1299/The Mount Anthor Mystery

The Mount Anthor Mystery
Date of Scene:	08 January 2015
Location:	The Tundra
Synopsis:	Rumors lead adventurers to Skyrim's Mount Anthor, where it is said unusual undead have awoken to cause havoc. They find a trapped dragon, and the realization that this incident may be part of something bigger.
Cast of Characters:	Tomoe, 66, 371, Ayako Hasekawa, Lezard Valeth, 650, 653, 654, 665, 679

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Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    Mount Anthor stands alone between Winterhold and Windhelm. Wide wilderness isolates the mountain from the main trade roads, offering quite the hunting grounds to bandits, woodsmen, wild animals -- and dragons. Yes, dragons had returned to Skyrim, and though the Dohvakiin had been called to defeat the blackest of those beasts, many more yet thrive. One such is said to occupy Anthor's summit. Alone in his lair overlooking undead-infested ruins, the dragon is an unwelcome neighbor to the nearby Shrine of Azura, a place to which the faithful often make their pilgrimage; however, it isn't this dragon's prowling which brings curious offworlders to Mount Anthor.

    Blue lights flicker atop the mountain's summit like strange, distant fires. Rumors abound of a never-before-seen evil waking on the summit, and of travelers slaughtered not by a dragon's hunger, but by the ravaging claws and gnashing teeth of the restless dead. Few are those who've made the journey to Anthor and survived it, at least in recent times, and it's the cries of these few which have finally reached the great Paarthurnax and his mysterious allies from beyond.

    The way to the summit is thick with snow, and treacherous with buried rocks. Those who've come won't find the climb to be easy. Perhaps their strength will be spurred by the sounds raining down from above? Wet growls and deep bellows. Steel rattling against bone. Metal clashing in echoing peals. An impotent snort filled with fury and despair. Something emits a shrieking warcry. These are the sounds of war being waged...how unexpected.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Out here in the miserable wastes, there's a lot of wilderness. It's full of dangerous animals, dangerous men, and even more dangerous creatures of legend. Naturally, it's a terrible place for travellers, and so naturally, it's the place one can find Lucatiel of Mirrah, travelling fencer, and where-the-wind-blows explorer.

There is a small bonfire burning under a sheltered outcropping. It casts a warm glow in contrast to that eerie blue fire atop the mountain; leaning against the rocks with arms crossed and legs crossed at the ankles, the leather-armoured, masked, and behatted Elite Knight of Mirrah is watching the mountain with a face made wholly impassive by the steel mask of the bearded, unsmiling man that hides her face.

A dapple grey horse mills about nearby, tethered to a broken tree, but she's here, on the road to the mountain... and war.

She's here, though, and any travellers headed up will probably come across the eerie watcher. Her 'camp' is off the easiest path up.

Paarthurnax (371) has posed:
Those making the ascent will not, at least, have to deal with any MORE snow drifting down on them as they climb. Nor any particularly heavy winds! Paarthurnax lifts his heavy, horned head from where he had been resting quietly, waiting for his small Union allies to assemble and prepare themselves, and addresses the grey banks of low-hanging clouds in a great, booming, "Lok Vah Koor!"

The clouds swirl and scatter, revealing clear skies beyond. Then the old dragon squints back down at the others. "This is the territory of another Dovah," he rumbles. "I will not intrude, if I can avoid it. This is not a time for fighting amongst zeymah, and that is what would surely happen, were I to approach. But I will be near."

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    Artyom travels. A lot. It's one of those few things that he does because he genuinely wants to commit his time to it. Today, his journey has brought him to the frigid, mountainous land of Skyrim, a place of incredible natural beauty, extreme weather and tremendously hardy people. You have to be strong to live in Skyrim; the land demands much of those who live there- even moreso in its most frigid or lofty reaches.

    To Artyom, it reminds him much of Shiva, though significantly more hospitable than those glacial wastes. There are actually plants here, for one, and proper soil. Even so, he protects himself well from the cold. His travelling cloak billows in the wind, obscuring everything beneath his neck in rough, dark leather. Its hood is pulled up, protecting his face from the howling gales. On his shoulders is his massive stone greatsword, for once not being used as a surfboard, because there is no reason to make the windchill any worse.

    He has come to this place in particular because of the rumors surrounding it- the dead, rising from the Earth. The news struck a particularly strong chord within the Titan, igniting the urge to see them stricken from the landscape, that he may once more travel in peace.

    Up ahead, he sees a campfire. Artyom grunts, tugging his hooded cloak tighter around his neck and face as he makes his approach. The wind still whips by. "Greetings," he calls to Lucatiel as she looms over the fire, "I don't suppose you have room for one more for a short while?"

    Then, there is a shout. A tremendous, deafening roar. Artyom turns his eyes to the sky as the clouds disperse- and a quizzical look crosses his features. "...Interesting," he murmurs, "Weather magic?"

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe was a good bit over six feet like this and the heels on her boots added a little bit to it too as she followed along after Paarthurnax. She watches with a fair bit of amazement as he yells at the weather, which then listens and changes. She stares for a moment and just grins.

"That was impressive sir."

The Iron Lily was seriously impressed by that abilioty but right now she needs to focus on moving ahead as she follows along.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Snow! Ayako loves snow! Even though the strong winds would make the temperature feel even colder, Ayako happens to love the cold as well. The great outdoors, wilderness all around; another of the things Ayako likes. Now, rumors of the undead? Not so much.

    Ayako is dressed in her usual witch outfit with it's waterdrop motif and walking carefully through the snow next to Tomoe. The winds are too strong for her to trust her flying and-Oh! Some sort of shout from Paarthurnax? The weather is calming down after that loud shout!

    Ayako quickly agrees wholeheartedly with Tomoe! "That really was impressive!" She takes her hat off and rumages around in it and then pulls out her broomstick. After a slight spin of the broomstick in her hands, Ayako hops down on top of her broom and floats off the ground, riding sidesaddle. "Aahh... much better... it feels so awkward not to ride the broom while dressed like this..."

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The rumors of Mount anthor spread far and wide.

And some people are interested in investigating them. The legends of powerful undead are sure to bring the attention of those who study them. And few study the nature of the undead and divine as deeply as Lezard Valeth, Necromancer of Midcard. Flying on a noxious Harpy of his own realm, he sails over the slopes of Mount Anthor. He has no need to clamber over frozen snowdrifts. Such things are for people who don't have access to flying minions.

Or rather, he might have had to deal with them, but for the pwoerful voice of Paarthurnax. The weather parts, and the massive dragon causes even Lezard to pause as he takes in the measure of the great being from a distance. "... So the great beasts are yet undimmed in the reaches of other worlds. Fascinating." He says to himself, before he swoops away, giving the great dragon a wide berth as he keeps pace with the investigation team but not coming close yet.

Eiko (650) has posed:
    Another figure trudging up the mountain path is here for pretty much the same reason Artyom is--and she's from the same place, in the sense that she immediately came from there. Kono Eiko, adventurer (self-proclaimed) extraordinaire, contractor, Syndicate member, katana-haver, young-woman-in-a-big-giant-coat. The coat is most of what's visible of her, because this place is freaking cold. It's good that she's got a small equipment fund, because she wouldn't want to be out here otherwise, even after the winds mysteriously stop.

    "Yo." She raises on mittened hand and waves. She's not going to start pumping people, especially people in masks, for any information just yet. Let's see how greetings go.

    She's not able to keep all her attention on Artyom and Lucatiel, though. Looking around for whatever shouted the weather away takes some priority, too.

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    Conflict continues to be waged atop the mountain. Something howls -- its inhuman voice bouncing down the trail in ghastly echoes -- and a high-pitched keen whistles across the cleared skies in a thinning-out wail soon lost to the far greater cacophony raised by an immense explosion. Light and thunder illuminate the summit in a fiery glare, though of course, those below can see none of what's revealed.

    The privilege of understanding is reserved for Lezard Valeth; he alone is given a clear view of the scene, thanks to his unique vantage. Bony creatures strung together by scraps of flesh and suits of armor wield axes and swords and shields against two figures who stand alone against the undead throng. Lesser ghouls, more vile than these skeletal soldiers, rove and lunge at the assailants like maggots trying to overcome a corpse. Blue light shines from the empty pits of their eyes. Blue light flickers inside every skeleton's permanent grin. More blue light radiates from the skulls decorating their armor, and the runes carved into their weapons. It all reeks of a great necrotic power -- of a vast Evil far greater than many Lezard may have encountered in his long life.

    Unless, of course, he was to compare against himself.

    Off to the summit's eastern edge, strapped to the mountaintop by the weight of a dozen or more enormous spiked chains, a dragon struggles against an ugly fate.

    Though not so ugly as the fate befalling the undead creature who goes plummeting from the southern cliffs. Its body tumbles in a limp heap down the mountain, gaining speed as it goes, until it rattles right off the lip of the overhang protecting Lucatiel's bonfire. It continues past. The wind chasing it snatches a gust of sparks from the fire.

    Paarthurnax's allies must hurry if they're to find out what's happening here.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    One of those combatants struggling among the horde is a strange woman in dark armor, easily seven feet tall with skin a dark, cold shade of blue. She seems only vaguely human: the general lithe shape of her body is familiar, but between the backward-sweeping horns that pierce through the hood over her head, her glowing blue eyes, the two tendrils descending behind each pointed ear, the strong tail lashing behind her, and the two-jointed legs teriminating in cloven hooves, any chance of mistaking her for human is gone.

    Indeed, some might mistake her for some sort of demon, and she fights like one. In her hands is a large greataxe adorned with long spikes and a single massive blade, in turn engraved with a skull and glowing runes that glow the same frigid blue as the aura lingering around the blade's edge. She swings it with a practiced speed and strength, glowing eyes narrowed, teeth bared in a snarl that exposes abnormally long canines. Winding, elaborate tattoos can be seen along her forearms and through the gap in the stomach of her armor: they pulse beneath the skin with a cold light, and it seems she must have even more beneath her armor. Armor that seems forged from no normal metal, that, even from this distance, feels innately twisted and wrong, almost something alive in its own right. Everything about her seems steeped in the same lifeless evil as the creatures around her, in fact, standing as a stark opposition to everything living and good.

    The woman cries out in the rage of battle as a ravenous ghoul is smashed under her axe, her voice echoing with a frigid, ghostly timbre. A bony soldier tries to come behind her and take advantage of the opening, but she's quick to thrust out her free arm toward it. A gust of howling wind blasts forth from her, crashing into the soldier and his surrounding allies with a chilling impact that sends them staggering back. Just as she yanks her greataxe free, however, a ghoul chomps into her bicep. The woman's teeth gnash, but she doesn't cry out in pain: all efforts are focused on grabbing the ghoul's head and yanking it from her, only for a hoof to lift and /kick/ to send the beast tumbling away. More weapons come lashing out at her, but she just manages to bring her axe around to bash them out of the way.

    As skilled as she appears, she's clearly being forced on the defensive just to endure the ravenous horde right now, and even then, strikes come in to stab or rake where she's exposed. Strange blue blood leaks from her wounds, but she refuses to slow down. Doing so might be the last thing she does.

Hata no Kokoro (654) has posed:
    Beyond the hordes of shifting undead can be seen a sort of pink-and-blue blip that cuts a rather profound gash in the otherwise austere atmosphere of the blustery mountains. A girl, Lezard might resolve, who comes spinning into a small group of the once-embalmed baddies with a pair of a what would appear to be paper fans and an accompaniment of vivid lights even more bright and obtrusive than she herself. This all culminates in what would appear to be an explosion of snow -- an avalanche that would likely sail up and over the sides of the mountain as this peculiar light comes to rest within a fresh crater of precipitation. Several moments of a chilling absence from that locale would ensure, likely leaving the fiends with the glowing eyes to scan the region before...

    ~WOOSH~!

    The light would emerge once more in another veritable detonation, hopefully sending the small gaggle of undead flying in her too-literal wake. She would come to rest above her impact sight afterwards, brandishing a polearm wrought from fine, thin wood and ending in a metal shiv that, if it were to be looked upon, would reflect the blinding light of the day. In that moment the elegant, animal-shaped mask adorning her face would be moved slightly off to the left to reveal a youthful (if monotonous) face. This dramatic scene would be accompanied by an equally theatrical three-hundred-and-sixty twirl, and a phenomenal spin of her weapon as well.

    "No one who hurts others will be forgiven! I, Hata no Kokoro, the strongest, will put an end to your evil forthwith! En guarde!" All of this would come with a rather... peculiar delivery, entirely devoid of emotion. Given the otherwise bombastic expressions she had exhibited thus far, this might seem to many to be a rather jarring contrast. Not enough to shock the dead, though, and so she wastes no more time. She soon returns to the battle as promised, rushing out of the sky to target a number of her foes nearer to the captive dragon.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The fencer's masked face tilts slightly to acknowledge Artyom, but otherwise Lucatiel gives no answer to him; just flicks a hand toward the fire, as though to give permission for someone to come intruding into her camp.

"It has been like this for some time, now." This, to his observation about the fire on the mountain. She gives a laugh; a woman's laugh, albeit low and hard and very possibly a little bit creepy. "No weather is this, though. Listen to the sounds of war. Do you hear them? There is a great battle being fought up there, and I would know amongst who."

And then there is a shout, a dragon's Shout.

Half a glance is cast to Eiko, but it seems distracted as Lucatiel looks back up the mountain. "And /that/," she murmurs, "was definitely no weather."

Pushing off from the rock outcropping, she gathers up her swords (she seems to have two; an enormous cavalry greatsword, and a rapier), buckling those into place. She glances back up to the mountainside, pensive.

...And then the horse screams and plunges sideways as some dead thing comes crashing down from the mountaintop, the wind snatching a sweep of embers as it goes hurtling past.

Lucatiel looks after it in total silence for a full ten seconds.

"...Bother," the woman finally says, with a heavy sigh. Something in her voice sounds annoyed, though. That thing had smelled dead and rotting, and she should know; she's dealt with individuals badly Hollowed, and they smell the same. Her mouth twists into a hard line behind her mask, even as a hand reaches up to seize the horse's halter and tug his head down before he can rear up again. Despite his fidgeting, she vaults into the saddle, glancing back down at Artyom and Eiko.

"What say you to some investigation?" And whether or not they answer, the masked woman is setting her heels to the horse's sides, charging up the hillside to the mountaintop. It's a rough ride, but he's a rough horse, and Lucatiel is an expert rider. The question is, what will she find at the top...?

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The great Dragon's removal of the inclement weather works heavily in Lezard's favor. He has no problems using his harpy mount to fly over the rough terrain and gain an overview of the proceedings.

The ghouls are of little note, but the skeletal warriors gain some attention from the Necromancer. He watches them intently. "Hmmm... What force has conjured these beings? There is a hand that lies heavy upon their spirits. This bears further investigation..."

His gaze turns towards the summit. While the undead are of note, it is never the undead themselves, but the /source/ of such beings that is the most valuable. The multiverse is crammed with the spirits and corpses of brave warriors.

Like the ones battling said undead. The temptation to intervene and tip this battle over the edge is tempting to the Necromancer. However, a simple estimation of the progress of the rest of the more... heroically-inclined people present causes him to frown. Not enough time.

Time...

Lezard adjusts his glasses and laughs to himself, his shoulders shaking. "There is always time..." He says, as he stands stop the harpy. There is a distortion in the air as he withdraws a book with no title upon its cover from beyond space. It hangs over his hand, opening up and the pages turning rapidly within the tome as he stretches out a hand.

"I am he who hath entrusted his soul to the eternal vortex of time! YE KNOW ME! And if ye do not, ye shall be MADE to know me! It shall be engraved on thy very soul; Lezard Valeth! If ye shall accept the brand of Hel upon thee, thy sanctions shall in turn be lowered. I shall grant thee the deliverance of thy soul, and ye shall come now before me!"

Dark circles of magic appear along the slopes, and more undead begin to surge from the circles, summoned up from some unknown hell to those present. Ghosts seethe through the air, as well as zombielike lesser vampires. The air begins to swarm with harpies, as two massive armor-clad and dragon-headed undead surge forth before those on the slope, manes seething behind them like dark flames. The Dragon Tooth Warriors begin charging, swinging massive twin blades at the pair and fighting alongside the undead, as the Necromancer himself laughs and turns away, using the confusion to his advantage to rush towards the summit. The appearance of the great chained beast is of interest to him...

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    "Yo," Artyom echoes to Eiko as she makes her entrance. He gives her an appraising look, then an approving one-- at her greatcoat, specifically. Artyom appreciates a good, thick coat in cold, windy weather; he appreciates people who wear them, too. "Nice coat," he says, cementing his opinion on that particular article of clothing.

    The geomantic knight glances back towards Lucatiel, then nods. He pulls closer to the fire, its warm glow playing across the flats of his gloved palms as he warms his flesh through the thick leather protecting them. Even still, he looks up to the mountain, and the conflict that is brewing about it. "Aye," he says in a low, deep-chested rumble, "I can tell. There is something... /wrong/ about this place. Something direly wrong."

    Moments later, his guess is proven. Rotten, battered and broken, a body tumbles down the mountain. It stinks of putrifying flesh and evil magic- the hair on the back of Artyom's neck stands on edge. "I say aye to that, as well," he nods to the masked woman, then glances to Eiko, "Be safe on your ascent. I can only take one."

    One hand gently lobs a rough, clouded crystal into the permafrost the other unslings the massive blade from over his shoulders, and drives its flat surface into the earth. Artyom makes a small hop, landing on the opposite flat. He shifts his weight, steadies his footing, and finally extends his awareness down into the land beneath his feet. He recoils- visibly- from the corrupt energies coursing through it. Even more so because, high above, Lezard has just unleashed some truly unholy energies into the world. The earth feels it, and he feels it through the earth. But still he focuses on the crystal he left down below.

Without the wind, he can finally do /this./

    Suddenly the land itself lurches forward and upward. Artyom surges along with it, his blade and his bulk both carried on a wave of rolling mountainside. It's like a reverse rockslide- rather than tumbling from high to low, he and his blade ride up a cascade of frozen mud and plantmatter. Ripples of earth pulse outward in his passing, the land settling in his wake as if nothing had just surfed over and through it atop a gigantic stone sword/surfboard.

His target: The mountaintop. In his way, now, a small legion of undead.

    Artyom grunts, his eyes narrow. The horde grows and grows and grows as he ploughs straight for them. Perhaps, he considers, this climb will be slightly more difficult than he had anticipated... But that's why he has ramming speed.

Eiko (650) has posed:
    Eiko gives a second wave to Artyom specifically, stepping forward--but pauses, then, to listen to the sounds of battle. "Hahaha, man, there is some crazy shit going on up there." And there is a crazed tinge to Eiko's voice. She should probably be more worried than she is. As is, she /is/ concerned over whether she'll be at all effective in this place. Undead hordes usually make for easy adventurer fodder, but there's always a host of exceptions.

    That concern doesn't really make it into her features. She's grinning when she starts back up the trail, one hand slipping off the mitten to reveal a fingerless glove, now wrapping around her katana's hilt as she watches a corpse fall past.

    "Right! Let's go see what's up." No more time to waste! She sets off at a run--or at least a very quick trudge. Too bad Santa didn't get her that hoverbike she asked for. This would be so much easier with a hoverbike.

    God, she really wants a hoverbike.

    There's a flash of /something/ in her eyes, a wisp of smoke, a foul smell lost in the wind, but it passes quickly and possibly unnoticed. Her sword gives a /shinnng/ as it slides from its sheathe. Authorization granted, the nameless blade is drawn, and she shifts to a two-handed grip as she moves.

    "Woah. Wish I could do that, too." Artyom leaves, and Eiko can only shake her head. Keeping up with Lucatiel is the most she's likely capable of, and that only barely. As for the undead--they'll find her blade is sharp, if not seemingly magical.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako floats a bit higher on her broomstick and then blinks her eyes quickly. "Umm... something's happening up ahead..." Her hands reach up and adjust the brim of her witch hat. "Whoa, more undead are popping up all of a sudden! And harpies too!" She quickly descends closer to the ground before she becomes a target for the harpies and ghosts! "Come on, Tomoe! Let's go!"

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    Dozens surround Ivraala. Hunger drools in a rotten froth from the mouth of every slavering ghoul, and hatred seethes in the pits of those blue-lit skeletal eyes. The same mass awaits Hata no Kokoro, whose energy has no trouble cracking bones and rending half-spoiled flesh. Together, Hata no Kokoro and Ivraala cleave a destructive path through their enemies. Yet it seems that where one falls, two more are quick to rise. The horde is unending --

    And now, with a guttural roar, greater beasts emerge from between cracking stones to further snap at and repel Ivraala's greataxe, and Hata no Kokoro's great power.

    It's only a matter of time before these two are overwhelmed.

    What are these undead? From where did they come? Any sigils on their shields and armor are rusted over or spattered by aged gore. Here and there, something shines through -- a royal crest of blue and gold, shaped somewhat like a 'P' and 'L' intersecting -- but it's not likely something Hata no Kokoro will recognize. Ivraala is the only one here who may know anything -- but can she even be trusted? The same icy blue light found inside these skeletons shines from her eyes, too.

    Lucatiel, Artyom, and Eiko begin their ascent. Whatever undead creations rise up in their way are swiftly dispatched. Artyom's earthen wave crests like an unstoppable tide; Lezard's summoned creations are smashed before it. Harpies and ghosts nip at Artyom and swoop at him, but no doubt Lucatiel's sword is there to keep them at bay. Eiko's sword, too, is sharp enough to repel these creatures. These three are only slowed down; soon enough, they will reach the summit, to find Ivraala and Hata no Kokoro in dire straits indeed.

    Elsewhere on the summit, Lezard Valeth approaches a chained dragon. The beast is large, and struggling for freedom, but he is so fiercely chained he can't do more but scrape his bloodied muzzle across the ground a few inches. His sides heave in agony and rage. Fury blazes in his eyes. Despair pounds in his breast. He is trapped.

    Far from death, however. What purpose is there in these undead keeping a dragon alive?

    From beyond the dragon's mass, from within the shadows blackening the mountaintop, a tall, gaunt figure glides into view. Regal purple robes wrapped in hovering chains drape its skeletal form, and in its clutches is a long scepter limned by a ghastly green flame.

    The way taken by Ayako and Tomoe is clear, until they pass Lucatiel's bonfire. They'll be forced to fight through the undead raised by Lezard, too, but Tomoe's capable, and Ayako's brave -- as well as gifted. Their powers and skills will be tested by the harpies and spirits lunging after Lucatiel, Eiko, and Artyom. If they don't stop this rear force from attacking, Lucatiel and the rest are sure to be caught by surprise!

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe looks to ayako to make sure she's all right and zhe seems to be all right and she presses forward now her sword dawnbreaker in one hand and the mourning wall in the other. She looks once to Ayako and nods she presses foward and sees there are undead ahead she starts chanting in badly accented norse. Gold rings appear about her with an unknown script and she'll pick up a bit of speed and now there are moer undead ahead and she'll end up charging into them bringin her blade into action, hopefully she can get past the gift that Lezard left behind for them.

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
Lucatiel crouches low in her saddle, even as she reaches up to free the cavalry greatsword from her shoulder. She focuses directly on the horde before her, attempting to reave her way through by main strength and the momentum of her warhorse. She does indeed do her best to defend the people travelling with her, although neither does she go out of her way to do so, if they get too far away from her.

Damned things. Bad enough they're being inconvenient, but they smell terrible, too.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Lezard lands upon the mountaintop with his harpy and observes the dragon. the vitality, the spirit, the strength is obvious. But so is the beasts' captive nature.

Also observed is the arrival of the Lich. Some people might find themselves repulsed by such a beast. Lezard knows better. This is one of the potential culminations of the Necromancer's art, a way to cheat death itself.

Not quite his cup of tea, but someone who is worthy enough of respect. "Greetings, master of the dark arts." Lezard says smoothly, giving a bow. "We have little time for formalities, I am afraid. There is a large group of heroes arriving up the slopes. I have bought us a small amount of additional time, enough to determine whether I should render further assistance or not. Share with me your plan, and you might find a new ally in your effort."

Eiko (650) has posed:
    Eiko is sticking by Lucatiel, making it easier for the other (and honestly, far more skilled) swordswoman to cover her. There are still enough targets for her to get to work, which she does with sufficient zeal. Alexander Academy gave her first real chance to learn how to use this sword of hers apart from (admittedly frequent) life or death struggles, and she's gladly made use of it. So long as she's not surrounded, and facing only the mooks on the way, she's proficient enough to cleave and slash. Her sword cuts heads from bodies or strikes skulls in twain with equal ease, and slicing apart arm or leg can also help in slowing down even skeletal gaunts.

    For having just met, she seems to have a pretty clear grasp of what it means to fight in a team. Still, best if they only have to deal with foes from the front and sides.

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    Unfortunately the crushing horde of the undead has made it somewhat more difficult for Artyom to advance at the kinds of speeds he'd prefer. A majority of his concentration is spent directing the earth around him to swallow as much of the legion as he can manage. The appearance of the lich forces him to reel, and for a brief moment, his skyward surge is delayed as the sorcerer's baleful aura blasts across his awareness.

    He grits his teeth, relying on Eiko and Lucatiel to swat away whatever beast gets too close, and focuses once more on the ascent. "Earth-father take you all," he mutters as his tellurian tsunami washes over yet more of the walking dead.

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    The lich is taken aback by Lezard Valeth's audacity. Though its withered visage can give life to little emotion, its surprise is nevertheless obvious: no other emotion would so quickly snuff the power wreathing the creature's scepter. It speaks in a voice shaped by ghostly echoes and the whispers of the tormented dead: "Who are you to dare speak to me thus? As mortality gives way to death, so should you give way to me! Surrender yourself to the power bestowed upon me by the great Lich King!"

    Note that nothing is said of plans. Perhaps more bargaining must be done? These necromancers tend to be rather prideful.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    Ivraala can spare just a moment to stare at Kokoro when the girl offers her speech. Her cold eyes narrow beneath her hood, but she doesn't say anything. What she thinks will have to wait: more abominations of bone and flesh are clambering after her, and it's only a quick spin around with her greataxe that stops them from getting her from behind. Their rotten heads are sent flying from their torsos, the points of impact caking over with frost as they crumple to the ground. It's /still/ not going to be quite enough, for more are rushing after her. A blade finds its way into her side, and though she bleeds, she's quick to spin around and drive a strong hoof into the offending skeleton's chest.

    Just in time to see the arrival of a Lich nearby. /That/ draws out a much more obvious look of anger. Fangs are bared, eyes narrowed; Ivraala yanks the rusting sword from her side, heedless of the blue blood that spills from the wound, and makes a rush toward the dragon.

    She's in too much of a hurry, though. A moment too late, she notices the heavy mace coming for her, just before it cracks against the side of her head. It's a jarring blow: the flexible plate of her hood muffles it so it's not lethal, but the woman in dark armor is sent staggering to the side. Her head rings, her vision falters, but she keeps her footing instead of simply toppling over. Not the she has much space to recover, for rotten arms burst from the ground and grasp at her legs, resisting the strength of her dazed tugging as she struggles to yank them free. A snarl of frustration rises through her throat, and she casts her hand forward, casting up lines of freezing chains from the ground to wrap around the undead soldier plodding toward her to finish the job. It'll slow him down for a moment while she tries to get herself free...at least, so she hopes.

Hata no Kokoro (654) has posed:
    What Kokoro lacks in facial expression, she more than makes up for in energy. Like a girl of her youth should be, she is a living, breathable dynamo -- a source of endless zeal that incarnates here as a flurry of slashes with her naginata, and enough colorful explosions for the fireworks to be seen from miles away. When one undead comes at her, she would swiftly deliver a decisive jabs to their chest, twirling the thing to deliver a jab from the other end to whatever would come at her next. Then her paper fans would come out again as she would begin to twirl, as if in a dance, to cut down as many of them as she can in one go. Magical sparks heat the grisly winter, and no small number of errant limbs might go flying. But for every circle she is able to deal with, yet more lunge at her. It seems even the celestial reactor of her heart has its limits.

    And at one point, she is caught off guard. Having just emerged from another of her twirls, Kokoro would fall victim to a strike at her shoulderblade. The cool metal would sink its barbs into her flesh, giving the lot of the ghoulish army to literally pile on top of her, burying her for a time. It seems, for a time, that she has been incapacitated -- there is no movement from this pile save for the writhing of her enemies. There is a dismal silence from her section of the battlefield for a spell, before... something comes. A bright, cerulean light begins to flash through the cracks of the dogpile as though it were a star struggling to rise back into the sky. And verily it does -- that star would explode into a comet of renewed vigor as Kokoro would sail away, clutching her naginata and again wearing that animal mask over her full face.

    After escaping to the sky, she would pause a moment, analyzing her surroundings. Not good. -Definitely- not good. She has to admit that even the strongest can have her limits, as much it sounds like she's admitting defeat. Maybe she should back away? Glancing to one side, it seems like help is coming, and --

    -- something else. Something else grabs her attention. Lezard's overture enthralls her for a moment, nearly making her the victim of an undead that lashes out from beneath her. She would repel them just in time to see legions and legions more of undead rise from the ground, and this... well. This would upset her. Several masks, each one cloaked in a ghostly blue flame, would come to levitate around Kokoro's person. The mask she had been wearing until now is relinquished to the merry-go-round so that she may instead wear another: a deeply red affair sporting horns and a menacing, even demonic expression. This is Hannya, the facade of anger, and as soon as it finds its place on Kokoro's visage the effects would be visible. Her body would quake, the grip on her naginata tightening.

    Her weapon would lunge out into the air moments later, pointed directly at the source of the chanting. "YOU!" At the very least, she -is- being loud. "You're hurting people! Scaring people! And you... you don't care, do you? I feel such nasty things from you! I can't see you, but when I find you...! Ooohhh, when I do!" With that, Kokoro herself would borrow the flames of each of her masks and hasten forth to the dragon and Lezard's locale on cutting winds spurred by her own energy. The masks, still levitating about her person, would attempt of their own volition to guard her from any undead that might hinder her as she makes her way.

    A lone girl charging a dragon and a legendary necromancer. What could go wrong?

Lezard Valeth has posed:
"Who am I?" Lezard says, smiling faintly as he adjusts the glasses he wears. "I am Lezard Valeth, Necromancer of Midgard, scourge of Elves and foe of the gods. I have defeated death and a master of the forbidden arts. We have little time to be quibbling in this case. Behold." He points down the slope, where even now Ivraala prepares to try to break through the defensive line. "There is much more below. I am offering you my assistance with your plan should it be something of interest to me. Make your decision quickly!"

He tilts his head as he looks back over his shoulder towards the source of the threat. "Tch. Heroes." He says simply.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako winces when she spots Ivraala far up ahead suddenly get toppled over and then restrained by undead hands erupting from the ground. "Tomoe! Take care of yourself, I'm going a bit ahead!" She scoots forward on her broom and rides her broomstick properly. Said broom flies about in an arc close to the ground as Ayako gathers snow and shoves it into the brush of the broom.

    The broom gets angled in Ivraala's direction and a sudden torrent of water bursts out of the brush to propell Ayako towards her quickly! She swiftly weaves through the undead and cups her hands together in front of her body. Purple water fills her cupped hands. "Healing Water!" And as she floats by, she throws the ball of water at Ivraala to heal her wounds!

Eiko (650) has posed:
    "Damn, it's freezing." Eiko still finds time to complain while she's trying to avoid getting eaten by ghouls or cut down by rusted swords, whether it's the Scourge or Hel. Her blade looks thin, but it actually /is/ magical, the most obvious effect being that it's indestructible. That makes it pretty decent on defense, even if she has to use her relatively frail human body to stand behind each blow. It's a lot slower going than she'd like, but working together it looks like they're finally getting up to where the fight's already been going on.

    "Gotta say, that earth magic's pretty sweet. Reburying the dead, huh?" An aside to Artyom, before Eiko suddenly charges out into the open. "Time for some of my own tricks. I'll call this one 'enhance.' Freeze, sons o' bitches!"

    Black smoke coils up around her legs, around her body and up her arms, finally being absorbed into the blade of her sword. She swings, and the smoke blows out in a sudden gust, right over the masses of undead, and Ivraala's position in particular--though it doesn't penetrate Ayako's water ball. It disappears after only a moment, the magic entering each victim.

    Undead likely aren't too bothered by the cold, but their resistance to it doesn't change the fact that it's, as far as Eiko's magic is concerned, a Curse. She's in that fortunate position of not even needing to spread it around--it's affecting everything here. She's just going to upgrade it, from 'chilled' to 'frozen,' replacing scattered snow with growing masses of ice, dropping temperatures yet further and turning flesh and bone brittle and immobile.

    If it works, of course. It's not like she's ever tried this before.

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    The situation is not getting that much better. Even as the undead surge is slowly being pushed back, the fact remains that they're not the real threat here. That particular honor goes to the skeletal horror at the mountain's summit. His presence is like a yawning, lightless void in Artyom's attunement to the earth- a terrible, frigid, life-snuffing force that burns at his senses as if he were staring at a terrible black sun.

The only way to him is through /these./ There are other defenders here, fighting their hardest against the horde even as it begins to thin. Most of them, he does not recognize. One of them, he does.

And then Kokoro is buried beneath a pile of shambling death.

    His heart skips a beat in his chest as she falls, and the earthen giant sweeps about in his course to try and clear a path to her. The dread vanishes as she reappears in that flash of cerulean light, batterred but not broken- and so very wrathful. But the threat still remains.

For now.

The choked, burning sensation in the pit of his chest tells him that it won't remain so for long.

    Artyom twists his footing, the wave of earth suddenly crests, then churns, sending him screaming down the center of the undead swarm. His stance lowers, hands now flush against the flat of his blade. A phrase tumbles from his lips, short though it may be in comparison to Lezard's great incantation, the words still carry with them great- and centuries-old- power. "Mountain that divides land and sky; ancient might that flows in my veins and the veins of the earth. Father Titan, I become your fist," The blade under his feet flashes. Lines of light, like flowing magma creep down across its surface, down into the land below as his speed reaches its zenith. Artyom's gloved palms blaze with light that blazes through their protective leathers as the final word reverberates through the air and the blade and the land. "QUAKE!"

There's a flash. The earth seems to quaver, then boil. Spikes of stone blast like pillars from the mountain's surface in Artyom's wake, sprouting in his blade's wake. Lava flowing deep beneath the land bubbles upward, blasting in small geysers from newly-formed chasms. One catches the flat of his sword, blasting him forward and upward. He flips in mid-flight, catching the hilt of his sword as he pivots, and twists, driving its tip down into the very center of the melee.

Fissures crawl out from the point of impact. Light blasts out from between the cracks, and the land turns over upon itself.

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    An eternal mist writhes beneath the lich's form. Not only the propellant enabling the lich to glide in silent grace across the ground, the mist is a menacing essence all its own, churning like water churned by unseen horrors moving beneath its surface.

    The lich is not as mindless as the throng continuing to gnash at Ivraala and Hata no Kokoro. "I am here to claim this dragon as a sacrifice for the Scourge. It shall be kept here until the Queen of the Frostbrood comes to take it as another of her children." The lich seems to peer at Lezard; it seems to peer deeper than that, into the crevices of his soul. "You who considers himself a master of the dead would be wise to consider pledging his allegiance to my Lord. Your service to him in one form or another is without a doubt inevitable, but perhaps if you surrender yourself willfully, the Lich King shall be...merciful."

    Cruel amusement colors the word -- /merciful/.

    "Stand aside. Permit me to demonstrate how these 'heroes' are to be repelled."

    The lich drifts past Lezard, and lifts its scepter inside its skeletal hands. Green fire ignites along the weapon's shaft, and pools inside its orb; then, a creeping miasma begins to rise up from amongst the shattered corpses. Virulent, corrosive, and stinking of death, the fog is a condensed plague, spreading nausea and disease wherever it appears. Soon, this fog will creep across the whole of the mountain summit, and smother all the living creatures standing upon it -- Lezard, Lucatiel, Eiko, Ayako, Hata no Kokoro, Tomoe, Artyom -- all will be consumed...

    As the miasma begins to arise, Ayako's nimble form slips between the claws and fangs almost unnoticed. Aside from a few harpies and spirits startled away from her broom's path, Ayako fails to call any attention to herself, at least until she lobs her healing waters at Ivraala! That garners the attention of one of the larger beast-headed undead, who opens its maw and lunges up to snap at the water spirit...

    ...only to be irrevocably frozen in its lunging, snapping posture by the icy power conjured by Eiko. Indeed, many on the summit are overtaken by huge shards of ice and snow. Several freeze from the inside out as the power blossoms outward like poppies in the field. Their armor and bodies alike become brittle, and break apart into shards at the slightest impact, which Hata no Kokoro's energy blasts soon discover. Even her masks have no trouble pummeling apart the frozen undead.

    Lucatiel's steed breaks through the frigid statues, too, and between charging hooves and slashing sword strokes, a great number of the lesser undead are shattered without hope of repair or resurrection. Though but a simple knight standing among those possessing strange powers, her incredible resolve carries her through. By the time she reaches Ivraala's position, however, the undead have begun to thaw; though far fewer in number --

    Oh, don't worry about it. Artyom's here.

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    Artyom's arrival heralds the destruction of Mount Anthor. The mountain is not reduced to pebbles, no, but its summit becomes a cracked and cratered ruined shot through by the pulverized splinters of bone and smashed-apart armor. What little remains of the undead throng is consumed by the earthquake Artyom conjures, leaving only a few limping stragglers for the nearby lich to command.

    And soon, even these are destroyed. Tomoe sweeps in from nowhere to dispatch what remains, her quick, decisive actions making a paltry joke of what was once an army's full contingent. Even the second beast-headed undead -- great though it was -- is easily felled after enduring so much torment.

    What's left after the HEROES do their part? Why, the Wall with its flickering Words; the dragon bound by thorny chains; the lich; the necromancer, Lezard Valeth; and the fog yet rising to spread its dire sickness. The lich is already maneuvering its hands into another spellcasting gesture. Foreign words are uttered by its baleful voice.

    The heroes confront the villains.

Paarthurnax (371) has posed:
The creeping miasma mists along the ground with sinister intent, billowing and swirling like the spawn of some unseen hellish blaze, coalescing into a thick fog that obscures friend and foe alike.

"Lok Vah Koor!" the great Thu'um booms out once again, shaking the very air. As the fog fizzles and evaporates into harmless wisps, blowing itself away, the silhouette of two huge, dark wings can be made out in the sky above. Paarthurnax hovers, looking almost graceful with the great hulk of his aged body aloft, and his eyes fasten with baleful fury on the Lich. "Yol!" he spits with a swift secondary breath, sending a gout of flame in the creature's direction.

Worried about intruding on the territory of another Dovah he may have been; but this unnatural Thing is an intruder from another world entirely, and against THAT he decides he'd rather stand with his own kind. The heavy head rolls on its thick, sinuous neck to sweep a look across the blasted mountaintop.

"Drem zeymah, Zu'u los het wah hiif!" he cries out to the trapped dragon, which the Multiverse translates vaguely as 'peace brother, here to help' -- a diplomatic entreaty. To the others, he speaks in the common tongue. "Rise up. Rise up, my allies, and drive back this foe!"

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako flinches when one of the larger beast-headed undead tries to lunge up and snap at her. And whews softly when it is frozen in it's tracks by Eiko's icy curse. But then her amber gaze moves downwards. She might be floating in the air on top of her broomstick, but she definitely notices the green miasma starting to rise out of the ground. "What... what is this? Whatever it is... it doesn't look pleasent!"

    Her broom's brush once again blasts forth a torrent of water and this time, Ayako flies in a swift circle about the group about to engage the Lich. One foot is dragged on the ground to trace a circle. Once the circle is complete, Ayako flies upwards, cupping her hands together in front of her body once more. This time, the water that fills her hands is a sky blue. "Healing Mist!" And the ball of indigo water bursts into an equally light blue mist! Paarthurnax may have dissipated the green miasma, but this blue mist will greatly help anyone feeling plagued from touching the miasma before it was removed!

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
The Elite Knight of Mirrah needs no second encouragement to lay into the enemy host. She has no particular love of the undead legions. Even though she might have reason to be sympathetic, right now it's obvious that these things are so far gone that they're little more than mindless obstructions.

That cavalry greatsword flashes in what little light there is as it slashes; her stallion himself is a weapon, rearing and plunging amidst ghouls and skeletons, snapping bones and limbs with reckless abandon while his mistress holds fast to the saddle.

Yet the masked rider is utterly silent throughout it all, save for the sawing of her breath. Chipping away at undead hordes is hard work, and she's no superhuman. Resolution indeed carries her through the morass of the undead, and resolution indeed lends her the will to put these things down. That miasma is starting to slow her down, and for a moment she's not sure if it's the effects of the Scourge or the effects of her own Hollowing--

Once more the dragon on high banishes it with a mighty Shout that leaves her ears ringing. Slumping briefly in the saddle and shaking her head, she looks back to the others, gauging where they're at with their own zombie-killin'.

Hata no Kokoro (654) has posed:
    Before she can make it to Lezard, Kokoro runs into a bit of a snag: a poisonous haze begins to creep over the mountain as yet more insipid verse flows from the lips of that lich. As quickly as she can, Kokoro puts up a barrier -- a small, thin affair, its magic is enough to protect herself and no one else, if it is even able to keep the plague from reaching her at all. But regardless of the risk, that fire burning behind Hannya's eyes won't falter, and Kokoro won't either; relying on little more than her modest reflector to protect her, she would proceed straight into the mist. Again, she would draw her fans, coming to rest at what she believes to be the heart of the malignant cloud. Her arms would raise parallel on either of her sides and taking a final, deep breath, she would drop her barrier. And begin to spin.

    And spin she would until her form would revert into the same, fuschia blur that it had begun the night as. The fans would slice the wind and generate what is essentially a human -- or in this case, inhuman -- fan, driving at speeds to rival a dragon's flight at peak velocity. The masks would spread out from her person as well, gathering at the edges of the area impacted by her mad twirl and blowing with all their might. This dance, it seems, is not so much one of death as it is one of aid. All this is meant to leave the battlefield open to the others so that they may, with any luck, have an easier time fending off their enemies.

    If and when this act has the intended effect, Kokoro's movements would grin to a halt, and her masks would once again congeal around her person. Then she would stare down the lich -- albeit in a fairly lopsided manner, considering her dizziness -- and level her naginata at them yet again. "Even before there was poison in the air, I could feel something radiating from you. Something -awful-. No matter how far away the poison goes, I'll still get that feeling! To make that feeling go away, I have to make -YOU- go away!" She would then toss her naginata to the errant breeze where it levitates along with the sentient facades, her fans unfurling yet again. This time, Kokoro would strike a pose, covering a side of her face with one whilst clamping the other shut aimed directly at the lich. Then a multitude of mystical dots, charged with some manner of foreign energy that would burn like thunder to the touch, would form a lattice around her. They would swirl together in a shape almost reminiscent of a flower before closing in, slowly but surely, on her foe. Danmaku!

    Though Kokoro herself would have to contribute most of her concentration to maintaining the pattern of her magical 'bullets', her masks would remain vigilant, ready to attempt to counter any counters thrown at her by her enemy. And in time, when the bullets have had ample time to swirl, ethereal knives would will themselves into being, flying in tandem at the lich. Where one hail of attacks won't succeed, it's this menreiki's hope that the other will.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Lezard scowls at the situation. He might be working his own angle on the situation, but this is getting absurd. When the miasma rises, Lezard snaps up a hand and catches upon his Harpy, pulling himself upwards to ride on top of it over the disease-ridden cloud. "This place is not secure. Where might one go to treat with your Lord or the Queen of the Frostbrood?" He asks, pulling backwards as the heroes arrive. "Speak quickly! I will show you a sample of what I have to offer at your side..."

He raises his hands, and a circle begins to form under him, brawing itself below him and the Harpy. Is he preparing a spell of some great power? Surely he is about to unleash a mighty magic.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe says "Right that's my job! Go help them!"

She calls out as she now charges ahead into the undead ranks, keepins her shield up and moving to use as much. She's able to take down most of the undead but she's wary she knows the undead tend to get back up after all. She has to look about now she looks to see the wall for a moment and start to se the plague the maisma is a concern but the more direct threat is the active undead, right?

She sees as the sust settles a bit there's more to worry about as the enemy is ahead and waits for them.

"Great so now to the main event huh?"

She readies her blade and attempots to move in towards the dragon. Dragon s are bad news often but these undead likely have even worse plans, for it she now going to attempt to move in to try and free it before the misiama gets it? Paarthurnax is on the job it seems, still she's going to try and keep the enemy busy she's going to be mindful of the Misama but she's going in after the necromancer.

"Leave teh dead to their graves!"

Shouts as she launches into a seemingly inhumanly fast pattern of sword strikes.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    It's a dire situation that only grows more difficult by the moment. Ivraala kicks at the undead around her feet while her chains strain against the approaching soldier. Her greataxe lifts to try and chop the arms away when she realizes her efforts aren't working, but another mob of undead comes to halt her arm with gnashing teeth and grasping claws. It's strange that none of this seems to cause her pain, as deep as the wounds are and as much as she clearly struggles against them. It's only frustration that looses a snarl from her and bares her teeth as she focuses her strength on yanking and tugging, while the chains of ice holding back the mace-wielding undead finally shatter under its efforts. The weapon lifts...

    And then two things go rushing past Ivraala. First Ayako, hurling purple water that splashes against Ivraala, much to the woman's surprise. Then Eiko's gust of black smoke that, after a moment, completely freezes over the undead horde around her. She stalls in temporary shock, but once she registers what's happened, she yanks her arms and legs free, shattering the limbs and bodies that kept their hold on her. She staggers, but quickly finds her footing and turns to the Lich.

    Hardly a moment is wasted, not even to take a look at her wounds steadily closing. When she sees the miasma fading and her enemies making their assaults, she thrusts out her free hand, casting out shadowy tendrils to wrap around the the Lich. They wind and coil around the undead creature, and with a great /tug/, she yanks it through the air toward her, pulling it through the various assaults from her allies in the process.

    Her axe is raised as the Lich flies. The runes on its blade flare with a frigid, crushing power, and with a last shout of effort, she brings the axe down with a terrible cry of battle. Not only would the axe's raw power hit, but so too would a powerful blast of icy runic power, channeled right into the weapon's cutting, spiked blade.

Eiko (650) has posed:
    Today's rapidly becoming full of "Oh shit!" moments. Artyom's lava summoning she can just avoid, but the rest... The miasma creeping up is something Eiko could probably do something about, but she'd have to overpower the lich's magic with her own, and he looks like a pretty tough customer. Then GIANT DRAGON, incidentally the one she'd heard before. She's thankful for the assist, and more thankful when Ayako's healing removes what damage the miasma had already done to her, as well as make the scrapes and close calls she'd suffered on the way up hurt a lot less.

    "Big guy's on our side, right?" Pretty sure. Definitely wouldn't want it any other way. "Yo, Ayako!"

    Just as well others are able to capitalize on that freezing curse--it took a bit out of her to hit that many targets at once, and as hard as she did. It isn't usual for her to be able to straight-up take anything out with a Curse, but making something 'easy to take out,' she can do.

    It's going to take some huffing to get her breath back--harder in this damnable cold, without feeling like she's getting lungs full of snow--before she can do much more than defend herself. When she can, she looks up toward Kokoro and Lezard, along with the /other/ dragon--and resident, looks like. She starts to make her way up there, but slowly, using the hilt of her weapon to smash corpses in the way.

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    Artyom used perhaps a little too much force.

    The mountain peak shakes and cracks, crumbling as Artyom unleashes the earth's tremendous wrath. Unfortunately, even though this motley crew of heroes managed to vanquish the horde of grunt undead, the lich seems to have had another trick up his sleeve.

    Miasma crawls across the shattered summit, corrupting not only living things, but the land itself. Artyom staggers, his weight falling on the hilt of his blade. He grits his teeth as the combined fatigue of unleashing Quake Blade and enduring the corruptive magic leaves him drained. The plague-mist creeps closer and closer- it touches his skin, sending jet black cracks of blight surging across his flesh. He screams as the killing cloud closes in...

And then there is a shout, and a wash of cleansing energies. The plague cloud and its corruption scatters as Ayako's magic mends his body. Artyom takes in a breath of fresh air and leans back, his eyes cast skyward, and he sees /it./ A dragon, flying high overhead.

    In his world, such things are omens, but whether this is a for good or for ill, he can't say. Still, it drives him to act once more. His lips crack into a smile as he lifts his tired arms, withdrawing his greatsword from where he plunged it into the ground.

    It... crumbles as he does so. Or seems to crumble, anyway. Dirt and rock peel away as he draws it up high. The mess of earth snakes about to try and follow it, as if clinging to the idea of being a sword- or perhaps to something else. Brilliant light pierces through the nearly-opaque cloud; somehow, the glow itself seems /heavy./ Almost like it had mass all of its own.

    Then, Artyom swings. His sword's enshrouded blade slams down hard into the broken mountain. He draws upon its strength once more, magic coming not from within this time, but from without. The lich would suddenly find himself beset by a rising torrent of buckshot-like stone shards and geysers of boiling mud as Artyom once more calls upon his geomantic skills!

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    The miasma parts before the irrefutable partnership of Hata no Kokoro's divine fans, Ayako's cleansing mists, and Paarthurnax's mighty lungs. Blasted into curling, swift-diffusing wisps, the fog can do no further harm to anyone present.

    At Paarthurnax's cry, the trapped dragon releases a low, long croon, desperation and submission replacing the poor creature's burning rage.

    The lich meanwhile turns its head to give Lezard Valeth a sharp look. "The Lich King gathers his armies amid the eternal winters choking away Northrend's life. His power will soon spread across all Azeroth and beyond, leaving nothing in its wake but ash and sorrow. You who would seek him have only to look to -- GRRRAH!"

    Paarthurnax's fiery breath batters the lich. Magical wards unseen until now manifest to resist the flame, but soon crack apart beneath such intensity. By the time the fire dies down in a sweep of cold wind, the lich's barriers have popped like a bubble, leaving the lich unprotected. Then -- having no ability to resist it -- an icy grasp plucks the lich from its place, and hauls it through the air toward the waiting Ivraala.

    As this chaos unfolds, Tomoe slips past to the dragon's thorned chains. At her insistent tugging, several of the chains loosen. She's close enough to him to feel the dragon's breath puffing against her body in hot, desperate growls. His wide, slit-pupiled eye tracks her every movement, from the first chain she looses to the next. There is a wild look in his eye: he is an animal backed into a corner. He is afraid, and he is in pain. Tomoe might be endangering herself...

    Ivraala's axe strikes the lich. A great ghastly howl answers the blow, and a necrotic burst of power and ichor and fog erupt from the wound she's carved. The lich staggers backwards. To its credit, it is not yet fallen -- it attempts to muster itself -- but it can do nothing before the storm of earth and rock assails it. The lich falters. It collapses. The earth threatens to swallow it, and Ivraala's axe to destroy it. Hata no Kokoro's danmaku joins the fray punishing the lich, and it can be no more.

    With its skeletal arms upraised and its bony fingers clawing at the air, the lich's body seems to melt into the ground and fade, until all that remains is a paltry collection of torn robes and a few wisps of malicious fog. The pure winter air drives these last wisps away -- great gusts blown across the field by the snapping wings of the wounded dragon emerging from its prison.

    "KRONGRAH!" Victory! The dragon bellows as it stretches its neck toward the sky, and beats its wings into several more strokes, each one carrying it higher in a tight circle.

    With Lucatiel and Eiko to silence the rest of the restless dead, peace soon returns to the summit of Mount Anthor...if it is a bit changed from what it was before tonight.

    But what of Lezard?

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Well, that's all he needs. The circle completes beneath Lezard, and...

He begins to fade out.

What? Is he leaving? "That will be all I require. Thank you for your assistance. I pray your wisdom persists through what is to come."

There is a flare of light, and Lezard vanishes, invoking his teleportation magics to not share the fate of the lich. Sucks to be him.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    The Lich is gone. The dragon is freed. The undead are being finished off, and Lezard, /whoever/ he is, vanishes. Maybe not the absolute ideal situation, but Ivraala finds herself unable to complain much. That could have gone much, much worse if the others hadn't fortunately arrived.

    Now, at least, there's only one glaringly obvious source of pure wrongness and wretchedness on this mountaintop. Ivraala still lingers with the same nature as the undead horde that was just barely removed, the same direct antithesis of life and light, but she doesn't turn against the assembled heroes still recovering their strength. Her back straightens, her expression settles into something more serene, and her greataxe is lifted to rest on her back again.

    She's not in the best situation still. Her wounds haven't fully closed up, but she doesn't seem capable of feeling the ache they cause. She acts almost like she doesn't care, really, more concerned with looking over to the people who came to help with a measure of wariness. Who knows if they're going to go at her next?

    She nods her head to the group as a whole, though, and when her voice comes, it's with an accent that sounds almost Russian. A frigid timbre lingers in her tone, adding a chill to a voice that already sounds oddly subdued. "Your arrivals were fortunate. Thank you. I fear I wouldn't have been able to free that dragon on my own, under the circumstances."

    A pause, her eyes narrowing slightly at Paarthurnax in particular, before she continues. "I suppose introductions are in order. I am Ivraala; a Death Knight serving under Highlord Mograine of the Knights of the Ebon Blade, and enemy of the Scourge that you just encountered. I believe they were trying to capture that dragon to turn it into another frostwyrm for their ranks, but it should be safe for now." A deeper chill slips into her next words. "...though I suspect their efforts won't be finished here so easily. I would suggest that you all remain vigilant."

Eiko (650) has posed:
    Eiko's more or less recovered by this point. It's still cold as hell, but she straightens, arms raised over her head, sword sheathed once more, and stretches. "Aw, yeah, we got 'em. Let's see if these li'l guys had anything good." She doubts it, but it doesn't hurt to check.

    She starts looting corpses. This is why she carries a backpack everywhere.

    Ivraala just gets a wave and a "Yo," same as Lucatiel did. "Eiko. No fancy titles."

    Loot, loot, loot.

Ayako Hasekawa has posed:
    Ayako quietly watches as fire, axe, earth and danmaku all slam into the lich. She does wince slightly... and then immediately resumes checking on everyone's wounds. Suddenly the wounded dragon bellows as it takes to the sky. She was going to heal it, but... so much for that if it's going to fly away.

    She floats back towards the ground and then hops off of her broom. "You're welcome! Oh." Ayako curtsies elegantly twoards Ivraala. "Nice to meet you, Ivraala. I'm Ayako Hasekawa, a water spirit. Please call me Ayako!" A pointer finger rises up to scratch her head underneath her witch hat. "Umm... do you happen to need more healing?" And then she turns around towards everyone else, "And on that note, anyone else hurt?"

Lucatiel of Mirrah (66) has posed:
At last, the last of the unliving monsters fall. Lucatiel is left to slump slightly in her saddle, eyeing the broken ground around herself to ensure that none of them try to get up again. Once she's convinced they're down for good, she flicks the gook off her sword with a sharp snap of her wrist, and sheathes it back over her shoulder again; it'll get a more thorough cleaning later.

Her eyes flick to the growing assembly of people in various states of health. Well, it looks like they've got all this well in hand, and she's more or less satisfied her own curiosity. Since there's nothing left of her camp but a cold dead bonfire and all her things are loaded already onto her horse... well, time to move on.

So she does, provided nobody tries to stop her. Horse and rider go plodding down the mountain trail, without a word to anybody else.

Sindragosa (653) has posed:
    Eiko receives forty-seven gold pieces, a backpack, and a bunch of lichen which smells honey-spiced, and might not taste so bad -- and countless scraps of frostweave cloth.

Paarthurnax (371) has posed:
There's a heavy, rhythmic fwumping sound of draconic wingbeats as Paarthurnax descends, his claws catching to perch atop the Word Wall as his tattered wingsails fold against his sides. Half his attention is on the skies, scanning uneasily for the possible return of the dragon who had made his roost here.

"Drem yol lok," he replies politely to Ivraala. "I am Paarthurnax. I would have you speak more to me of this Scourge, if you are willing. But not here. You have helped to free the captured Dovah, but he is likely to return, and my kind are not known for their gratitude, or their honor."

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe made a risky move yes, but she feared what would happen if the Dragon would be turned and that's why she did what she did. She's know thankfully that things all end well she looks up to the Dragn as iut moves to flee and she raises one hand over her eyes to get a better view of the thing flying away after a moment she turns to the others.

"Well that's over ... I hope..."

Tomoe does take a moment to look for any interesting loot but she's going to go speak to the armored warrior whom is quite strange looking she looks to Ivraala and says.

"I'm Tomoe the Iron Lilly."

She looks curiously at Ivralla and from how the pointed eared woman is armored? Is she some sort of Paladin?

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    With the lich finally vanquished, the tethered dragon goes free. Artyom breathes a long, heavy sigh- he rests his chest, and much of the rest of his weight, on the crude crossguard of his weapon. The sword seems to have returned to being a sword once more, dirt and rock and earth having managed to solidify around its core.

After a long moment, he stirs. Something is still... Off. Very, very off. The tingle at the back of his neck hasn't yet abated. His eyes scan the blasted landscape before he finally realizes what the wrongness /is/.

    A grunt. Artyom draws back to his full height, pulling the blade up and against his shoulder, but his hands remain glued to the grip and ready as he moves toward the death knight. Her frigid energies wash over his senses as his lips pull back into a wary snarl. "You..." Artyom growls, "What /are/ you?"

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    Eiko gets a curious look from Ivraala. The Death Knight has surely seen people now and then whose first impulse after an event like this is to loot bodies, but...it's been a while. She nods in response to the introduction, at least, before Ayako gets her attention.

    Oh, right. She's still bleeding, she notices, looking down at the blue blood dripping down her limbs from what's left of her wounds. It doesn't seem to be moving at any swift pace; probably not much of a heartbeat to get it moving. She looks back up at Ayako and simply shakes her head, her expression still as impassive as ever. "Thank you, but I will tend to it once I return to Acherus. I must make sure there aren't any more Scourge lingering around the mountain, and then I'll take a portal back. Thank you, still; your efforts were certainly helpful today." A nod to Tomoe, as well. "And greetings to you, as well, Tomoe. I am pleased to have had your assistance."

    It's difficult to miss Paarthurnax, and Ivraala certainly seems even more cautious of him than the rest. He's courteous, though, so that's certainly a plus. As dispassionate as her voice is, she tries to sound as polite as she can in turn. "Yes, I would gladly speak with you, if you would endure my presence. I understand I am not-"

    Well, speak of the devil. Artyom moves over to her, and while Ivraala is certainly tall, the giant man is even more so. Her eyes narrow, and she steps back slightly, opening the distance between them further. Even as her hands curl slightly into fists, however, her tone remains as impassive as ever, and her eyes remain fixed on him from under her hood. "A Death Knight. One among the ranks of the many creatures you just faced, but freed from their control. I am no different from them by nature, but...my intentions are. I wish to /fight/ them." She frowns slightly, some frustration returning to her features. "And I'm very aware that I don't have anything for you to go by but my word and what has happened tonight. You aren't the first to dislike me and what I am, nor will you be the last. But if you wish for someone who knows the enemy you have just faced from the inside, I would plead that you trust me."

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe sheaths her blade and banishes her shield to her inventoy for the momeht she nods to the Death Knight and peers for a moment she doesn't seem too bothered.

"I seen man who looks to be the dark king of evil himself and he's trying to save his people from murderous madmen so I think I'll try to judge you by what you did here, today."

Paarthurnax (371) has posed:
Paarthurnax rumbles thoughtfully. "I know something of what it is to act opposing to one's nature," he remarks, his old eyes sliding perhaps a touch judgmentally over Artyom. "/I/ will endure your presence, Death Knight, if you will endure mine." There's a hint of a smile in his voice though it doesn't show on his craggy face. "There are many in the Union whose pasts are... grulus. Checkered, you would say. And yet we are a force for good." He gives a look toward Tomoe as her movement catches his eye. "Tomoe," he requests politely, "please give our new acquaintance directions to Njorun Station. I would have tinvaak -- I would speak with her, if she will come to see me there. Once her own needs are attended to."

Artyom W. Valodjn (665) has posed:
    Artyom's gaze is thick with suspicion. His attunement with the earth screams at him that this woman is /wrong/ in some fundamental way. He failed to notice earlier only because of the crush of undead and the presence of that lich, but now... Now her deathly energies burns in his mind's eye just as strongly as that of the undead sorcerer's.

    "Death Knight," Artyom says the word as if it were something venomous. "Not even a Dark Knight, but a-- DEATH Knight," the hand on his blade trembles as his senses scream at him to engage the clear threat. He... does not growl, not exactly, but if he were a wolf or a tiger or something that COULD growl, he might in fact be doing just that. "You appear like... Like a hole in the world, an emptiness where something should /be/ but is /not./ Rotting, frozen darkness." He lifts his great, stone-sword, hefting it overhead- it almost seems as though he is about to strike with it. For a long moment, it lingers there as his gaze fixes upon the knight, though his cheek flinches as if it were painful to stare.

Finally, his stance slackens, the weapon sliding back into its sling across his shoulders, "But... You were not with the others. For now, you will have the... benefit of the doubt."

His glance flits towards Paarthurnax, then back to the knight. Yes... For now.

    "I am Artyom of Titan," he rumbles, allowing his arms (and by extension, most of his torso) to disappear back into the folds of his voluminous cloak. "And I would hear of this threat- and of their plans for that dragon."

Eiko (650) has posed:
    If there's anyone here who is totally nonjudgmental of--basically everything, it's Eiko. She looks up to watch people as they're talking, but is definitely more concerned with picking up loot than adding anything to the conversation. "Ebon Blade, Scourge, controlling undead, broke free, gonna break the rest, okay, got it, cool." There's a lot to loot.

Ivraala (679) has posed:
    "That is correct," is Ivraala's tense reply to Artyom's observation of her. She has no denial of this, but it seems she's not willing to just let him strike her: her hand drifts back to her greataxe, lingering over the weapon's handle in preparation to take it up again should he choose to attack. Fortunately, he doesn't, and she releases a slow breath of tension as her hand lowers again. A simple nod is given to the large man, her tone slightly less frigid. "Thank you. Your generosity is appreciated today. I will speak to you soon, if you are not with this Union already."

    With that taken care of, her attention shifts back to Paarthurnax. Her response is a brief, thoughtful sound, before she expresses her gratitude more vocally. "Mn. It sounds as if I would not be out of place there. I will come and speak to you as soon as I can. This place is...unfamiliar to me. I suspect you will need as much information as I can offer."

    Ivraala gives a brief sigh, fog falling from between her lips. "Thank you all, again. I will work to make sure your trust and efforts are not misplaced. I suspect things will become...much more complicated soon."

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe Says "I shall do so sir."

She replies hey Paarthurnax asked her to do something and she's more than happy to she looks to their death knight companion and will give her simple and fairly easy to follow directions to rech Njuorun Station.