Catacomb of Ashes In-Character

[Draconic]

Rixia Ad-Khalein
Night

Rixia ran for the entrance. This was not how she wanted to spend her day, but then, who in their right mind wanted to get kidnapped by idiotic, suicidal cultists and their pyrophiliac witch-leader? No one, that’s who.

Honestly, Rixia didn’t Like the looks of those doors either, but it was the spooky doors or the teeth. So she picked the doors.

[Twelveseal]

Rixia's charge left her following in the path that Sigurd before her had tread. He had himself yet to delve into that darkness, standing watch as his was with his deadly limbs. Ghoro, the huntress, and the wolf-like Ireki all finish their perusal of the cache and follow after the elderly axe-wielder, whose deadly blade has helped to cut a path through the melee. One they stick close to as yet more beasts and cultists clash and scream and wail. Soon those stone doors will welcome them.

Warmly or coldly, none yet know.

However, Saraya soon would; the creatures that stalked the brush paid her little mind as they sought out targets more to their liking. Or perhaps loathing, as the creatures clearly had an animosity for the cultists that went beyond simple predatory instincts. The cultists, for their part, were too distracted by the creatures to have any hope of spotting one as stealthy as she. The doors loomed large. She'd be there in moments.

[Mormarth]

Saraya

Flitting along, like a scrap of silk on the wind, a curtain of amethyst appeared, illumined faintly by the fires in the distance.

"Come, come, there's no time to be beggars at the door, I'd take a tomb over the fire or ending up something's supper."

The cold innards of the earth were not typically the kind of environs natural to a beautiful, shining star such as herself, but, needs must.

She placed a firm, travelworn boot on the doors, then gestured with a toss of her head and a push of her foot.

"Let us venture forth into the depths, then, tis only natural for an adventure, no?"

She also probably wasn't strong enough to push some sturdy stone doors by herself, but she'd never admit that.

[Twelveseal]

The stone doors, lit by the fires of the mountain and the dancing aurora, loom before Saraya. However, that same fitful sends shadows flickering across their surface and reveal the secrets hidden on their faces; bas-reliefs depicting people coming and going, some wearing truly strange attire, others bearing the telltale look of High Atlanteans and their advanced technologies, journeying to the mountain by great ships and offering supplications to a strange shrine and a great sphere. They show creatures much like those that now tear through the jungle lurking amid forest fronds and ferns. And, at their center, they show a great and terrible winged monster laying waste to ships approaching a mountain from the sea.

Sigurd startled at the sudden appearance of the strange-haired girl as she materialized out of that chaotic night, the athletic warrior somehow missing her despite his vigilance. However, he simply nodded, the smile he offered strained as he half-hid in the shadows by the door. It was clear he was growing increasingly uncomfortable, his eyes darting back to the group of escapees rushing after Saraya. Though the woman had little faith in her ability to move the door. Her initial attempts to push open the towering gates proved as fruitless as she feared, the strangely-warm stone unwilling to budge. However, her attempts didn't pass unnoticed. "It opens toward us. They've hidden some sort of handle in the carvings there." Sigurd gestured at the artwork carved at the twin doors' meeting, the image of a strange, massive, bat-like bird descending from clouds that poured from a mountain, its head crowned with two horns, its talons grasping great ships that splintered and burned as the fell into the sea even as fire and stone rained from the sky.

"Be cautious, quiet one; more than a few of these madmen have already entered." The self-appointed door guard seemed to view her as a capable enough person not to attempt stopping her. His eyes showed his concern lay elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the fire-breathing woman finally reached the pile and began to rapidly shift through its contents. "Took you long enough." She rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips at the lean man's comment... and at his obvious relief at her arrival. "Everything in its proper time."

"And is it the proper time to say "Thanks for saving me there?""

"Perhaps a bit too soon. Perhaps not." It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"So you're one of those."

"Perhaps~" The woman rapidly gathered her belongings, throwing a few coins and gems into the pouch she grabbed, and hurried on. Just as Sigurd had his eyes on another, so did she. And she was clearly not going to let them get too far ahead. The man sighed, finally giving up on his own rummaging as the fat man, just barely catching his breath, looked on in growing dread. Especially as the fluttering creatures passed near once more. Both shared a look of fear and made to follow after the woman.

[SpoonyViking]

Vargrulf of the Nordskaari

In this place seemingly forsaken by gods and devils alike, knowledge was a weapon all its own. Vargrulf studies the bas-reliefs, trying to discern who could have made them, and what kind of story they tell.

(OOC: 12 in a History check, if it applies!)

Regardless of his findings, he motions for the others to follow and pulls on the stone door's handle to open it, then cautiously enters, raising both sword and torch.

[Twelveseal]

Dor, battered by his recent ordeal, follows Vargrulf to the door, only to pause in wonder at its surface. His hand touches the wrapped blade for a moment before he follows the proud warrior within.

Touched by the light of the Nordskaari's torch, the chamber beyond reveals itself. It is a hallway of sorts, an anteroom. It ends abruptly to the right, the door almost flush with the wall, but the far wall is a few dozen feet away, and the left further still, vanishing into darkness beyond the torch's reach. The walls are clearly of worked stone, carved from the living mountain, but the floor is rough-hewn and irregular, worn smooth with time and the dripping water yet forming puddles and trickles in shallow depressions and troughs in the rock. The whole place is strangely warm, the common chill of a cave replaced by a heat more akin to the jungle beyond the gate. However, the most noticeable feature of the vestibule by far are its contents.

Bones.

Hundreds upon hundreds of bones, piled haphazardly in crude stacks against the far wall. Still more litter the floor or are fetched up against the other walls, and even the inside of the door. Most are charred, brittle and crumbling, the flesh long ago seared from their surfaces. "Gods..." Dor's face is pale in the torchlight, as if realizing what fate had lain in store for him. Now within the structure, the din of the chaos without fades. In its stead are the quiet drip of water and the eerie silence of still air. In the distance the voices of those who had entered before can be heard, their yells echoing weirdly in the closed space. There is the sound of metal and stone and bone clattering, and what sound like screams, perhaps of men suffering under the wounds the savage creatures outside had inflicted on them. Those creatures, at least, seem reluctant to enter this place, so for the moment there's perhaps a modicum of safety to take stock of oneself and possessions.

Beyond the gate the violence continues to rage, the great winged beasts belching flame at the few remaining cultists who have yet to flee. "W-wait for me!" The fat man, realizing he would soon be left behind, charged after the firebreather and the lean man. Despite the jiggling of his belly, he was deceptively fast.

[arkturus]

Rhienn of Dhal Mesh

Upon reaching the stoney doors, Rhienn took a moment to gaze at the images carved into the rock, revealing the history of the accursed mountain, and another to reflect on it. Perhaps this too was the guiding hand of Fate.

The small soothsayer glided through the open doors and down the dark hallway, her light footfalls tracing a path that was both unknown yet familiar. As she crossed the dark threshold, a soft, pale glow began to emanate from her and expand outwards, staving off the gloom of the mountain’s innards. Quickly, she followed after the others who had ventured before her.

[Twelveseal]

Rhienn's light shows her the passage, littered with ash and charred bone as it is. The others who came before her are yet in view.

Outside, amid the chaos, the redheaded woman charges for the door. The heavy sword she pulled from the pile keeps the creatures at bay as they hunt down the few remaining cultist stragglers. At her pace, she'll soon reach the doors.

[Sixkiller]

Virgo of Katagia

Still bathed in the lurid shadows, Virgo hastened to the only exit from her peril. In one hand she held the head of the flying creatures. The monster had been split on her knuckles before, but its teeth were brandished as a makeshift weapon. She had reckoned that any tool sharp enough to cut her skin was worth the trouble of carrying it.

The hiss of dying battle was all around her. There were less cultists to go around. Soon the swarm would come upon her again. The aches of her blood-stained arms were testament to even a fraction of their power. Oh, the gods had seen fit to fill her future with murky laughter!

“Make way,” she said hardily. “By Tarhun, I mean to find a better grave than this. You have taken enough of me today.”