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"Yes, that is right, but all we want are my friends. Give us clear passage and you will not need to join your guests," Polon demands.
For some reason Noxias pictures a ginger haired man as the owner of this soulless voice and wonders if he could jam his sword right through this wall and into the man's belly.
Yrisz pales as she hears the ginger man's words. "He wouldn't dare hurt the scribes," she whispers inquisitively to Konstansz as she follows the woman carefully over the last bit of wall into the room.
Konstansz doesn't grace the girl's question with an answer, her own intention clearly bent towards state of the room as they enter. Though grim scowl on the teifling's face leaves very little ambiguity to the violence she plans to enact next.
This is the sixty-sixth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Saturday, October 27th. The next OOC main post will appear by 11 am, Monday, October 29th.
"Polon my lad, what are you doing over there?" exclaims the man. He interrupts his own response with a bark of surprise as Zephyr rounds the corner. Zephyr lays eyes on the portly warrior for the first time, and notes the tall, hook-nosed man behind him just as they loose their crossbow bolts at him.
The first one goes far off the mark, shooting through the flimsy ceiling, but the second one buries itself deep in Zephyr's side. The half-elf roars and brings his pick down, but it glances off his opponent's mail coat. Rogur and Noxias quickly follow Zephyr into the corridor.
Rogur's shot hits the man solidly in his thigh, causing him to stagger while Noxias singes his red hair with a burst of flame. The flames miss the other shooter, who steps back nearly before Noxias starts casting, all the while reloading his weapon. He ducks around the corner and shoots an improbably accurate missile that tears through Noxias's right hand and then into his shoulder.
"Shot to shot, or even shot to spell, we can take you," gasps the first man, and to prove his point, he sends a bolt flying into Zephyr's gut as he withdraws to the end of the corridor, "but it needn't end this way! I'll reunite you with those fine scribes for a reasonable price."
Rogur watches as Zephyr slumps to the ground in front of him, and kneels to check his friend's condition. He's no healer, but the big half-elf looks like he won't expire in the next few seconds. Assuming he can prevent anybody else using him as target practice, that is. He looks up to the thugs and calls out, "How reasonable are we talking? I kind of like our odds, frankly, but I'm tired, and cranky, and have a lot better things to do than fight my way through you and your companions."
Noxias spins as the bolt tears through sinew and flesh and crumples to the ground breathing heavily and grimacing. He is clearly struggling as the blood pools. Polon rushes forward and tugs at his clothes hoping to move him out of the line of fire. In a haggard whisper Polon implores Rogur. "Rogur, I don't know if your wizard will survive for very long like this. If you can afford it, we should pay the ransom and leave. However, I may have a few more tricks up my sleeve if you can't. Polon presses his hands into the rent torn into Nox's body, but the Eladrin's blood seeps through his fingers.Quote:
Originally Posted by Palpatim
The man wags his head affirmatively as he aims his crossbow, "I'm sure you do. How does three hundred staters for the lot of them sound? That's less than any one of those scribbled-out tomes the Magus puts up for sale. Incidentally, it's enough for me to pay off the weregild to the families of anyone who died here today."
Yrisz rushes to the injured mages side to wrap quickly ripped pieces of sleeves from his once flamboyant robe around the wound cavity left from the bolt as she slowly works the offending object out of him.
"He'll live for now," she says while absently removing a corked vile from her bag.
"Rogur, if we have the staters why not pay the weregild and be done with it," she yells towards the half seen sailor.
"Do be careful," she mouths at Konstansz as the Tiefling moves towards the blood stained hallway door.
This is the sixty-seventh Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, October 30th. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, November 1st.
"Don't mind me," says the man as he limps partially behind the corner and leans back around it, "I prefer not to make myself so much of a target until we conclude our negotiations successfully."
Polon moves toward the fatal hallway and Zephyr. "Don't mind me as well, our friend needs some attention, I will move him out of the way." Polon's voice is full of sorrow and anger as he stands over Zephyrs limp form attempting to get a solid grip on his person.
Behind them Noxias moans in delirious agony.
"Fine you bring us the scribes and let us all out of here safely, and we'll hand over 300 staters." Rogur looks doubtfully down at Zephyr. "Well, maybe 'safely' is the wrong word, but no more fighting, agreed?" He lowers his sling and drops the bullet out of the cup into his hand.
This is the sixty-ninth Acqua Alta Finale main post. Players' posts in either thread are due by 11 pm, Tuesday, November 6th. The next main post will appear by 11 pm, Thursday, November 8th.
"Agreed," says the warrior. "Have the lad Polon retrace his steps. We won't interfere with you as long as you keep to the path between where you came in from and the room where his friends are. Before you leave, count out the silver. Just set down a dozen five-by-five groups of coins in the middle of the walkway between these two buildings. One of my friends has very sharp eyes. If you keep to your side, we'll keep to ours; but if not: while some of the lucky among you may leave here, you won't all leave here with those scribes."
Rogur nods. "Polon, do as he says. We'll take care of Zephyr and the wizard and wait for you here." Rogur stows the sling and bullet and steps backward through the door. "We'll just wait for Polon in here, if it's all the same to you," Rogur calls out. He looks at Polon. "Be careful, lad. I trust these fellows about as far as I can spit, but there's easy silver on the line, and we've shown that we can cause them a bit of bother, so I'm hoping they'll take the easy way. If you get into trouble, call out loud and we'll come running. Otherwise, if you're not back in say, half an hour, we come knocking on doors."
Polon stands and grasps Rogur forearm pulling them together. His eyes plainly pleading and fearful. "I'll be back shortly, thank you sir, I'm not sure if any of us will be able to repay you, or your half-dead friends."
He turns and steps gingerly over the prone body of Zephyr and begins heading back to his still bound friends.
"That concludes the business, then," says the warrior, and ducks back around the corner. That's the last you see of him for the time being. Polon's return to the upstairs room where he was held only takes moments, but they stretch on and on for him. The whole place creaks from the water, the wind, and its own poor construction. He can't make out anyone else's footsteps or presence until he reaches the room.
The remaining scribes are where they were left. They greet Polon with muffled expressions of relief. Polon gives them a few words of explanation and leads them back. All the while, there is no sign of the gang.
By the time Polon returns, Yrisz has tended to Zephyr as well as Noxias, and he is also out of danger.
Yrisz silently watches the young ex-apprentice scuttle back down the blood stained hallways, apprehension clearly written across her face.
After expertly seeing to Zephyr's hurts, Yrisz turns her attentions back to the content of the clay vial. First she sniffs the continents, inhaling its wholesome aroma. "This smells like a rather luxurious feast," she says Rogur. Hesitantly she takes a small bit from the substance from the vials cork to test on her tongue. "It tastes the part as well."
"Does anybody have a candle that I can make use of for a bit," she asks, carefully re-stoppering the vial.
As Polon returns with the other scribes Yrisz starts to almost seem relaxed her bearing.
"Rogur dear, do you wish me to count out the staters, or just manager our fallen," she says with one of her quirky half smiles.