Blood Price
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
Tyene Sand took great comfort in the comforting hum of magic rising from her boots as she walked down the narrow twisting path veiled in the horrid seeming of a the sea-spawned mage. Knowing that she could simply whisk herself and Waymar back to the cave should these hags see through her glamour gave her all the confidence she needed to race ahead down the gully and through the shadow of stone trees... bedecked though they were in rotting entrails swaying in the wind like macabre ribbons.
The village ahead, if such it could be called, had more the rank air of a vast slaughterhouse, the smell of rotting blood roiling in stagnant pools almost wholesome besides the bitter briny reek of things that were never supposed to have crawled from the sea. Two crude wooden posts topped with the skulls of some hapless sailors carved in strange arcane markings flanked the entrance through the thornwood palisade. Not much of a barrier to look at with the eyes of flesh, but there had been spells woven into the cursed ground here she did not wish to test her skills against.
As soon as she reached the gate, the sorceress gurgled an urgent plea to 'the mistress', all too aware that in the fish-men's tongue the word for 'apology' was nothing less than to offer one's life to the sacrificial knife. At her side Waymar moved impatiently, the crude spear borne as part of his own disguise scraping the dirt as it swayed. Thankfully, it could be taken as fear rather than the desire to drop it and personally slaughter each and every horror standing before him.
Fortunately, they did not have long to wait as a hag made its way through the ranks of the deformed creatures like a queen among peasants. At first glance the thing might have been mistaken for a mortal woman, and perhaps that is what she once was long ago.
Skin the color of old bruises, a mouth filled with jagged teeth more like an eel's than a man's, and worst of all empty sockets still weeping blood staring out of that nightmare face.
"Speak, slave, lest I rip out your tongue!" the
thing spat with hatred and more than hatred... contempt, Tyene realized, and she wondered how none of fish-men realized they were being deceived into service. Then she recalled that the creatures had been bred to serve masters every bit as loathsome and for the briefest moment she pitted the things.
Putting the thought aside, for it served her not at all this day, she spun her tale of a great battle against the pale witch and her army of corpses, of how the witch had forced her way in, slaying all in her path, only to be sealed inside by cunning magic and the blessings of the Deep Masters. It was no easy feat to read beyond the mask of hatred that was the hag's face, but the Dornishwoman thought she glimpsed a hint of greed, of cruel joy in marring and ruin.
Soon the entire village was swarming like some grotesque anthill fit to disgorge its army of horrors upon the rest of the island, yet nothing moved... nothing dared until finally another hag merged. Tall as a giant
she was but gnarled as an old tree root, greasy white hair falling around her shoulders like a ragged mantle as she proudly bore a staff adorned with bone talismans and treasures torn from her victims.
Eyes like chips of flint looked over Waymar and Tyene: "Best do something of worth... even if it is only dying in the fight for the glory of Our Masters who Dwell Below," she proclaimed.
Tyene ducked her head, the better to hide the gleam of triumph in them.
***
Seven of the guards died before the company of hags and fish-men even saw their first foe, fallen victim to snares, rockfalls, and the iron teeth of glamour-shrouded bear traps. Through it all the hag queen grew ever more incensed, not once noticing how the glamours seemed to shift and change to deceive the eye and the mind, and so Tyene grey bolder. Spinning a
shadow of herself, akin though lesser than those Teana could use, to face off against the monsters next, having it strike four more of the fish-men dead only to seemingly flee upon the wings of magic... though not before casting one of its deadly
nightmares at the disguised mage herself, to strengthen her pretense.
"Face me, cowards!" the mightiest crone screeched, though not in the tongue of the Deep One's thralls... her own, perhaps. It sounded more akin to that of demons which Tyene could not ordinarily speak, though she had heard it far too many times for comfort.
Alas she did not have long to ponder the matter, as the time of masks and games was quickly coming to an end. As the fateful intersection drew near, Tyene nodded to Waymar, who had been carefully positioning himself just behind one of the smaller hags towards the front of the group. The stone near the great hag's foot rippled faintly like water disturbed by a light breeze...
"Now!" the Dornishwoman shouted, slaying the three remaining guards in a flare of
baleful crimson that wrenched the blood from their bodies like a wrung rag.
Before she had even finished casting Waymar flung himself forward, sliding the surprised hag into the trap ahead. The hidden
rune reveled itself for but a moment etched in baleful green as the death magic took hold, ensnaring the hag.
As good as dead, better if they could feed her blood to the trees...
The thought broke off as Wyla rose from from the stone like a swimmer coming up for air. With but a touch she
sapped the life from the hag queen's twisted form, before nimbly dodging her staff which sparked off the cavern floor. Though the last hag filled the cavern with a breath of killing cold Tyene laughed between the clattering of her teeth. The plan had worked almost perfectly. Now all that remained was collecting on it. From thought to action not even an instant passed, chains of blinding gold adding their own glow to the eldritch battle.
Waymar pivoted gracefully and flung bolt after bolt of lighting at the hag, though even weakened as she was the thing was somehow able to withstand the blows that would have sundered steel. "I will not die here, corpse whore!" the thing screamed at Wyla, her power lashing at the air in ragged
tendrils... only to be turned back on herself, sapping the life out of her until the body fell to dust.
"A pity," Wyla said with chilling amusement. "I had hoped I could offer her up to the king for his sacrifices. I suppose her handmaidens will have to do."
OOC: Originally this plan was supposed to be executed with Wyla as the Trojan Horse, but since Tyene could play the part as well Wyla stuck to closing the trap instead, using Xorn Movement to give herself a hefty defensive advantage which could not be easily negated (50X miss chance and the ability to break off from combat at will). 
