Snippet #2144900

Ishmael Hephestus

Ishmael was near the rear of the group, leaning on his walking stick as he observed the young nobleman, at least he had the appearance and standing of one, as he looked over an apparently insurmountable barrier. It had been a rather simple enough task so far, far simpler than the reward the Alchemist was offering for the prize within the crypt itself. He himself was examining some of the old architecture that was supporting the room they were in, looking for glimpses as for when this place was constructed, and when it was modified to hold the relic within, if the two times were, in fact, separate. The emerald set in the grip of the walking stick shone with a green light, illuminating the rubble he was examining, not terribly concerned with the others in this ragtag band. They came from all walks of life, from who appeared to be nobles, to those who were no better than successful thieves of magical items. He knew exactly who he was thinking of there, but the man had his uses, so the presence was welcome for now. Trusted, absolutely not, but that was another matter completely. The young fellow and the rogue discussed matters of the door while he kept observing and checking over the ruins, and glanced over at the output of arcane power. The thief had decided one of those rings would do good here, and revealed a way forward.

The boy turned away from the thief, and the thief himself stepped back as if to try and let some other one of the members of this band go forth. Now, that would hardly do one bit, now would it? He had a brief smirk as he casually strode forward, walking stick clearly different from his own natural footsteps, examining the passageway ahead of them. He looked over to the thief and gestured with the walking stick, speaking in a quiet tone, but was still clearly heard by the group. "You best go first, my finely clad thief. You've clearly more experience extracting artifacts from such places, and would spot traps sooner then any of us could."

It wasn't an insult, not by any means that could be complained about or pointed out, but it was a subtle stab at the suspected origins of many of his magical items and other objects of value. Not like he expected anything of unusual challenge to be awaiting them in the next passage. The pathetic undead thralls had been mere child play to dispatch, even if the more combat inclined of them had no issues dispatching them. Simple incantations and speaking with the tortured souls within those forms would convince them to move on, leaving the bodies vacated, and inanimate once again. What traps they had come across thus far had simply been a matter of having one of the roguish fellows disarm, or avoid completely. He had not spent much time actually exerting himself, dealing with the occasionally stronger undead in a manner befitting its current lot in unlife. But those thoughts were beside the point, he leaned on his walking stick and waited for the rogue to respond, or some other member of their band to step forward and act.

Khay Elfreda

The pool of water at Khay's feet shimmered as she dropped several drops of fresh blood and inquired on the progress of the band she had hired, the surface shimmering brighter as it answered her question and eventually revealed what the band was up to currently. As expected, they were within the crypt by a healthy amount, and she nodded to herself as the one rogue opened the way as the others simply were scattered about the room, doing whatever their little hearts desired. They were so quick to sell their loyalties on this cause for a paltry sum of gold, they assumed it was such a great bounty of gold that none of those who came forth had said no once the details were shared. At least, none of those who were still alive. A few had declined and left to report her intentions, and met terribly tragic accidents. She had given her condolences, what little they were worth, but had dispatched the rest on their job while she went about preparations for when she held the Scepter. A good dozen Orcs, violent and bestial examples even amongst Orcish culture, were being strapped into their specially prepared full plate, part of the "payment" for the service she required of them. Such shiny and enchanted items were enough to buy the loyalty of those brutish beasts, as simple as they were. One such Orc, the leader by simple fact he held a grasp of common language that surpassed the others, knocked and reported.

"The warriors are ready, lady." Khay turned and gestured, nodding that she understood, and settled her paired swords onto her back, the alchemy kit already set on her waist. She walked out and with another gesture, the orc mercenaries fell in line, following out of the small house that they were staging the final part of the elfish Alchemist's plans. They already knew what to do, and would execute such things on their employer's orders. There were several magic capable beings in the band, part of preparation that was put into the armor. If things went as planned, they would arrive shortly before the ragtag band came out of the crypt, and walked right into her final plan for the lot. They would be rewarded for their efforts, that much was fully certain.