Dragonstone

[Meldawen]

Without a word Jada hauled herself upright, and before exiting glanced warily both ways down the hall. Someone was sure to have heard that mace breaking the lock, and even if she'd been innocent before, breaking out of prison was a crime in itself.

They had no equipment of hers. Jada did not generally carry weapons as a habit, though perhaps it was one she should develop. Particularly if this shady character liberating them turned out to have an ulterior motive, and Jada rather suspected he might. She paused to flick a dagger from the belt of the fallen guard. Best to be prepared.

[KitiaraBrightblade]

Elaith pretended not to recognize the man who was after his target. He was offering a way of escape after all, and he must not have known Elaith and he shared the same goal. However, he knew this man could not be trusted. For some reason Elaith found himself putting a vague amount of trust into his cellmate, who seemed...honorable enough.

Elaith would tell his cellmate about the man as soon as he could, but for now he would have to follow this man out of here... and maybe find a way to get closer to this mystery woman.

((OOC: Sorry that was so short, my brain isn't working right now, and I think Melda is getting tired of me hitting on her character. ))

[Meldawen]

((Eh, I'm flexible Gives Jada something to come up with sharp retorts to, lol))

[RaistlinMajere]

Pausing before the stairway at the door to an armory, Knyn entered and found his greatsword and weapons belt carelessly thrown in a corner. He strapped his equipment back on and came back out to see one prevailing magic-user and one dead guard. Plus three more companions who'd likely demand an explanation he couldn't give.

Fortune loved him.

Passing the guard's body on his way out the door, he caught sight of the insignia emblazened on the breastplate. His blood congealed. Len Flarkan, the single largest fortress on this side of the continent. Torture chambers of infamy, impregnable dungeons, the continent's best trained troops... They'd either have to be impossibly lucky or simply gods-blessed to escape here alive. Not a chance on the former.

He loosened his greatsword in its sheath and pulled his cowl over his head, before silently moving forward and easing the steel-reinforced door open a tiny crack. A similarly torchlit corridor stretched on both ways outside. No tapestries - only forbidding stone. Infinitesimal slivers of moonlight filtered in through the arrow slits.

[Meldawen]

Jada lingered a moment at one arrow slit, eyes darting calculatingly about, and soundlessly caught up to the others. "Down this hallway, descend two flights of stairs, then work our way around to the north tower," she hissed. No explanation was forthcoming of how she knew.

[Ember]

"Ah so the missy has inside information about the imperial castles, I would normally ask how, but then again you mentioning it now doesn`t really upgrade anyone`s trust in you. If all goes as I hope then none of us will be at each others throats in the end or ambushed by the guards."

He snarled before pushing his way past the others into the hallway, his feet moved in a fast phase and he gazed back at them to check whether they were coming.

[RaistlinMajere]

Knyn sharply threw an inquiry at her, then decided against it and let her keep her privacy. This was not a time to question trust or faith, and her claim was better than his own lack of knowledge. He stared after their liberator's retreating back.

The woman he could trust, but there was something unsettling about the mage.

Moving ahead of the others, he pressed himself against the wall and listened for noises around the corner. Padded footsteps on the other side - so different from the clanking sollerets average guards wore. But then again, this was not your average fortress. He quickly scanned the corridor but found no convenient alcoves. Much as he hated it, he turned inquiringly back at Malcar, who appeared to have a few tricks up his sleeve.

[Sparrowhawk]

Lol, Raist--what good are infintesimal arrow-slits? I'd think they'd be more useful if they were wide enough to let arrows through, eh?

-----------

Rath rounded the corner, and caught a flicker of motion at the end of the corridor he was about to step into. Apparently, whoever was at the other end had seen him, too, so both, as flickers of movement, darted back behind their respective corners. He had already drawn his shortswords by the time he thought the situation through. Guards were more likely to have shouted an alarm and then attacked him instead of ducking away. It was far more likely that his targets had escaped. In actuality, they were not 'targets', but the term still worked. He had been hired, along with over a dozen other sellswords, to get them out of the fortress, so getting them out of the fortress, he was.

Risking the element of surprise, he carefully eased around the corner, calling out in a voice that, while clear enough to be heard by those at the end of the corridor, would not likely be heard much farther away. "Be you among those who were captured at the [insert Tavern name here] tavern two days ago?" He held his breath. If he was wrong, then he very likely was going to die soon.

He was ready to die, of course, ready every day, but he still did not want to die. There were things that he could yet accomplish here, in this life, once he had gathered enough money and prestige. Already he was among the more well-known sellswords, and he had no doubt that that would continue. Not many people spent the amount of time that he did training and learning. He was a very good bargain for anyone who hired him--he could handle almost anything that he would come across, whether in a fight or smooth-talking someone out of something foolhardy.

And here, for some reason, he was risking it all by calling out to someone in the middle of the most guarded fortress in the land. Not the best way to stay alive.

[Ember]

The sudden question from someone behind the corner was a surprise and Malcar began to wonder, if someone else had infiltrated the complex, but why? There was no time to think, but to act and time was precious. With each delay they faced, the more guards would come pouring their way and Malcar wasn`t planning to fight anyone. Malcar gave the stranger a simple answer, a firebolt sprang forth from his palm. It hit the wall and ricocheted off it past anyone who was hiding behind the corner.

"Guess!"

He shouted as he began to walk towards the corner with quick steps and drew his mace in order to engage who ever it was behind the corner. A foe would have their heads cracked and someone who would help him would only be used for his purposes in the end.

[Ven]

After getting out of that accursed cell, making a vain attempt to dust his robes, and gettign his staff (luckily they didn't recognize it, his father's illusionists really are good), Zealan just decided to simply follow the rest of the group.

He'd been here before, when his father was here conducting negotiations concerning their loose alliance with the empire.
With Zealan on their hands, they might think that they might have some leverage against Zealan's father.

Not a chance. His father would kill Zealan himself before bending to pressure from the empire.
Lots of father-son love there.

At one point Zealan noticed a familiar stairway, and he fell even further behind, and finally went down the stairway. He would have to bonk (figuratively) a few heads to get out this way, but it would do.

[RaistlinMajere]

[*glare*]

Knyn was by far more cautious. Using the mage's distraction as cover, he sprinted to the other side of the corridor, where he crouched in the shadows of the stairway Zealan had descended just seconds before him. He didn't note the necromancer's absence, preoccupied as he was by the current threat. Hidden from view, he watched the first volley between the mage and... another warrior? No insignia of the Holy Ascendancy was emblazened on his hauberk. His movements bore the fluid grace of any seasoned warrior, and the shortswords strapped across his back looked none too blunt. Certainly their heroic wizard rescuer hadn't anticipated the arrival, which meant another variable with an ulterior motive.

Knyn scowled. If he had a choice, he'd have completed this quest on his own without anyone's knowledge or assistance. But it appeared his own cursed incompetence didn't allow for that.

The mage had that wicked mace out, so Knyn similarly drew his shortsword and took a roundabout stalk to cover the stranger's other flank. He stopped on the man's opposite side, forcing him to face either Malcar or Knyn but not both at once.

[Sparrowhawk]

Rath sighed as two of those he was supposed to be rescuing tried a pincer attack. The attack he devoted most of his practice time in developing a defense against, they were using against him. As if he would have had any trouble with them anyway--it was only one mage with a mace, and a warrior with a longsword who might be a little more trouble.

As easy as it would be to fight them, he returned his swords to their scabbards on his back, taking a step back so he could see both of them. He certainly didn't want them attacking him, because if he was forced to kill one, his pay would be reduced.

"The exit is this way," he said, turning back down the corridor he had just come from. An occasional dark patch on the stone floor showed where a guard had been standing, and had been surprised. "And if I hear anything louder than a peep from you, you're not going to leave this fortress alive. The rooms to the sides are both quarters for the guards. I don't plan on dying because you're stupid."

[Ven]

Zealan disregarded the slight racket behind him and kept going down.

He hated this staircase, it was making him dizzy, just as it made him dizzy a few years ago. When will this stupid staircase ever end?

As if it heard his question. the staircase abruptly ended and Zealan almost fell. He withheld another curse. It was unbecoming.

Before him was a courtyard. In the courtyard there were guards in training doing what they're supposed to be doing : training.

There was about 100 or so of the guards.

And they were all staring at him.

You know, being stared at isn't exactly the highlight of his day. or days. apparently a day had passed while he was unconscious in that cursed cell. And he'd missed his meet up with the lady. But right now, this staring could get him killed.

Zealan turned to go up the stairs, and a shout rang out, "Hey! what are you doign here?"
Zealan pretended not to hear, and kept going up at a slow pace, making signs with his fingers. One step, his staff began to glow, two steps, there was a shuffling of boots, their owners, halting in their training, deciding to gain glory by capturing this invader. Three steps, Zealan felt the drain of power.

The shuffling stopped. A bead of sweat collecting on his brow ran down his face. He held a hand to the staircase to steady himself, and, when he didn't feel like falling to the floor anymore, he turned around.

The guards were all staring upwards, some were wimpering where they stood, and some just gaped openmouthed at the illusions visible only to themselves.

Zealan had to get out of there before his power drained out.

[RaistlinMajere]

Dying of stupidity wasn't listed in Knyn's plan either, but he had a markedly contrasting idea of said stupidity's initiators. He'd conveniently gotten himself captured once already - it would not be happening again. He sheathed his shortsword and followed, sparing a warning glance at the others if only to remind them of their peril. The first person to talk, trip, or ruin it would lose either a tongue, a foot, or a head - depending on the offense.

The corridor ended in a circling stairway that spiraled downwards to the left. The three inert, armored forms decorating the landing were the only indication that the stairway had once been heavily guarded. It was just then that a commotion at the stairway across the corridor made him spin around, hand flying for his weapon. A rattling of swords, then - nothing. It sounded like a lusty charge that'd been cut short by running into a stone wall.

His eyes narrowed as the commotion's source appeared at the stairway's top. The necromancer fop. Excellent.

[Ven]

Zealan wiped a hand across his face. His white robe was stained beyond repair now, but at least it wasn't stained with blood. Yet. His hand shook on his staff, Zealan clutched the staff tighter drawing some strength from it. It stung, everytime he drew strength from the staff, it hurt. The staff liked being used to store power. It didn't like people drawing power from it. If Zealan had less power left, he wouldn't have been able to draw any.

Power flooded into him, and Zealan stood up straighter and loosened his whiteknuckled grip on the staff. He strode silently down, not showing his surprise at teh party below him.

Having this group there was better than a group of guards intent on ripping him to pieces with their swords, maces, and whatnot. He fell behind the group, not uttering a sound.