The fare towards the main ship anchored on deeper waters was a quick, silent, but somehow elating ordeal. At last, the water, even if still holding the threat of the Void, did not seem like an imprisoning power, but rather a vector for their freedom. The side of their vessel clunk against the hull of the Magister ship and they slowly crept up the provided ladder. However welcome the sight was, it was not untroubled. The deck was littered with corpses - Magister ones, strewn around as they fell, and Seekers', being lined up by their comrades near the ship's starboard. The Sourcerers scattered around, trying to find themselves in this new reality. Elane walked towards the row of dead, just in time to see Yimmit throwing Kerban's crested cape over its owner's face.
"He was so close to escaping…" the noble mourned with sincere bitterness.
"Don't tell me…" Lohse, who knelt a few bodies away, sighed.
Elane caught her gaze, sending the other a worried look.
"Klaud. I healed him when we first arrived in the Sanctuary…All for naught…" The bard lamented.
"He saved me ," said another Seeker, hauling another fallen comrade to join the rest.
He turned out to be another elf, a charming blond dressed in a mixture of traditional elven attire and practical human clothing. The redhead raised her dark, bloodshot eyes at him.
"You okay, Jules?"
"Aye. Glad to see you made it alive," he said, then nodded politely at the two women and returned to his tasks.
The noble approached the bard and rested her hand on her shoulder, mindful of her previous injuries. "How about you?"
A Cascade of grimy, red hair broken with a streak of white shook from one side to the other.
"Just tired chief…" her tone turned softer, almost malleable in its interpretation.
Suddenly, an avalanche of raised voices fell over the post-battle silence, originating from the helm. Lohse cocked her head towards the commotion.
"Might want to check what they're going on about there, if you have the strength…"
"Yeah…Yeah I will," she conceded, intent on turning away, but Lohse kept her for a second longer, holding the hand on her shoulder.
"Just," she flashed the elf a weak smile. "Don't push yourself, 'kay?"
Elane was caught off-guard, gawking at the redhead's dirty face like deer in caravanlights.
"I am…" she began, unsure how to end. " I'm fine. You have no reason to worry."
Lohse's nose scrunched in a peculiarly amused smile, and she released her hold. The noble's steps turned sluggishly towards the Seeker leader and their strange ally. Before she had the chance to reach them, the Wolf, accompanied by his magical lupine companion, stormed right past her, and reached up the helm as quickly as his fatigued body allowed him. The noble resorted to remaining at the base of the staircase and waiting.
"Spare me, Gareth." Malady bemoaned, resting her back against the low barrier encircling the steering wheel platform.
"I won't see them tossed overboard. Not here. We'll hold a proper service," the man's expression was grim, and his tone even darker.
"What's-his-face and so-and-so would want us to get this ship sailing before all else. They died for those Godwoken, after all."
"And those Godwoken would not see people thrown into the sea like ballast," Ifan butted in, leaving no doubt about his standpoint.
"While we're indulging in the art of conversation-" Fane moved to stand next to Elane and addressed the elf above, who turned around at the sound. "Could you explain who this Meistr Siva is, and what she wants from us?"
"She's the founder of these Seekers," here Malady pointed with her thumb at Gareth. "And she's powerful. That means something when I say it."
She waved the man away, while she continued the explanation, as the sparks of understanding were not yet visible in Godwoken's eyes. The Seeker walked off the helm in a stiff gait, passing silent orders to his remaining subordinates.
"Siva is one of a rare breed: She'd do anything in the name of a cause, and her cause happens to be you. She's desperate to meet a living Godwoken. She'll be exceedingly pleased we're on route."
"So wait a second-" Vermil joined in the discussion, walking a few steps up past the duo at the bottom. "The plan with Arx that he," he titled his head towards the departing Seeker. "And Cork made is now defunct?"
"Glad you're catching up," she purred, crossing her forearms on the low barrier.
"When are we planning to set off?" The Red lizard inquired, climbing the opposite flight of stairs to meet Malady's eye level.
"Great questions, class. The short answer is; the ship won't move. She's mute, and we need to free her tongue."
"Tongue? You got stuck on some anchoring system you cannot crack?" Elane assumed, raising an eyebrow.
Malady stared down at the noble with a bemused smirk.
"I'd expect you knew the answer, purebreed."
Both of Elane's brows rose, then plummeted down in confusion.
"Purebreed?"
"He didn't tell you anything about me?" Her yellow irises snapped to Gareth in the distance and back. "I'm almost hurt. Almost ."
She pointed a finger at her mask first, then at the Sourcerers below. "Half-demon Malady, null-demon Godwoken. Null-demon Godwoken, Half-demon Malady. Did we drive it home?"
"Painfully so," The Red Prince voiced.
"Strange, I was almost certain mortal races couldn't crossbreed," Fane noted, already making an apt footnote under his notes.
"Strange is that it is of any concern to you," the half-demon retorted. "It's not like you're going to breed with anyone."
The comment landed upon the Godwoken as both shocking and amusing, up to a point where Vermil was forced to twirl his mustache, in vain hopes, his hand would at least partially obscure his wide grin. Elane wondered just how Malady saw through Fane's mask, and the undead in question was equally dumbstruck. It was also the first time the noble saw Sebille chortle. The assassin had been keeping a fair distance from them, seemingly uninterested in the whole exchange, but apparently keeping one ear keenly fixed on the ordeal.
"Returning to the matter at hand…" Using the momentarily undivided attention of her audience, the half-elf continued. "The ship. Made out of livewood. Ancestor tree. Elven business. Find a way to get it moving, preferably before the end of Sembten."
"And what about you?" The Prince was one to pry, seeing the woman stand up and retreat to what looked like the door to the captain's cabin.
Malady stopped in her tracks, made a wide sweeping motion at the entirety of the ship, then shut the door loudly behind her without another word.
"The briefing is over?" Gareth walked back to them the moment the half-demon disappeared from view.
"Yes, it seems so," Elane answered, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Good," he nodded, albeit grimly. "We can wait for Beast and crew in hopes they dislodged their ship. Meanwhile, we shall take care of our dead, and you can look for a way to get the ship moving-"
"Another vessel is nearing us!" Yimmit yelled from his position, halfway on the mast net.
Everyone fell silent, more than ready to give in to an irrational fear that the other ship didn't belong to the inmates, but to a different Magister unit whatsoever.
"They're flaring up the code! It's Beast!"
Lohse ran under the scout's position.
"Do we respond in any way?" She yelled back at him.
"Two short, two long, one short!" The Seeker ordered, and the woman promptly summoned what was left of her magic to fire up bright orbs of electricity into the air.
The relief setting upon the passengers of Lady Vengeance was almost palpable. All they had to do now was to wait for the other ship to catch up, and discuss the newest variables.
"Gareth, do we know anything about the ship beside it being livewood?" Sebille inquired.
"Yes, the figurehead fries anyone who dares touch it. Elf or not," he relayed, his eyes wandering to the very beginning of the row of corpses laid down on the deck.
"Anything else we should know?" Vermil descended the staircase to stand face-to-face with the Seeker leader.
"We have not had the time to search the whole ship…" the man explained. "There could be things we missed as we freed the prisoners. We caught one of the Whites. She bled out by the very cage Malady was being held in on the lowest deck. Your…" his voice trailed off as his gaze wandered from Elane to Sebille. "...Elven abilities might be of use here."
The noble in question was half a mind from bursting into blind rage from the remark, but she couldn't really blame the human for trying every possible approach. Still, the thought of consuming flesh sent violent shivers down the spine, while Sebille seemed not at all bothered by the suggestion.
"We shall see what we can do…" the repulsed elf muttered.
Gareth bowed deeply at those words.
"Thank you, Godwoken. I leave the matters to you," he raised his forehead. "Contrary to Malady, I won't force you to stay. I ask you to, but as Lucian said: The most powerful weapon of all is a man with a friend to strive for."
"Do you have enough hands on board?" Ifan stepped forward.
"We shall manage," the other answered. "Your task is the ship and ship alone, I dare not ask anything else of you."
With that revelation and a stiff salute, the man was gone, off to lowering the bodies with the other Seekers onto the rowboat.
Beast's vessel was nearing them.
Long planks had been thrown between the ships' boards, and the dwarven pirate negotiated them as if he was walking on a sidewalk, not a wave-rocked piece of slippery wood. Others tried their luck as well, but as much as one step at the swaying platform made them realize their best hope was in crawling to the other end. Leya was among those few Seekers left to aid Beast and his crew at the Fort, and she managed the traverse without taking any hits to her dignity. The moment she stepped on the Vengeance's wood, her face lit up. Gareth reciprocate her gaze and even strode close enough to embrace the girl, but his affection was restrained to a hand placed on the feeble woman's shoulder. Beast's own swagger diminished in a moment seeing the blood-stained deck and the corpses of friends and foes alike.
He took off his beret in respect, before addressing Elane's group who remained by the ship's helm. "A bitter victory, wasn't it?"
"We did the best we could," the noble shrugged, glancing over the top of the dwarf's balding head at the Sourcerers gathered on the scavenged ship. "I shall be quick. Plans changed, Beast. We all are aiming for Driftwood,"
He seemed surprised but took the news quite calmly. "What for?"
"Seekers' business," she vaguely outlined. "We still can alter the route to put the Order off, the question is-"
"Who goes where, eh? We would sail calmer, knowing we have some seasoned fighters on board."
"And if we are to alter the route, you're still going to make it faster, no? The question is who is comfortable with what window of time," Vermil was the one to point out
"I'll go with Beast," Sebille offered, casting discreet glances Ifan's way.
"I'm inclined to stomach the sail on the sinking barge, considering I'm in quite a rush," the Red lizard cut in, souring the assassin's expression, humor, and everything else in between.
"I'll join you, seems fair-" Ifan appraised the crowd of his companions, and, deeming them more than capable of managing themselves, also stepped forward.
"That's more than enough." The dwarf raised his hand to stop several Seekers from following suit." We'll be sailin' fast, and we'll take a less frequented route from the north, while you should make a wide arch from the south - as if you were aiming for Arx still, then take a sharp turn to Driftwood. Out of us two, yer at the bigger risk of running into Magisters."
"And Voidwoken? You're not worried about that?" Vermil asked, crossing his arms on his chest.
"We shall manage, boy. Wouldn't be my first dance on the waves with the Void," the dwarf chuckled, patting his braided beard.
"And so we split…" Elane muttered as if to confirm with the general congregation.
"Oh, you're going to miss me?" Sebille jested, strolling to the noble and nudging her with her elbow.
"I am more worried about your funds, you have much more mouths to feed," the noble riposted, plunging her hand into her bag and shuffling the contents.
"No need to worry, I've sent folks back to that treasure cavern you have found, we secured a small fortune," Beast was quick to explain.
"Fortune of long-defunct currency, indeed. Without a buyer for ancient gold, and we're not in Arx, you are as good as-"
Her fingertips finally coiled around what they'd been looking for, and she pulled out two sizable jewels, presenting them on her palm for Sebille to take.
"...Here. This is a bit more trustworthy capital."
" Capital. " The other elf sniggered, taking the gemstones. "Maybe I'll end up missing you instead…"
Lohse pouted and stormed towards the two. Sebille's catlike eyes noticed the motion, and smoothly glazed over the shorter bard, now beaming with attitude.
"Few shiny rocks are the price of your affection? I'm gravely offended, Sebille," Lohse puffed and huffed, and her hand was halfway to clutch her imaginary pearls.
"Oh, how could I not miss Madame Josephine Gribbles De Peeb?" The assassin picked up on theatrics, bowed down, and snatched Lohse's hand for a light peck on the hand.
Lohse's face turned as red as her hair, and no amount of grime and dirt could conceal the fact.
"... Gribbles De Peeb?" Elane repeated, raising one brow.
"A…A stage name…" the flustered girl muttered, still processing what just happened.
"And the stage was the floorboards of Merryweather," Sebille added.
Elane's curious expression was replaced with a rather sour grin that exposed her right canines.
"I really wish I heard the whole story."
"I bet there are taverns aplenty in Driftwood. I owe you a drink for that knee to the neck, after all," the cat-eyed elf shrugged.
"Try not to kill anyone aboard…" Elane's smile warmed, and she raised her hand for the other to shake.
Yellow eyes jumped between the extended palm and the noble's face before the assassin pulled the woman into a friendly embrace. She patted the back of Elane's coat a few times and whispered 'no promises' before moving to tell her goodbyes to Lohse and the rest of the companions they were about to leave behind.
Ifan, Beast, and Vermil also were taking a moment to shake hands and exchange parting words, while Fane vanished from the scene before anyone could notice. Elane registered the farewells with one ear, her mind spiraling at the assassin's unforeseen affection. It was Ifan, who snapped the elf out of her daze with an extended hand of his own. She blinked the odd dizziness away and reciprocated the handshake.
"Take care of yourself, Dear One."
With a flash of adrenaline, Elane recognized the elven phrase and with an overwhelming, white rage, tightened her grip to a point of Ifan yelping. He squirmed in her vices, confused and trying to set his hand free, looking for any hint in the woman's face on what could've warranted violence. Her eyes were dead, colder than dead.
"Do not…call me that…" she finally seeped the words through her teeth.
Another blink and her hold loosened, and she was back, with the full realization of what she just did, and was mortified of it. The man was bent in two, clutching his wrist.
"Ifan! I am sorry I-" she was more than ready to open her own veins to heal him.
"No, that's…on me," he breathed. "Shouldn't assume things. You take care then…" Flexing his fingers enough to tell they weren't broken, the Wolf was off, accompanied by the white beast, whose bobbing jaw was turned towards the elf for a long while, before they finally boarded the other ship.
Her heart was pounding, her mind was reeling, her conscience felt heavy.
Why has she done that?
The Sourcerers, now in thinned numbers, moved below deck to investigate the ship. Few of Gareth's people pranced here and there, but judging by their troubled faces, they haven't found much. Vermil, Lohse, and Elane were standing under the stairs leading up, taking in the sprawling wooden bowels of the vessel.
"Where would you say we should start?" The rogue asked no one in particular.
"The White Magister?" the noble proposed but with audible uncertainty.
"We haven't seen a White other than Dallis, now have we?" Vermil addressed as he smoothed his goatee, leaving his mustache be for a change.
"Gareth would tell us if they got the Hammer herself, wouldn't he?" Lohse pondered, then glanced around as if something had struck her. "Has Fane jumped ship or something? He's nowhere to be seen…."
As if he had been called, the undead had emerged from a trap door to their left, stopping on the steps leading to the lower deck.
"Are you done? I have found something rather interesting."
"Speaking of the devil-" the human man said.
"Oh excuse me, have I interrupted establishing contact with another infernal beast?" There was a hint of genuine curiosity in the Eternal's tone.
"It's a…figure of speech," Vermil explained, hiding his grin. "Please, lead on."
They followed him down to a doorway placed close to the flight of stairs. The wall they reached was barring quite a big chunk of the ship, and there was no other entrance. The door looked unassuming at first, and besides being closed, posed no interest. Only when the scholar reached to touch it, did the wood shift and swell, the flat surface turned into a relief of a lower part of a masculine face, blending into a frame of oak leaves. Its nose was pierced by a golden ring that apparently functioned as a knocker. The head dipped down, and froze, waiting.
The rogue snickered knowingly.
"Wizards' talking door. Of course."
"Do you know how we open it?"
"Catalyst and password-" Elane listed before she had an opportunity to bite her tongue.
Vermil's brows sprung up as he assessed the woman, but he nodded along.
"Catalyst and password indeed. The first usually comes in the form of a stone and the other is a verbal component. Plain and simple."
"I do hope the Magisters have a notebook full of important things, like a password to the apparently very important talking door just lying around," Lohse deadpanned.
"How easy life would've been…" Vermil, throwing his head back, sighed dramatically.
"Come," Fane grabbed Elane by the hand and began pulling her toward the opposite end of the third deck. "I want to witness your so-called memory-reading from flesh."
Elane's humor, stomach, and everything between her abdomen and brain churned as if poisoned with lead. The first time she did it was supposed to be the last, but alas, current circumstances were just as dire. She followed the undead down an imperial staircase. The other flight led up to a dead end, and the whole structure appeared to be built solely to symmetrically frame a gigantic portrait of the now-deceased Bishop. Every baluster in the handrail was carved, the painting was framed in gold, and the carpentry of the interiors was all rich mahogany. Everything reeked of luxury, even more so that the shambling Sourcerer ghetto was fresh before the noble's eyes. She felt a pang of dull rage stirring within again. Very few red-clad bodies were littering this part of the ship. One man, two women, and their target - the White Magister, whose upper body has been reduced to a pile of gore. A carcass that had been sizzled that bad should smell, reek even. But there was not a whiff of burned hair or charred flesh, instead, besides the metallic notes of blood, Source hung in the air like the scent of rain. By all accounts; Malady's handiwork
"I'll look for the stone, and you could do your…er…thing…"
The human tried to be discreet with the matter, and he was most likely the one least appalled by the concept of ritualistic cannibalism, but his comment came out as insecure. Elane sucked in the air, and hesitated, half-consciously noting through the corner of her vision that Fane already pulled out his pencil, and it was impatiently hovering over his notebook. She knelt down by the corpse's legs, mindful of how badly the spell damaged most of the flesh of its upper body. She peeled the white robe and then layers of armor from the deceased's calf, an aura of shame nearly visible over the noble. Lohse was staring at her with morbid curiosity, while Vermil patted down the Magister's garments, and rummaged through pockets and folds of fabric without a care in the world. The elf raised the limb, hands holding the supple flesh of the calf that hadn't yet stiffened. Her only wish at the moment was to get it over with. She bit down.
Elane wasn't a good flesh reader and her experience in recognizing the imagery that flashed before her eyes as memories was poor at best. She decided to focus on only one of her engaged senses. Words assaulted her ears with every motion of her jaw, every drop of blood that trickled down her throat. She listened…
"What do we have here? A replacement sent from Dallis, huh? What do you do?"
"Magister Ranley, Caulker-"
…and listened…
"The orders were to keep prisoners alive, not nice and plump, 'mate'..."
...and listened…
"How did that godsforsaken password go…? …Shall open all doors…ro…fa…"
"Fortitude!" Elane screamed, torn out of the trance, causing Lohse to jump.
The catalyst was already in the rogue's hands, making blurred lines in the air as he tossed it up and down.
"It's so satisfying when the countless hours of studying history and arcane lore actually pay off," he said in a tone bordering both amusement, and annoyance. "Catch!"
He flung the oval shape at the elf, who caught it and stared back in confusion.
"You seem as informed about talking doors as I am. The honor's yours," Vermil's lips parted in a dicey smile.
"A viper got you when you were searching the corpse, Ver?" The bard intervened, hearing an odd note in the man's voice.
"Nah. C'mon. I'm thrilled to see what Magister hid behind the impassable doors," he dismissed her, nudging the elf to stand up.
"Maybe the Hammer herself?" Fane dared jest, but the idea was not necessarily improbable and the thought alone made all three pause.
"She wouldn't…just hide in here, right?" Lohse asked, her complexion suddenly a shade paler.
"To what end?" Elane asked, skeptical.
"Even if your suspicions prove true, we haven't yet met a foe who is immune to violence you creatures are so prone to," Fane summarized, pressing onward.
Vermil pinched the bridge of his nose, blinking rapidly. "True that. I'll even sleep better knowing the demon woman is no more by our hands."
The elf reached up to feel the grip of her sword, then pulled it out and rested the blade flat on her shoulder. "Let us get it over with, shall we?"
She moved towards the door and placed the gem in its slot without hesitation. The face breathed to life and receded a bit, before speaking with human movements and voice.
"I am summoned. Speak the password."
"Fortitude," the noble vocalized, loud and clear.
The mechanism within clicked open.
"Yes and yes again. The word is spoken. Welcome to the stateroom."
The face spoke its part and became statuesquely inert. They waited, just as motionless for a while, listening to any hints of life behind the oak panel. When nothing came forth, Elane pushed the door inwards. They stepped inside, quickly realizing the posh chamber was not empty. A man clad in black robes sat next to a long table topped with marble, which in turn was tucked between the right wall and a grotesquely religious desk obscuring the sharply arched, long windows of the stern. The occupant eyed the incoming party curiously, then his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as unbridled joy twisted his fine-looking features into an expression of shock and relief.
"...Tarquin?" Vermil called out, similarly stupefied.
"Vermil…? I would never suspect seeing your little anfractuous face again would be the highlight of my life."
The rogue rolled his eyes and scrunched his nose. "What the hell have you tangled yourself into?"
"Hey, care to introduce us?" Lohse jumped in, quite glad their worst-case scenario never came to be.
"You do that, I'll be with you in a moment-" Tarquin ordered, as he was tinkering with something laying on the lavish table.
"Elane, Fane, Lohse. Tarquin de Vegres. Two years my senior. We were both attending Arx University. Lost track of him when he left the city- What are you messing with there?"
Vermil rushed towards his ex-colleague and snatched some sort of gauntlet he was working on from his weathered and discolored hand.
"What's this, you sly fox?"
"Muscle replacement," the other man mused. "Could you click it together for me, I clearly lack the strength…"
The rogue did as asked, and felt the silent hum of Source within the instrument, he scowled first at the contraption, then at its creator.
"What happened to you for fuck's sake?"
The questioned man shifted on his chair as if plush had turned into stone, then extended his arm for everyone to see and pulled back the left sleeve of his dark, white cuffed robe. The limb was shrunk as if magically decayed.
"Dallis," he began his explanation. "She took a…particular interest in me and my skills. I'm an expert in healing, crafting, and, eh, more arcane practice…"
"By which you mean notorious necromancy?" Vermil rebutted, dropping the gauntlet back onto Tarquin's lap and turning his gaze to the side, where an undead cat was watching the ordeal unfold.
The notorious necromancer offered an idiotic smile, then snuck his weakened hand into the armor, exposing a sliver of his right wrist as he did so. The rogue caught a glimpse of something and reached for the man's arm to investigate right away. A hunch hadn't betrayed the younger necromancer; the man's forearm was covered by a tattoo, a pattern of concentric circles, rendered in black.
"You motherf-"
Tarquin pried his arm away from the rogue with a woeful scowl.
"Don't judge me by the mistakes of my youth too harshly," the older man pouted, looking almost innocent.
Vermil was raging, with anger and wrath, no one would suspect the usually quiet man of.
"You joined fucking Black Ring! And now you're…"
"I was a prisoner," the other rebuked. "Much like you, but instead of a pretty collar and a cruise to Joy, I got Hammer's 'special treatment." He raised his crippled arm for emphasis.
Vermil's hand was going from his beard to his forehead, squishing the muscles of his face in an attempt to calm down.
"You better talk. Where is she?" The rogue continued the interrogation, while the rest sat back and listened, not wanting to evoke the man's ire by interrupting.
That, oddly, applied to Fane as well.
Tarquin's emerald green eyes moved from one Sourcerer to the next, looking for a savior, but there was none willing to take the role.
"I don't know. As you can imagine I wasn't a conversation partner, but a tool . She also conveniently seeped mind-clouding specifics into my food and drink," he recalled.
"You're not telling the whole story," Vermil massaged his temples. "But fine, let's end here. Unless there is anything else you want to share?"
Emeralds glided from one end of the dark tired eyes to the other, then Tarquin's arm disappeared behind the table. When it reemerged, he was holding up a pyramid of dark stone, glowing with unrecognizable sigils and patterns.
"If there's anything-"
Fane marched like wildfire towards the item, snatching it back the moment Tarquin's hold on it loosened. His stolen face flashed with emotions too fast to distinguish them.
"This is…a teleportation pyramid! Where did that come across one? It seems intact and active…" The undead raved, turning the device left and right as if it was the first time he had one.
"Maybe let-" Elane began, placing a hand on the faux-elf's shoulder.
Suddenly, the silhouettes of the two wavered as if they were a mirage on a desert, then blinked out of sight whatsoever. Reality warped and re-shaped around them in an instant, causing an unpleasant stir in the woman's abdomen. The pyramid Fane held now was touching another one, nearly identical, save for the color of the glowing etchings.
"It works!" The scholar proclaimed turning around to the woman who made the jump with him.
His expression settled on elated, overjoyed even before it changed as his non-existent eyes registered movement in the small chamber they were teleported to. No lamp was lit, and there wasn't a way for the elf to spot the danger in time. Six razor-sharp claws pierced through the small of her back as if it was butter, not flesh and bone. All she managed to do was to suck in air to scream before Fane jumped before another of the Hammer's monstrosities, hand lit with flames, that sprung like a white-hot chain, coiling around the stalker's neck. He pulled, but the Eternal lacked both strength and magic to force it away from the elf, and soon, the fiery whip splintered into wisps of air and ash. It certainly got the beast's attention, though. The trapdoor opened above, finally shining some light on the cramped battlefield. Vermil practically jumped into the hideout, unmindful of the ladder or anything for that matter. Elane was whimpering on the other side of the room, scrunched by a desk, while Fane, in Vermil's eyes, stood idle.
The human was about to jump in to help, but his target changed in a split second when he felt another steel-grafted creature lurking to his right. He swung his dagger blindly and managed to rip through the veiling spell and jab the monster in the arm. It retaliated, causing him to duck and evade, giving Lohse an opening to zap it from above. Meanwhile, Fane was piercing the monster's hide with burning acupuncture, sending one blazing dagger after the other. Circumstances didn't allow him to use any other spell, for fear of starting a fire or causing structural damage to the hull.
"Back…!" Lohse screamed from above.
The undead listened, and retreated, his back pressed to the wall with the ladder. The redhead flung frosty daggers of her own, and they managed to bury deep into the ghaist's flesh - one lucky throw seared through its neck, ending its pitiful existence. A few paces to the left, Vermil was drowning the wailing, barely standing heap of meat under a waterfall of stabs, laced with hexes and ordinary, but peculiarly elaborate curses. Finally, he buried one blade in the monstrosity's shoulder, forced it down with all his might, and ended the display of violence with one thrust through the eye-slit of the golden mask of Hammer's pet.
"El!" The redhead slid down the ladder and rushed to the injured.
"There is no need for panic, she will be alright," The undead promptly noted, seeing Lohse's mad dash.
A push sent him tumbling into a nearby wall.
"Do you think you could use her as your godsdamn meat shield?" Vermil, who was fuming, roared at the confused undead. "You endangered her again, and what fucking for!?"
"Your anger is futile and misplaced, not to mention you have no outlook on the entire sit-"
Fane didn't get to finish, his line of thought interrupted by sudden motion. He fell to the side with his jaw feeling out of place, and Vermil's pale knuckle red from the strain of the punch.
"That thing almost cut her in half," he stated in a hushed, grim voice."It's you who's missing the whole outlook. You can be an Eternal, you can be a bloody God for all I care, but don't shuffle lives that aren't yours. Clear?"
The scholar did not answer, slowly getting back to his feet, then leaving the hidden room and next stateroom whatsoever.
Lohse's magic felt like warm water rippling around her midsection, but the injuries were severe even for their dedicated hydrosophist.
"Vermil- Agh," Elane's voice drowned in a yelp of pain. "Uncalled for…"
The light emanating from Lohse's hands pressed to the elf's back blinked.
"Shhh, don't move, you're making my job harder…"
"Sorry El, sorry. Panicked…" The rogue's tone was soothing, but none of his white-knuckled fists relaxed.
"Do you need my help down there?" Tarquin, who was still kneeling next to the entrance, offered.
"We're good here," Vermil's tone shifted to a colder one. "Feel free to return to whatever your business here is."
"How gracious. I'm leaving this den in your custody in this case."
The older necromancer's head disappeared from the square of light above.
"Hey," Lohse chimed in. "At least we know Dallis isn't here for sure."
The noble couldn't help but smirk.