By Silent Blades
Eleventh Day of the Ninth Month 294 AC
"Now!" The word echoes along paths unheard, though its results do not stay so. Stone quakes beneath your feet as the enthralled mage makes a pyre of the alchemical stores. Before your new friend's head can even turn to follow the noise Dark Sister is in your hand and for the first time in a long while the blade sings as it it drawn to battle.
That is the last sound the chamber sees as you spin forth a spell of silence over the whole of the chamber, a simple spell and one you are almost certain shall go unnoticed. The captain lunges across the table at you, but your cloak surges like a wave of gold and snatches the sword in his left hand while your robes turn the dagger in his right.
Taking advantage of the opening, you slash once across his chest and once for the throat. Most men would have lost their head to the second blow. This is no man you face, however, but a zealot of the Brazen Throne forged in the flames of centuries long war. He rolls out of the way leaving a trail of blood behind him and draws from his belt what at first seems to be a wand of steel and brass entwined.
It is all that you can do not to laugh... then you read the runes upon the haft as he grips in in both hands and the laughter sticks in your throat. It's not a weapon, but a warning. If he snaps that thing it will give away the position of the attack to the whole damn fortress.
You catch sight of Garin killing two of the guards with separate blows of his daggers left and right at the cost of having his back slashed with heavy scimitars, of Ser Richard a blur of steel and fire as he kills one of the dervishes and holds off the other two near him. Neither are close enough for this.
Time twists, as much as you dare twist it.
Darts of
familiar arcane energy fly from the fingers of your left hand, fire hotter than the depths of the Sea of Flame, burrowing into the flesh of your foe where the sword blows had landed. The reek of burned flesh adds to the scent of oils and incense.
By the time you get our bearings back and reach Garin he has killed one more of his opponents, most of the rest trying to rush past ser Richard to the door to save their lives or to give warning, perhaps both. Dark Sister does not seem to mind being used to stab a man in the back. Then again, given her last bearer, she is perhaps more used to that than open battle.
Once the last of your foes is dead, even as you weave spells of healing over the others who had not been as fortunate as you in escaping injury, you send your thoughts outwards and downwards to the others.
"How are you holding up?"
"We have golems or giants heading our way. We can hear them stomping about," Maelor replies this time.
"Should we try to draw them away and run or join up with you a you make for the vault?"
What do you reply?
[] Try to re-join forces at the cost of slowing down your advance towards the vault so that you would be better prepared to face its guards
[] Head straight there while the others escape, they did their job playing distraction
[] Write in
OOC: This was probably not the most effective fight I could have ran, I likely missed out on some powerful low level spells, but I wanted to let Dark Sister have a moment in the sun. It has been a long time since she had the chance to shine. Not yet edited.