They made it up another flight of stairs leading out of the dungeon completely. With the first rays of sunlight their eyes witnessed since entering the underground, living members of the party stood dazed on the steps, taking in the surroundings with blurred vision. They didn't dare to reach the final steps yet, and clung to the ascending wall for cover. Ifan quietly jumped a few paces up and peeked through the stone railing. Without any magister in sight he gestured for the rest to follow.
Finally, they reached the bowels of the Fort. Indeed, the interior betrayed nothing of the poor conditions the Sourcerers were forced to live in. The place reeked of comforts unbeknown to the prisoners, a gigantic portrait of the Divine's son admonished the vestibule they found themselves in. Ifan spat after as much as laying a gaze on the bastard bishop's face.
Sourcerers looked around, lost. Pairs of doors were leading in every direction, only the slit windows located in the apses in the corners of the room betrayed little of what was hidden behind the walls.
Vermil tilted his head towards the door that led further into the building. "Most of the magisters should be out patrolling by now, no? Could as well try to rummage through their stuff-"
Elane didn't let him finish that sentence, still bloodthirsty from all the revelations the magister dungeon subjected her to. She stormed to the mentioned door.
"They can all be here for all I care-" And pushed with enough force to make the old hinges screech louder than a hungry vulture.
Indeed, magisters were here and the violent entrance of the elf didn't fail to catch their full attention. It also interrupted their own proceedings. The scene Elane intruded looked like an interrogation, or worse.
An elven prisoner was standing in the middle of a pit which took up most of the chamber's space. Stairs descended towards the lower level from the cloisters that the upper one consisted of, covered by crude crates on the sides, spread between ancient marble columns. Stopping for only a second to consider the location, Elane dashed towards the stone altar which marked the edge of the platform overlooking the basin.
"Dear one!" cried the imprisoned woman upon noticing the intruder.
"What's this? Guards, what is this prisoner doing here?"
The elf wasn't alone down there, two heavily armored magisters stood guarding the Sourceress. The man addressing them was none other than High Judge Orivand, second here only to Dallis the Hammer and Alexandar. The gold applications on his red robe were visible even across the room. He stood before a similar altar on the opposite side of the room, but the altar wasn't bare. Something was lying before the Judge and he made a motion to reach it.
The inquired guard was about to answer when Elane's wrathful roar shut the human up.
"What on Rivellon is going on here?!" Her one hand pressing hard against the stone was almost causing it to crack.
"Sister, do not wait. You must run. RUN."
The rest of the Sourcerers still remaining in the shadows behind the doors realized it's high time to barge in as well, despite some's reluctance to do so.
"Ah." The Judge eyed the intruders pouring into the room in frightening amounts. "I see how it is."
His entourage readied their weapons- staffs targeted at the entrance began to gleam with magical energy but he gestured them to halt.
"I believe some explanation is due, milady," Oriward's voice boomed from one end of the chamber to the next. "You probably have heard of our cure in the camp? A cure of Source?"
The party's eyes widened, even if metaphorically.
Vermil didn't even get to mouth "How?" for the Judge to continue his monologue.
"It was commonplace in the days of Braccus Rex, but the technology has lain dormant since then. We have Dallis to thank for her revival of the tool that will save us all."
A wand, only now did Elane realize the thing the magister was holding onto was a wand. He pointed the weapon at the shivering elf below. "Madam, please do hold still-"
Sebille sprung down the stairs while Elane jumped onto the stone altar she was clinging to, and without as much as a thought sent her two hander flying, cutting the air and the distance between them in a blink of an eye. But it was too late. The wand hummed and a green beam of energy shot forth to the hostage and back into the 'tool'. The sword Elane threw sliced through Orivand's shoulder plate leaving only a flesh wound and ricocheted with an unpleasant clangor at one of the mages near him. Both Orivand and the prisoner elf tumbled back. Sebille was near her first and Elane dropped down the edge making a dash for the charging guards but froze for a second seeing the all too familiar blank stare of a silent monk upon the elf's face.
"Kill them!" The wounded Judge cried from above.
"She's….She's gone!" Sebille yelled as the now alien creature snapped at her savior. Kicking and squirming to get free.
Back at the entrance to the chamber, Ifan growled at the Sourcerers not yet engaged in the fight. "No time to waste." The wolf was already loading his crossbow. "Vermil, Lohse: left. Fane, me: right."
The two humans nodded and raced to and through the crated corridor, the others following in the separate direction.
The guard Elane engaged was about to strike while the weight of what just happened was still sinking into the elf's mind. She noticed the blow inches from her neck and ducked, based only on instinct. The high swing the human was forced to make to reach her neck left a gap in his defense to attacks targeted from below. Elane curled her body and sprung forward at the man, fingers sparkling with miasmic purple. Her decaying touch made contact with his skin through the opening in his helmet, making it all more deadly by making the disease spread in the lips and nose.
As the magister stopped short in his tracks to instinctually touch his wounded face, Lohse's lighting sent from above through a break in the crated wall zapped him right in the back. Making use of the momentary stun, the elf pried the shortsword from his shocked fingers, drawing it back into the same opening in the helmet like a dagger. The force of the blow was enough to make a dent in the back of the magister's helmet. He fell down with a silent gasp.
Tiredness slowly creeped into the noble's muscles. All those years without fighting finally caught on her. Behind her back, Sebille was having a difficult time fending off both the lunatic monk and the remaining guard. To the assassin's and Elane's, who just glanced back, surprise it was the Prince who jumped in to help.
"Don't expect me to fawn over with thanks, red scum," the scarred elf snorted, finally finding stable footing in the unfair fight.
"Silence is even much more-" With one mighty swing of his red tail, Prince slammed the monk into a wall, "-appreciated"
Sebille smirked to herself, more or less in spite of the lizard.
Above their heads, a destructive exchange of spells and bolts was unveiling in earnest. The enemy casters were surrounded, thanks to Ifan's command, and desperately trying to fend off the attackers who were hiding behind columns marking the edge of the gallery. Orivand was bleeding from more than a flesh wound now, in his shoulder were stuck two crudely makeshift bolts and one arm hanging limp. He crouched behind the stone altar peeking only to see the fight below unravel to his Order's disadvantage. The prisoners who escaped were plenty and, to make matters worse, skilled in fighting. Taking a shaky breath Orivand decided this is not the time for cowardice. The battlehammer he usually wielded would be of no use with a severely wounded limb, but the Purging Wand he dropped onto the altar when struck by the sword should be able to change the tides of this battle.
"He's plotting something-" Vermil murmured, seeing a faint movement behind the altar he observed. Lohse was standing right next to him, lighting jumping between her flexed fingers, ready to be released. Without another word Vermil reached to his belt for a lighter, shorter knife and stepping away from his cover he tossed it at the Judge's rising head.
The object drew a blurred, silver line in the air and reached the mark, sinking deep into Orivand's throat. He staggered back, eyes wide, and tried to reach the dagger with his hand still holding the wand. Vermil weighed the bigger dagger he was using to fight and sent it after the other, jabbing on Judge's hand. Jolt of pain twisted Orivand's expression as he was trying to gasp for air only to fall to his knees. Heartbeat later one of the mages finally fell, Ifan's bolt sticking out of her robed back. The battle below had been won and now footsteps were nearing the battlefield above. Orivand sent one, last glare at Vermil who stood out in the open, and finally collapsed on his side, back to back with the magister elementalist who fell first to Fane's flames. It was over.
When the dust finally fell Elane felt the seeping wave of weariness taking hold, Vermil on the other hand, still high on adrenaline, was buzzling on his feet long while after the last magister fell, Lohse did her rounds checking and tending to injuries, as few of magisters' spells didn't miss their targets. Ifan inspected his bolts, hoping some could be salvaged but grunted disappointedly moving from body to body, Sebille was wiping her needle clean with a robe of fallen magister. The Red Prince glanced from the crated window slits at the horizon beyond, catching the vast blueness of the calm sea, he turned around to inform his companions that a way out might be nearby but a better question came to his mind as he saw the black haired human snooping around the bodies.
"Anything valuable there?" he purred, genuinely curious.
"Some gold, shoes if you want to take them off, and…" he paused as he scooped up a ring from the magister fingers and eyed it thoroughly, "other goodies that could get us a meal or two."
"I found a key." Said Fane who kneeled next to the Orivand with his brand new face ripping tool stolen from Kniles but thought better of it as he had no means of crafting a new mask right now.
"So there needs to be a door…" red lizard looked around in response and as expected, the door was nearby, across from the altar.
Prince extended his clawed hand expectantly and the undead handed him the key. With a short trot and a smooth click of the lock, the next chamber stood open before them.
"Swish!" Prince mocked, scanning the unexpectedly rich interior.
Lohse leaned inside as well, "Magisters do not spare expenses, do they?"
The expenses poured into the magisterial common room were comfortable wooden beds with soft mattresses among other luxurious furniture. All of this while Sourcerers slept in literal dirt. Elane grit her teeth as she entered the room but couldn't help the nagging thought of laying down in one of those beds. The rest began to enthusiastically turn the room upside down. Weapon and armor rakes were understandably empty but an abundance of civilian clothes could be found hidden among the drawers and night tables, clothes with better quality than any lost and found scraps they were wearing. Elane for once felt especially determined to change the garb she was given for something more covering, since most of the clothes they had found were too small for her to wear and the prison tunic was slowly falling apart on her, besides being dirty and uncomfortable. Sadly, there were no giants among the Magisters and she began to involuntarily wonder why only humans joined the Order. What she did find, however, was a set of women's nightwear, long enough to be worn as a top and a pair of men's trousers, that barely covered her calves but were made of sturdy material. Lohse found herself a kirtle, a leather bustier and some shoes that were an ill fit but in circumstances they were to soon find themselves in, it was better than walking barefoot. Fane eagerly rummaged through the bookshelves and desks before finally walking over to the heaviest and biggest of them, no doubt the former workplace of the High Judge. The skeleton noticed a note and an opened letter, the ink on the first still fresh. He quickly glanced over the both documents, opening his jaw in a little ways as he did. Elane was leaving the separated part of the chamber that acted as a washroom she and Lohse used to change clothes when she saw Fane's expression.
"Found something interesting?" the elf asked.
"It is as interesting as it is disturbing," the scholar admitted in a cold tone.
"What is it?" Sebille probed. "List of 'cured' Sourcerers?"
Fane sighed and straightened the note in his grip. "Madam," he began to read, "Your techniques have proven most effective. A true marvel! Odd that the Source King had this technology so long ago, but managed to keep it quite secret.
As to the technical matters: The monks do listen, but they are so listless and dull. They respond, but they do not engage.
Would it not be possible, perhaps better, if they obeyed of their own accord? My mind races with possibilities: Obedience through free will- a will shaped by the Order itself…"
Ifan's knuckles turned white and soon after were slammed against the smaller desk. "Those bastards…"
"All of the monsters below…were human once," Lohse added with terror.
"Utter sadism." Elane felt the embers of hate reignite deep in her heart.
"I am unsure whether to be in awe or disgusted. Your kind seems to revel in each other's misery." Fane added nonchalantly.
Ifan reached the desk and snatched the letter with broken seal wax. He unfolded the paper with violent motions and murmured under his breath. "Honorable Dallis…" The wolf began to speak louder. "We lost a ship sailing Sourcerer prisoners to Fort Joy. We assume some escaped and broke their collars. Their vile magic lured the Voidwoken. All who were aboard were presumed dead. Yours faithfully into eternity.
High Judge Orivand."
"They informed the Hammer about the wreck with a letter?" Vermil thought out loud, "That doesn't add up. I saw her at the entrance of the Fort, I thought she resides here…"
"The letter was sent and opened, and made it back," Fane observed. "She must have returned from her voyages upon receiving it."
"I saw her soon after waking up from the shipwreck, it couldn't be more than a few hours in between! How fast did she-"
"The elf approached me five days after the incident," Fane interrupted stoically.
"Five…?!" the confused parties cried.
"Sun was at noon when I fished Vermil out of the water…" Elane reasoned.
"We made it to the Fort proper in another hour or so, and then we split…" Vermil continued the retrospective, stroking his chin.
"...and then I found Fane…" She turned to the scholar. "Are you sure it was five days after we first talked?"
"Well, the ship took its sweet time to finally sit on the bottom and then I had to walk the whole way here! To be perfectly honest, I did not expect to ever see you ever again because-" His voice waned, unsure. "Like I said, you are more buoyant than I thought."
Vermil looked at Lohse for confirmation and she nodded awkwardly. "I felt right at home by the time you two showed up."
"Is it really relevant who acted as a fish feed for what period of time and wh-" Prince butted in the conversation, impatient.
"Hush!" Sebille hissed at the lizard and made quick side steps back to the bigger chamber, her ear perking in the direction of stone windows on the opposite wall. Muffled human shouts could be heard.
"A commotion," the assassin summarized, looking expectantly at the rest. As they moved back to the interrogation chamber the voices grew louder and more distinct. Fane, last to leave the common room, did not miss the occasion to bag any relevant books he found.
"This is scandalous! You have no right to deny entry to a Paladin!" a male voice cried from the outside, followed by few footsteps and the clang of armor.
"This has nothing to do with the Paladins. Go and tell your Grandmaster he has no authority here." A crude, also male voice disputed.
"This has everything to do with us! You sully the Divine's name with this place!"
"I implore you to stop and turn away now, Cork. For the last time."
"Sourcerers are like Divine's children. If you cause them any harm here, we're…"
The voices continued to move towards the keep's entrance, much to the assumed magister's dismay.
"Paladins of Arx are at odds with Magisters," Ifan noted with an unhidden smirk, "They might help us if we help them."
"The outside is actually crawling with armed magisters. Are we sure we want to challenge them all?" Vermil raised his arms to plead.
"Turn back if you want," Elane's sword was back in her hand, having more dents than before. "It is either them or us being turned into silent monstrosities." With that she rushed forward.
"I say it's them." Ifan pulled out a scavenged magister sword and followed the elf.
The rest moved on from their spots as well, only Vermil stayed behind, glancing over the carnage they left behind.
"You're going?" Sebille asked mid-step. Lohse stopped in her tracks to look back.
"I do, but I dulled my knives to get Orivand. I need another weapon."
Sebille reached back to the spare shiv she was carrying when the human nagged her to move instead. "I can manage, you two just go… the process is less than picturesque."
The elf curved one of her sharp eyebrows at this. "Necromancy…?"
"In times like these you gotta work with what you have," Vermil admitted, waving at them to go, "I'll join the party in a minute." He took a step towards the bodies of the two magister mages.
"As much as I hate to say this guys, time to fight for our cause," he murmured with grim satisfaction.
This fight had no real plan. Elane jumped out of the front door, landing not too far from the discussing parties from earlier, followed by the lizard. It seemed that Sourcerer rebellion was the last straw to break the Red camel's back. The magister in charge ordered both escapees and the Paladin to be apprehended, which in this context meant them as good as dead. Their earlier speculations proved to be painfully correct, magisters roaming the courtyard greatly outnumbered the Sourcerers.
The only reason why the ones who jumped out of the building in full speed were still standing, was that the surprised archers on top the walls were only now attaching bowstrings to their weapons in a hurry, such was a level of comfort among their ranks.
Ifan, who now had to rely on his old swordwork skills, and Sebille snuck out of the side door in time to see the backs of running startled guards, while Lohse and Fane stood in the doorways atop the stairs.
The sole enemy knight being the closest to the escapees saw himself outnumbered and swung his giant sword on a barrel standing nearby, smashing it to splinters and spilling the contents. The ground, as well as a vacant carriage that stood nearby, became slick with oil. The heavily armored magister took a step back and gestured without looking back.
Getting out of the puddle of slippery liquid was difficult enough, but the three fighters, seeing the faint gleam of a fire arrow up on the wall, made those efforts multiply by dozens. Elane clung to the nearby paladin, as her bare feet quickly lost traction on the oil and then felt a mighty push that sent the two out of the puddle. Then the liquid caught fire. Tongues of flame quickly followed the trail made by the push but were effectively harmless, what was behind them though, was a real hellfire. Flames devoured the wagon quickly and soon jumped onto the wooden fence separating the courtyard. As the smoke rose to the sky, every magister outside knew something was wrong.
Two arrows flung at the elf and paladin, but the other's shield caught them in time.
"Up! Move!" Elane screamed as she tried to scramble back to her feet and help the paladin in doing so. A difficult task for someone in full plate armor. She was expecting more than two arrows heading their way, but to her surprise, there were none; tireless work of Ifan and Sebille who hacked their way through the archers on the ground.
Magister in charge did not gain any advantage by setting half of the battlefield aflame as The Red Prince, unbothered by the heat, jumped out of the wall of fire with a dragon breath of his own. The two were soon bound in hand-to-hand combat.
Reinforcements poured from the direction of the main gate that led to Sourcerer's camp.
"Ugh! They're too tightly packed down there!" Lohse grunted after firing a vicious lightning towards the two archers on the walls, forcing them to cover behind barrels and crates that she and Fane were effectively destroying. "Can't land a spell without risking someone."
"Go down there if you will, hopefully you will not have to retre-" the undead spotted through smoke and flame that the massive wooden door right across their position was creaking open and orders were being shouted in a chaotic manner.
"Hell! There's godsdamn more!" the redhead shouted in response to the unveiling action.
She left the safety of iron doors and sprung for the chaos beneath, reducing the distance between her and the concealed archers. Two of them were readying to shoot, making a visible targets for the woman's magic. Lohse's fingers sparkled, the projectile left the bow a heartbeat before before its owner was electrocuted to death. Both aims have hit the mark. Lohse gasped and fell to one knee as the arrow pierced her shoulder. Breathing suddenly became unbearably painful for the young woman. She knew it was high time to get up and leave but in her adrenaline rush she didn't notice that the party entering through the gate advanced quicker than she anticipated, where she expected to see another wave of magisters there were pale faces of silent monks.
Elane was just a few steps away from the woman, but in the fever of battle she only just noticed her now, kneeling in a puddle of blood. The creature approaching the wounded was unarmed, but its bloody fists meant anything but harmless. The trooper Elane was fighting was far from dead and there was no way to break through his defenses now. The only way to save Lohse was to turn around and run, becoming a clear target for the sword. The decision was obvious. She turned her back, the expected slash tearing her back, and leaped to impale the mute beast on her own blade. The elf stood, feet wide, between the bard and the incoming force.
"You s-said you won't-" trembling, the redhead pulled herself back up slowly.
"SHUT UP," snapped the elf, her mind raving by the gashing wound on her back.
Magister elementalist approached closely behind the cannon fodder of monks and spotted an opportunity. The zap came suddenly, Elane didn't even see it coming. Her muscles tightened painfully. For one agonizing moment she stood, completely stiff, unable to open her mouth or breathe and when the feeling faded all strength left her, the puddle of blood she was standing in positively buzzed with electricity. Elane's posture diminished, wobbling on her feet and head hanging low, burning stung on her chest where the lightning initially hit her.
There was no way Lohse could haul the elf back onto the stairs, not even unscratched. She took a step back, debating whether it would be of any use if she tried to engage magisters in one, desperate stand on her own. The puddle of blood she was standing in suddenly came alive and clung to her skin, seeping into it. The arrow in her shoulder was effectively ejected out of her body by the restoring liquid. Vermil alongside a few … gory meat-looking things sprung forward. Three gruesome abominations woven from magister flesh lunged at the monks and ceased to exist in a violent explosion. The numbers of enemies were effectively culled, gaining the escapees an edge. Sourcerers and the Paladin, a newfound ally, fought bravely through the remaining forces while Elane kneeled, immobilized with pain and bleeding from her wounds. A rough pat clapped her shoulder, and the dirt beneath her legs sprouted and fossilized into a hard shell, then she was indelicately pulled away from the shifting battlefield. Fane hid her behind a wooden wall, one that was not caught in the fire raging across the fort's courtyard. The flames were already devouring the supports of the outer walls of the main building.
"It was idiotic of you to rush forward like this," Fane scolded, as he kneeled to rummage through his bag. "How bad are your wounds?"
Elane groaned, resting on her side. "Just give me some time… I will be fine," her voice was weak but with a strong note of anger.
"Are you quite certain your healing abilities can deal with such extensive injuries?"
"Yes," she yapped aggressively.
Fane got up but lingered for a moment, hand patting his robes. He debated whether it's a good time to gather more notes on the elf's condition, but he painfully realized he is needed elsewhere.
"I shall go and see if the rest needs any help with magisters. Do me a favor and remain here without doing anything reckless."
The elf glanced up at him, shallow breaths rendered her face pale. The undead assessed her inability to move, and deeming it low, returned back to the quieting battle.
The magisters who were guarding the ghetto gate heard the commotion inside the keep and rushed towards it after a momentary disarray. The archers covered the gatekeeper, who suddenly found opening the gate quite difficult with shaking hands. He remained outside while the rest followed the sounds of battle. Soon all of them were felled, with the last magister to guard the gates falling to Fane's poison dart with a quiet gasp.
"Hmph, all that armor proves useless when the toxin seeps underneath it. Not that I mind, of course." The undead summarized as the rest anxiously awaited any reaction from Sourcerers ghetto, and when there came none they fell where they stood in a more or less dramatic manner, save for the undead who did not show any signs of weariness.
Pale faces started to pop between the iron bars on the other side of the gate. Withered creatures scouted the area wearily and slowly approached the iron separating them from their freedom. Few gasped at the sight of dead magisters, few raised voices.
The runaway Sourcerers glanced at each other with feelings of mixed approval for the approaching storm. Vermil stood up on shaky legs, while Ifan straightened from a crate he was leaning against. Sebille's hand wandered subconsciously to her needle, while Lohse hurried to calm the mob's emotions.
"Easy there, I'm sure w-" Even for a small woman, her voice boomed through the turmoil of the crowd.
"We are setting you free, so calm down please," a familiar voice ordered from the wooden stairs leading onto the embankments.
Elane was climbing down, one hand clutching the fabric of her shirt against her heart, the other held onto a sword, using it as a walking support.
The crowd was indeed silenced for the entire way the woman needed to get to the gate.
"None of them has the key," Ifan stated, turning a red-robed corpse around with his boot.
Elane scouted the corpse of the gatekeeper sitting against his guarding post, the keys swung off the hook and were crushed when the man settled in his death pose. The elf's fingers flickered in an intricate motion, and the metal flung into her palm. She took only a step forward when Vermil jumped right in front of her, pacing backwards to the growing crowd on the other side.
"If I might suggest something-" the man began quite politely in a hushed voice.
"You may not," was his only answer before the woman blatantly shoved him aside.
As the rest watched the gate being unlocked, Prince huffed and waved his hand in annoyance before his lizard step took him up to the walls again.
Well-oiled hinges made little sound when the metal swung open. Contrary to expectations of most party members, the prisoners remained still at this sight, albeit a few murmurs made their way through the crowd.
"I want you to understand, we do not have a plan to get us all out, yet." Elane spoke loudly and clearly, weighing her every word as not to upset the crowd but to get the message across. The challenge was steep, but thanks to her father's oratory lessons she had the means to achieve it.
Some onlookers breathed in to cry out their dissatisfaction with the statement, but the more than aware noble didn't even let them get a syllable out.
"But, we have learned that among the terrors of the marches outside the walls is help-" Help, she remembered. The Paladin was not among their group anymore...A matter for later!, she thought. "We will search the island for it, see whether there is any possible escape route. By then you must be ready to move. Magister headquarters are rich in supplies-"
The crowd seemed convinced enough...for a moment.
"An' who made you the leader in here, missus?"
Griff, the druglord residing in the ghetto's kitchens, cleared his way through the crowd, followed by an entourage of his cronies. A merry bunch consisting of devoted cutthroats and thieves, although not all of them were actively assisting the brute, elf noted. He wasn't sporting his usual half-naked kitchen attire but, quite on the contrary, was covered in clinking chainmail. One that probably had seen the Black Ring War in its lifetime.
"I did not see you hacking your way through magister forces and conquering the Fort, Griff." Elane's sword remained down but her pose shifted, now she was merely pretending to lean on the weapon for support.
Griff straightened himself, arms crossed on his chest. A pitiful attempt at looking intimidating, Elane thought, though it clearly must've made an impression on the weaker sort.
"Pity… your attempt will see the Fort burn down in flames with all the goodies inside." The man nodded towards the fire that ran rampant on the wooden supports of the burning, threatening to devour the planks that made the platform connecting the upper courtyard with the lower entrance.
Lohse jolted, as if she just remembered something, and after a few quick jumps up the stairs she spun in place, invoking a downpour on the complex. Redhead woman hopped down, all smiles, as the water began cascading down the stairs.
"See? Nothing's burning anymore." She addressed Griff smiling sweetly.
Griff answered with an ugly grin of his own and expectantly extended a grime-covered palm. "Great, now why don't you hand over the loot,"
No fiber in Elane's body did as much as twitch at the request. "There will be enough supplies for everyone if rationed, given that this someone in charge is sensible."
The thug's face darkened and his hand balled into a fist he shook before the elf's face. "What are yer implying, huh?"
"The lady's saying your sweet time lookin' over the pot's over, mate," a sturdy, short man with an eyepatch and an impressive beard made his way through the other side of the crowd, followed by other dwarves and an elven woman wearing a strange leg armor on top of her prisoner garb.
"This is no business of yours, Beast." Griff growled at the man who now stood just beside the arguing two.
"They're offerin' you a chance of escapin' this deathcamp and the best ye can do is worry for yer belly?"
An angry murmur hummed among the prisoners, who now were tightly encircling the disputing group. The rest of Elane's party kept close, fearing the tension could eventually transform to a full-out brawl. Griff's thugs bared their teeth and weapons, but it did little to grant them any feeling of safety.
"Step down, Griff. For the sake of ye and yer friends-"
"So now you're in charge? Beast of the seas?" One of the thugs accompanying their leader hissed.
"Aye, mate. While Griff's barkin' won't bring you anythin' of value, I offer a plan," he gestured to the opened gate. "The elf's offered you freedom from the magister walls, but I offer a way out of the island."
All talks among the group had ceased and Griff himself took a step back in shock.
"How-" Elane asked, but the dwarf's explanation came quicker.
"We've found a ship stuck on the rocks on the northern shore of the island. A bit in disarray, but the masts and sails remain intact, repairs have been going good so far."
"How do you plan to sail if the ship is stuck?" Ifan cut in, intrigued by the prospect.
"Time, mate. We need to wait for the high tide to dislodge the ship, even then it will be one hell of a feat to turn it around, but with enough hydrosophists aboard we could manage-
"Without Source?" A tall, lazure lizard standing among the crowd interrupted.
Elane only now was reminded about the existence of the collar around her neck. Little has changed for the elf since she was forced to wear the crude piece of jewelry.
"So," the noble urged, "Let us get to the specifics. We need materials for the repairs, food for the voyage and a way to take off the collars-" she counted on her fingers but soon after countless voices followed her enumeration.
"We need clothes!" screamed one feminie voice.
"...medicine for the sick!" demanded the other.
"People! We have little time! Get to the Fort!" urged one, frantic shout.
The expected outrage was just about to break loose when the elven woman, one of Beast's followers, reached for her javelin and jabbed the tip deep into the earth, evoking a sprout of short thorny veins, separating the raging mob from the gate and the discussing parties.
Griff, who stood barely inside the prickling fence, felt really uneasy. The elf's and dwarf's allies proved to be powerful even when silenced and the man enjoyed the simple magicless brutality that ran this place until now.
"You know, elf," the man began oddly diplomatically, "we would certainly sleep sounder knowing our self-proclaimed leader's battle skills are as strong as her mouth. You still have the terrors of the swamp to face, no?"
Elane's forehead crumpled in confusion, but Vermil jumped to his companion's defense in a heartbeat.
"She was fighting magisters while you were lazily peeling potatoes in the comfort of your putrid kitchen, felled one with her hands alone!"
"Dead with one blow, no less," Ifan mused.
A few voices gasped at the news, murmurs starting once again. Griff considered the insult but pressed on the accusation.
"Well, this is quite an easy statement to make on a friend's behalf," he grinned, "None of us was there to see, were we?" He glanced at the faces around, seeking approval. To Griff's satisfaction, he found a lot of doubtful stares cast upon the woman's figure.
"Get to the point." Elane's tone was impatient.
The thug smiled even wider, lowering himself in a mocking bow. "Accept the challenge of the Arena of The One and win alone and I will be at your every command."
The thorns were suddenly sucked back to the dirt and the tension multiplied tenfold.
"They're setting you up-" Ifan whispered to Elane.
"Dear one!" Cried the armored elven woman, "It is a great honour, you must accept!"
Elane took a discreet deep breath and she sheathed her weapon.
"Where is this Arena?"