing once they saw the tide of battle shift in the Gordorian’s favour. Such cowardice was distasteful but Idril couldn’t be more pleased as the beasts scattered in the ruined streets of Minas Ithil.

“Move up, men! Sergeant Dagor is covering the gate!” Sergeant Herion shouted over the sounds of the siege. The warning horns of the upper city cut his order short, though his men didn’t need to hear him to know where to go.

“The middle city is lost! Retreat to the upper city! RETREAT!” Idril shouted to any man that may hear her. It was likely in vain but Idril would shout until her throat was raw and bleeding before she stopped ordering her men to fall back. 

The men of Minas Ithil didn’t stop fighting even as they retreated back to the upper city. Many smaller groups still fought hard against the uruks that threatened to follow them to the gates.

“Fall back to the gate! We’ll cover you! Fall back!” More fell in line with the two existing companies. Some lost their commanders, some lost their entire company to the orcs. Whether they were separated or they were killed, they all took out more and more uruks as they climbed to the upper city’s gates.

“S-Sergeant Dagor! The lower cities are lost, we must retreat!” Idril was beyond exhaustion. Pure adrenaline kept her on her feet and fighting. Sergeant Dagor nodded as he pulled his blade from an uruk’s abdomen. 

“FALL BACK TO THE UPPER CITY!” 

She didn’t think they would make it. Too much time has passed, they are too overwhelmed, they haven’t the archers to provide support- Idril’s lungs screamed for air and her arms and legs begged for rest as they became heavier and heavier with each step she took.

“They are sealing the gates! Move out- MOVE OUT!” 

The stairs leading up to the upper city’s gate is in view. Almost- Almost! Idril grits her teeth as she gives herself one last push. She needs only to cress the top of these stairs and she’s done everything she possibly could have done. Another step. One more step. One more- 

Uruks were trying to push into the gates. Idril lunges towards one with a feral snarl, cutting down one, two- 

The ranger stole her third kill. Idril shoved him out of the way as she cut down what should have been her fourth. Soldiers pushed past them both as a bone-shaking CREAK curled her toes and caused the hairs on her arms to stand to attention. 

The gates are closing. 

“Quickly! UNDER THE GATES!” The handful of men that rushed through the gate collapsed as soon as they were on the other side. Idril backed up, eyeing the uruks that already washed upon the stairs like a black wave. The ranger has yet to move from the top most step of the upper city’s staircase.

“What are you-?!” Idril nearly tripped on her feet as she only just made it behind the gate before it fell atop her head. On the other side, this mysterious ranger faced the oncoming orcs then turned to meet Idril’s gaze. 

“What the hell are you-?!” Idril was flabbergasted as the ranger raised a hand to silence her. 

“I won’t be long. Go.” Idril balked at the calmness in which he stated this. The ranger clashed swords with an uruk. A small group had converged at the gates. Idril didn’t have the energy to feel anything. Fuck.

She’s so tired… 

“H-Have archers provide support…” Sergeant Dagor nodded before sprinting up the rampart to the upper walls.

The uruks weren’t ready to assault the upper city just yet. In small groups, they were cocky and reckless, especially when they were led by a grunt-wannabe-captain. Why the hell did that fool not enter the safety behind the gates?! Something about that ranger didn’t sit right with Idril. 

He was a good fighter- likely he’s fought uruk-hai for many, many years, not unlike Idril and a few of the sergeants that served in the Minas Ithil army. She stood on the safe side of the gate, baffled as the ranger took on seven different uruks with a grace and speed that didn’t seem… human? 

Perhaps she is merely exhausted… She… Damn. 

Idril could scarcely sheath her sword, her arms burned and ached so intensely. Her legs and feet were in no better condition. Every step took monumental effort on her part. Idril nearly tripped as she walked up the steps that led to the upper wall. She swallowed dryly as a familiar set of armour reflected in the scant, overcast light of the afternoon sky. 

As second captain, it was her duty to report to her General. Even if it left her trembling and nearly heaving from dread.

@space-arsonist, @dirtymeanuruk, @sinick, @elvenmoans, @boozy-dwarf

[mara-xx217]

Talion/Zog: Night in the Study

For @space-arsonist I hope you enjoy~

How Zog wished that pesky tark would learn to keep his nose out of his business… Or really, that’s what he should be telling himself. Every fiber of his being screams that Talion is an intruder, something to be on alert for, something to keep an eye on and within arms reach, but no closer. Zog knows that was the natural order of things; for humans and uruks to always be at odds and to feel nothing but disgust and contempt for, but… he doesn’t feel any of that for Talion, not anymore…

Something has clattered off of his desk and is softly rolling along the floor. That better not be my inkwell… A growl bubbles up from the back of Zog’s throat as he feels Talion readjust his position in between his legs. Really, it was as hilarious as it was embarrassing that he was so much taller than Talion, to the point the ranger needed to either step up to Zog’s height or pull the uruk down to his own. Somehow, Zog has ended up sitting on his own desk, and much to his annoyance, things kept on getting in the way of him fully enjoying the moment.

Too many things to distract him. Things falling off, things being shifted, his papers being crumpled up, books being abused, so-so much damn work that needed doing, yet here he was- He nearly bit his own tongue off silencing a mortifying noise that threatened to escape his lips as Talion’s tongue licked a stripe from his collarbone all the way to the base of his ear. Zog hated it when the ranger did shrak like that. He hated that such embarrassing reactions were pulled from him with minimal effort on Talion’s behalf. Zog gripped the front of the ranger’s tunic, briefly debating on shoving him away before he caused any more havoc in his study. He was already annoyed with Talion’s smug attitude, and if that tark opens his mouth and says just one smart assed thing…

“What’s with the sour look, hmm?” Zog involuntarily twitches as Talion’s lips make contact with his over sensitive neck. He refuses to give the human a sideways glance, his pride won’t allow it. Not when he’s face is flushed with colour and his insides feel all warm and weak. He merely huffs and jabs Talion in the side, amusement flashing across his face as the ranger jolts and gives him a disapproving frown. Talion suddenly leans in closer, towards Zog’s ear. “You know, if you-”

“There are much better uses for your mouth, Talion.”

He pulls back, mockingly aghast and unable to hide the smirk blooming across his face. Nor can Zog hide the want from his own features. Trying to get Zog to be honest with his emotions is not unlike drawing blood from a stone, but Talion has certainly witnessed things more impossible than that in his strange and unusually long life. He always adored when Zog was direct with him like that; it cuts out the guesswork on his behalf, and it usually leads to things becoming rather… heated.

Subtly, the front of Talion’s tunic was tugged forward in a silent plea for him to close the distance in between the two of them. Zog always tried to remain the one on top, but often enough he was desperate for Talion to take the lead and show the uruk just how much he felt for him. It was something Talion was happy to indulge Zog’s needy behavior, especially when he’s struggling to maintain the last amount of poise that he has while Talion gets to work breaking down Zog’s last remaining, but crumbling, walls.

Better uses for my mouth… Hmph. Such smart words from such a quivering mess… Zog’s entire body jumps as Talion’s blunt teeth gently sink into his neck, a pitiful whine that he’s unable to hold back slips past his lips and his clinging to Talion as though his life depended on it. If observed from the outside, this would truly look ridiculous: a towering uruk necromancer becoming undone by a human merely mouthing at his throat? Truly ridiculous. And simply breathtaking… Sharp claws pierce the ranger’s sides, but he doesn’t dare to stop. Not when his lover is making such delicious sounds. To Talion’s surprises, Zog is the one to first reinitiate the kiss. Sloppy and clumsy, but heated and needy. Just perfect…

It was always a tad awkward kissing the uruk. He’s teeth are too sharp, his tongue is too eager, and his claws manage to latch onto Talion’s back and sides far too tightly for his comfort- It’s simply darling… Any annoyance was quickly forgotten as Talion greedily swallowed all of his uruk’s little sounds of pleasure. It was so easy to bring Zog to his breaking point. Just nip on his lips here, give a little lick there, suck just a bit and then-

Zog’s legs entrapped Talion, preventing him from pulling away any further. Clawed fingers tangled in his brown locks, and his clothing was pulled so tightly that it was a miracle that it wasn’t ripped to ribbons. Just like that, he’s ready to come undone, and Talion didn’t even have to lift a finger. It would be a bold lie to say that he wasn’t immensely proud of this fact, and that he didn’t smuggly rub this fact into his partner’s face on a near daily basis, but Zog seemed to forget all his displeasures when Talion has him right where he wants him.

He truly wasn’t unlike a cat… Pupils blown wide and heavily lidded, and completely unwilling to part with the object of his affection unless it is forcibly pried from his talons. Exactly as Talion liked him to be. It would seem that any other plans for the night have been thrown to the wayside, though neither Talion nor Zog could exactly complain too much. What better way to spend the evening than entangled in one another’s arms...? None whatsoever. Talion thought as he pushed Zog onto his back, fighting the urge to smirk as the uruk looked simply docile underneath him.

Hmm… Perhaps more than a few notes will be damaged tonight, but surely the necromancer wouldn’t mind too much, would he? Not with that face he’s making, he won’t. Perhaps Talion wouldn’t hear the end of it in the morning, but that would be then, and this is very much right now. Let the worries of tomorrow remain just that and enjoy the moment. Surely, they’ve both earned this night of passion, no?

[councilofelrond]

New AU idea that I will never ever write!

- basically a Nazgûl finds a Silmaril and shows it to Sauron like hey boss i found a cool thing! I tried throwing it in Mount Doom but it floated :)

- Sauron’s eyes go wide and he’s like “shit. shit. fucking hide that thing while I make a call”

(cont’d under a cut bc damn this got long)

- said call is to a very confused Gandalf, who immediately agrees that yeah hiding the Silmaril is the best idea if you can’t destroy it outright

- he then shuts off the mental connection and PANICS

- WELL SHIT TIME TO CALL UPON THE BIG GUNS

- (Sauron does not want the Silmaril. He carries it down to the depths of Barad-dûr in a box he is holding at arm’s length. Also he is wearing gloves. Also also he is armed to the teeth. Literally because fangs.)

- Back with Gandalf we learn that for some reason a crazy elf has challenged Éowyn to a duel??? And she’s willing to do it??? (Éomer is having a mental breakdown like nooo not my baby sister!!)

- (Éowyn has cut off his allowance for calling her a baby. No spears for you. Two weeks.)

- she wins somehow by the sheer power of “fuck this shit im out”

- where is the ring in all this? Sauron accidentally kicked it into Mount Doom because of Shenanigans.

- bad news for the Valar: MELKOR ESCAPED. Fortunately he immediately wound up stuck in Isengard and so is prevented from Dark Lord-ing until this 17 year old in a grown ass man’s body says he can leave. This will only happen if he helps said 17 year old kill Saruman.

- SHENANIGANS

- Estë snickering in the background like “oh yeah bitch. that is MY Uruk. have fun.”

- Said Uruk is my favorite Uruk OC of mine, Bâlhûn, who has the energy of a little old lady who can and will whoop your ass if you mess with her. Bâlhûn is a he though. Also he is the aforementioned 17 year old in a grown ass man’s body.

- Anyhow Melkor gets discovered by Saruman and locked up for Existing In His General Direction or something

- he is experimented on too this is not a very comedic au despite how im describing it

- he is Displeased by this but he can’t do anything

- UNTIL

- some undead guy breaks in and goes “hey bitch to wanna get out ofc you do listen i am going to cut my arm open and bleed on you a lot so you can then ask for a bath. I’ll be fine don’t worry. Once they’ve let you out, pull out the knife and kill whoever’s there then run like hell. K? K.”

- Melkor grumbles but he does it

- (undead guy is Talion btw bc I love that horrible man)

- they escape together and then when they find Bâlhûn again he’s like “oh i thought you were dead wanna commit murder”

- and Melkor’s like “yeah actually sounds great i get why you hate that bitch Saruman”

- and Bâlhûn goes “okay great also did you know your entire lower body is covered in blood”

- cue dramatic fainting scene

- anyway they throw Saruman off a balcony and Melkor and Talion zoom off to Mordor to exist in Sauron’s general direction. in very different ways for very different reasons. Melkor wants to reunite with him *loud Victorian innuendo coughing* and Talion wants to be a nuisance. Talion always wants to be a nuisance. Moving on

- so when they get there Sauron and Melkor reunite and this goes on for like three hours *even louder Victorian innuendo coughing*

- Talion is like “damn they do not waste time also now i miss my wife” so he runs away and is Sad™️ for a while

- Melkor is very happy to have reunited with Sauron. The feeling is mutual. *ridiculously loud Victorian innuendo coughing*

- ANYWAY away from the very vigorous activity going on there *dies laughing at how ridiculously evasive that is* the Nazgûl are bored

- this means they want to throw a party

- that in turn means there is now Intrigue

- and murder but that’s par the course for these bitches

- at this party some noble makes a snide comment about what exactly Melkor’s job is

- Melkor immediately challenges him to a duel and beats the shit out of him. It’s terrifying.

- (Sauron thinks it’s hilarious)

- (Sauron is having a wonderful time)

- (Sauron will not be having a wonderful time for much longer)

- (Poor Sauron)

[welcometoels]

Session Fifteen - Betrayal!

Ditched by their supposed friend Zanthia in the middle of what turned out to be a bank heist, the party finds themselves in a smoke-filled corridor, with a large, angry gentleman in armour demanding their surrender.  At his back stand two guards; a mage; Wandbutt; and, outside the door, a peaky Herrington.

With limited options available, the group decides to stand and fight.

Kadis is the first to move, sneaking into the middle of the thick smoke to contemplate his next action.  While he cannot see the enemy from this position, they also cannot see him - giving him the advantage.

The knight - Sir Beeswax Halffeather, according to his own pompous declaration - becomes frustrated by the poor visibility, and makes a grab at the only person he can see - Julius.  Fortunately, now back in his Otter form - Zanthia’s magic having expired upon her departure - Julius manages to slip the knight’s grasp.

Now even more annoyed, Beeswax calls out to Herrington, telling the nauseated wretch to blow on his horn for reinforcements.  He follows the orders, and miraculously manages to not vomit.

Cailynn follows Kadis’ lead and sneaks into the smoke, followed by the tiny wyvern Moo.  Julius also has his eyes on the smoke and dips in too.  However, he takes a hefty blow from Beeswax straight across the back.

Reeling from the injury, Julius spins around and summons up a wave of druidic power, targeted at the spot he just left.  Water rises up from nowhere, and slams hard into the knight, one of the unnamed guards, and Wandbutt.

Beeswax and the guard brace against the water, and though the damage is enough to knock the guard out, the knight barely flinches.  Wandbutt, however, is knocked backwards.  He lands heavily on his posterior, winces, and expires with a complex look on his face.

Talion steps forth now.  After passing a Healing Word to Julius, he shifts to the edge of the smoke and trains his shortbow on the mage in the corner.  The arrow finds its mark, leaving a deep gash along the mage’s face.  As the spellcaster turns his head slowly back towards the Half-Elf, he mutters an incantation, and a ball of flame appears at his fingertips, which he then launches Talion’s way.

Fortunately for most of the team, the blast’s range is too short to reach them.  Sadly, Talion and Julius are not as lucky.  They dodge the worst of the damage, but still take a very unpleasant singeing.

As the last surviving unnamed guard stands slack-jawed at the carnage [DM’s note: I totally forgot to give him a turn], Oddsock rushes forth into the smoke, raring to get involved in the action.  Before he can do so, however, Kadis hones in on the location of the knight, and shows him who’s boss.

It turns out that Beeswax is boss.  All of Kadis’ deft monk attacks glance off the suit of armour - unlike Beeswax’s greatsword, which leaves deep gashes across fragile Human flesh.  Good job he recently changed into a red outfit, really.

Cailynn dips out of the smoke now, and throws out one of Melf’s famous Acid Arrows right into the knight’s smug face.  Acid gets right into he helmet, causing a surprising amount of damage - bolstered by the Mote of Creation.  Moo attempts a follow-up, but misses.  Silly Moo.

Attracted by the commotion, Julius rushes through the smoke, colliding with Kadis.  He puts his healing paws on the monk, and channels his druidic magic at the highest power he can muster, knitting the wounds almost entirely.

Talion nocks another arrow to his bow and fires it at the knight, but Beeswax’s armour is too thick for him to notice.

Someone who does notice, however, is the mage.  Since he can now see more of the group, he triangulates a second Fireball to catch all of the visible miscreants.  The blast hits hard and true - even Oddsock does not escape - and the damage is extensive.  Whilst most of the group stays upright, Talion, sadly, does not.  He falls to the ground, unconcious.

The forgotten guard, deciding that he is extraneous to requirements, slips outside to find out what is keeping Herrington and the reinforcements.  Herrington blows the horn again, and feels an unpleasant sensation in the back of his breeches.

Things are looking bleak for our heroes, but fate had not accounted for an angry Golden Retriever with crispy fur.  Calling upon the unholy powers of his patron, Oddsock fights fire with fire, in the most literal sense.

The effect is horrifying.  The guard in the doorway is immediately reduced to ash, and Herrington follows shortly after, with just enough time to regret lying about killing a dragon.

Beeswax is partially cooked inside his armour, and collapses into a heap, while the mage barely stays standing.  This is only a temporary matter, though, as a sharp whack from Kadis’ quarterstaff rattles his head off the back wall, and the floor makes another new friend.

A moment of peace follows, allowing the team to take stock and assist their injured members.  Cailynn uses Spare The Dying on Talion to stabilise him, and Julius follows up with some healing magic to get him back on his feet.  Talion pays it forward by decanting a healing potion into his special cup and passing it to Kadis.

Unfortunately, the downtime is brief, as the reinforcements arrive.  Oddsock peeks out the door to see seven more guards, and two lumbering clay golems with guard uniforms painted on.

The group weighs up their options.  A suggestion to return to the vaults and pretend to be hostages is mooted, but eventually disregarded as the approaching aggressors make it clear that they somehow are aware of who the group are, and what they are doing.

Next suggestion is to stand and fight.  A good idea, perhaps, for a time when spell slots are less depleted, and the threat of further reinforcements is less pressing.

Julius presents one more option - running away.  The group of bold adventurers baulk at this initially, but then accept that retreat may be best.  Off under a tree outside, Storm Hellflayer loudly concurs, though only Oddsock and Julius are aware.

Though they are fleeing, the team are damned if they are going to go out without a bang.  The offensive is lead by Cailynn, who flips up a rock from the pathway and flings it magically into Beeswax’s face, just as he was beginning to regain consciousness.  The charred High Elf slumps back to the ground with a whimper.

Oddsock has more dramatic ideas.  As his companions dash to the horses, he unleashes another fireball at the approaching guards.  Three of them are immediately vapourised, and another three are knocked unconscious, along with two guard horses.

Spoiler - The horses eventually recover entirely from their injuries, and later enjoy telling the story to their three friends, Horse, Horse and Horse.

As the ground sizzles, the gang mounts the five horses they parked up earlier, with Julius drawing the Storm straw.  With one last Eldritch Blast from Oddsock laying waste to the final guard, the group makes good their escape.

As they gallop further north, horns sound behind them, but begin to fade.  The forest gets thicker, and the path patchier, and after a short while they decide to slow down.  They are safe, for now.

As the horses walk along, their riders look about.  Mostly they just see forest.  Even Julius’ expert eye for this kind of terrain sees nothing of note. Cailynn, though, sees a crow.

And the crow sees her.

Alighting from its branch, the crow lands atop Cailynn’s horse’s head, and begins tapping its beak against its own leg.  Around this leg is tied a small piece of paper.

With care, Cailynn removes the paper, and the crow taps her hand and flies away.  Unfurling it, she reads the note to herself:

Looks like you’ve got yourself in some trouble, kitten.  Keep going north east and ask for Ebeneezer.  He’ll take care of you.

At the bottom of the paper is a symbol - a circle with two triangles above it, side by side and pointing upward.  Cailynn knows exactly what this means, and who the note is from.

Making a decision to share the more pertinent information with the party, she tells them that the note is from a friend, who can be trusted.  Since they have no better leads, they head north east.

Before long, daylight all but disappears, and the party makes camp.  Julius gathers up some nutritious leaves and berries, and Rupert the fey weasel clambers up a tree to keep lookout for pursuers.

As they settle down, Cailynn starts the work of recreating Moo, and Julius asks Talion what Zanthia might have meant by ‘Dragonboy’.  He takes a deep breath, and tells the group more about his history.

While his father was indeed a High Elf, his mother was a dragon - a Song Dragon more specifically, and perhaps the last one left in the world.  Throughout his life, his family was pursued, which left his father dead and his mother missing, but not before she could magically transport him away in a bolt of lightning.

Talion holds up the jagged piece of obsidian that hangs from his neck, beside his silver dragon scale.  This is his memento of that day - fused sand from the black Elsian beach where he found himself.

The mood grows a little sombre, broken only by a squeaking from Oddsock’s pack.  He pulls out Tim the chewy dragon toy and has a gnaw, and is immediately dragged from this reality to a little hipster pocket dimension.

Oddsock’s patron stands ready sum up the situation.  Yes, being betrayed was bad, but pretty much everything else was brilliant - especially making all those guards explode.

Best of all, though, is the book.  Across its cover, the word Sre’Yalp glows faintly with magical potential.  Inside, however, the writing is indecipherable, shifting constantly into different languages, then somehow all languages at once.  Trying to read just a single sentence induces terrible eye strain, even for a powerful genie.

One thing that is easily legible is a bookplate, pasted on to the first page.  It reads, in Common and all capitals:

PROPERTY OF REMINI BENSK SOTS

Warlock and patron look blankly at each other.  Clearly more information is required.

Before sending Oddsock on his way, his patron bestows a little more power on him, with a gentle nose boop.  Oddsock’s lustrous golden fur crackles with potential, becoming more resistant to fire damage.  Furthermore, his paws tingle and he unexpectedly finds himself floating.

Oddsock bobs around the pub for a few minutes while his patron tried to give him steering advice.  After watching his charge paddling furiously while his tail helicopters ineffectively, the genie shrugs and sends his floating four legged friend back out into the world.

Oddsock thankfully reacquaints himself with the ground - still upside down - just in time for bed, under the watchful eyes of Rupert and the new and improved Moo.  The adventurers settle down to an uneventful night, though Talion does have several thrashy rage dreams about a certain Halfling.  Thankfully, he is sleeping alone on this night.

Come the morn, the team breaks up camp and strikes back out.  After a few hours, they find themselves at a clearing, and staring down the shaft of a drawn arrow.  At the feather-end stands a Wood Elf, dressed all in black, demanding to know why they are there.

Cailynn steps forth and presents the note.  The black-clad figure peruses the note, then Cailynn, then the note.  After a few back-and-forths, the arrow is lowered, and the Wood Elf leads them further into the clearing.

Beside a fire sits an old, skinny Human with two left teeth.  His clothes are flithy, and barely more than rags, but he carries a clear air of authority.

“My name is Ebeneezer Chaotic-Neutral,” he says, in a voice thick with tobacco and bad lifestyle choices.  “Welcome to my camp.”

[determined-magi]

“ Sooo, we're doing this one like what in the end? we didn't get to have a consensus back at the camp. “

“ I for one vouch on knocking them out, no blood is shed that way. “

“ -I for one would rather kill them, killing an army just like that gives a solid. “

Multiple pair of eyes roll at the commentary, of course the ironic integrous one would vouch for violence. Exhasperated sighs escape as they gaze to the moving soldiers, arms crossed as they hum in though soon enough.

Violence wouldn’t do, they know, it only begets the same response. Blood for blood, or Talion’s law, just a different word used. They can’t have that, can they? accumulative effects will become rather unsustainable that way, murder too much and you will end up developing a lust for it, a craved desire for something they weren’t willing to go for, and that would defeat all the intentions right now they had....

“ Both won’t do, I can guess. We must scare them, warn them off their actions. “

“ Death would call vengance, and knocking them call pride. We must call for something else, common sense is out of the question, fear... “

“ Fear will cause an equal outcome on the long run, we can’t use it... “

“ Pure and unbridled it won’t serve us, but with the right dose... “

“ Your highness, I believe- “

“ Right now we are on the run, do you have another idea that is as quick as it is easy? And pray tell, would you have the patience or tolerance after all of this? “

Silence falls among them, purple eyes scowling as they sigh. Low blow, his young majesty, low reminded blow, if not rude. two pairs of eyes, one of ligther shades of blue and the other golden, scowl at rolling eyes tii. They all were... upset, to say the least. But that did not mean they could subtly lash at one another, something their magics growled quietly towards him. A particular Judge’s magic more so than the other.

They didn’t have much options indeed, they groan internally, on that they agreed however. Even if they wished not this, they... didn’t really have tolerance or patience on their side right now...

“ I would say we let them see it is futile, let them move their pieces, let them see each blow is worthless... ”

“ And if that is not enough? “

“ We could bluff it off, With Gil’s spells, we may not have much troops here, but we do have a bunch, and thanks to Thannor the gears look their magical part, just enough to fool them. “

“ The spells could be confounded with those on their gears, and not illusions right away, and it would certainly boost the trusts, confidence and possibly loyalty on our troops. Isn't that right, Braigon?  “

“ To an extent, it may overwhelm some too, we won’t be doing it on a small scale, and certainly doubt they have heard of seven summoning legions from nothing. “

“ That is if they aren’t overwhelmed already by then, I am sure they haven’t seen belic scale assaults being shrugged off like nothing. “

“ That is true, that reminds me, what shall we do afterwards of all of this? I don’t know about you, but those rumors of that going about, about this guy going around... I have bad feelings, we should watch out for ‘im once we've got enough people free. “

“ Oh, we’re gonna kick the idiot’s ass, if needed, but right  now we’ve got to kick these ones out. Simple as that, the stubborn ones die, ones with common sense live. “

“ Thannor... “

“ We’re all getting tired, lets be honest guys, we’re not going to last much if we don’t give ourselves some freedom, and some means to vent out. Not our fault if they die and shite. “

“ Two points for killing idiots, who more is up to it? “ Thanneth asks.

“ God, you two are ridiculous... “

“ I am honest Gil, even ye is gettin fuckin stressed, and we’re in need of some damn release out of this shite. Not our fault idiots can’t see their damn mistakes until it hurts ‘em. “

“ And by doing that we’re going to get what? It will make things to worse faster, we’re trying not to let ourselves end like everything wants us to end like. You’re just wanting to go this way because of your current issues with him. “

“ As if the world would let us defy our fate, Gil. An ye, what of it? Better this than fuckin snap at our allies, hell, and ye really think we can go by pacifism with these people? HA! Wake up, sis, wake-the-fuckin up. “

“ Rhowën is not agreeing, and he haves the same issues. “

“ Actually... “ He sighs.

The perly haired mage turns, with confusion, if not a little worry. The young judge moves to sit by the rock, they still could talk for a moment.

“ Thannor is... he’s right, we need something to steam off, in a manner of speech. Otherwise... no, we already have started to bicker among ourselves. It does sound bad, it is and it will feel somewhere along the lines bad. But... “ He pauses, rubbing his face in his palms. “ If we keep this way, we’ll not only fight them, but ourselves because of the stress, its gotten to some already. We need the let-out, otherwise this will only worsen. “

“ If we don’t try to talk it out, it will. We don’t need to do this. “

“ No, Gil... only speaking won’t do, it is not the same. Look... “ He stands up looking to the army moving still. “ I don’t want to go there as much as you, but we're running out of options, if we want to last some time before we... turn into the bad guys, then... then will have to do this, okay? “

“ We have been cornered to kill, and we’ll be found in the situation again, we can’t- “

“ We can, so long as we know how to, and when to. It will be something to keep watch off, but we can do it, and... with time it will get easier, right Agar? Braigon? “

“ Easier is a way to say it. “

“ It can... however I am not the best to ask for experience, I had more colleages that would be better fit for the question. “

“ We’ll discuss this again once we are done, right now we have soldiers to deal with. And... For the moment, I will allow the use of letal force, until the enemy shows signs of desisting. “

“ You can’t be serios, Bellegur- “

“ They are right, Gilrin. “

“ But... As you may wish. Pray this doesn't get out of hand quick. “