The Rockaverse

Qunith glanced back at Talideth who'd emerged from the bath. "They'll be dead soon enough," Qunith whispered with a toothy smile before marching back toward the prisoners, dragging their staff behind them.

The Worm hesitated with its owners as Qunith struck the leg of another prisoner, breaking it instantly. In the distance the witch continued to hammer away...

Syra watched as a second figure approached. The group was no threat to them, Qunith simply went about her torture and a sudden dread fell over Syra. The prisoner who's leg had just been broken screamed out in pain. "Enough...this is madness, just show us to the Witch and we can be about our business..."

M'Kama remained silent his eyes narrowing at the treatment of these prisoners. His hand quietly edged towards his blade once more, until...Syra stepped forward. In all honestly, he had not expected her to step forward of all in this group. He remained silent and let her words ring throughout the toil-fumed halls of this desolate place. Perhaps this was the day the thrall was finally set free.

Otis had to hold himself back from his initial inclination to spit Qunith on his sword for his barbaric treatment of the slave. Trembling from rage, Otis faded to the back of the group, summoning his magic. He was sure they would need to destroy this tower, and while M'Kama seemed confident, Otis wasn't certain that one man alone would be able to hold off the Witch's powers.

Otis was an Air Phoenix, but unlike most Phoenix who used their powers for direct battle, Otis had trained his magic for missions just like this: infiltration, reconnaissance, assassination, retrieval of hostages or items from behind enemy lines... This would be even easier with the group to cover for him.

Otis began by interweaving a web of air that created an image of himself where the group stood. It had required a good deal of practice to begin with, but Otis had perfected the technique over his years of training. In a few moments, his duplicate was set around him and his actual body was coated in a similar layer of air that made him invisible and silent.

Keeping a small channel of magic open to his double to allow him to hear and respond if any comments were made towards him, Otis slipped away from the rest of the group, his mind already preparing the next step of his plan to bring the Witch's tower crashing down around her... and bury her along with it.

"Madness?" Qunith said to Syra, smashing their staff into the ground. "This is Sharta."

"Please help me!" Sharta, a plump prisoner with fiery hair, exclaim from the stocks.

"Sharta made a blood oath to the witch to destroy her family, to speak with the gods when she couldn't," Qunith continued. "Sharta's blood oath was a means to get to the witch's treasure, her family the key cost of entry." Qunith blinked. "This is a holy place. The blood spilled is necessary."

Dante glanced up at Syra, desperation in his eyes. "I ain't never done anythin' to anyone they wouldn't do to me," The slaver defended.

"A blood oath...a dead family," M'Kama noted, pausing slightly as Otis left but making no indication that he had acknowledged it. "This is 'holy' indeed," M'Kama scoffed. "Enough of the tour, we've seen as much as we need to. You can give us a brochure later, should we ever return. For now, take us to the witch."

The witch continued to forge away in view of them all, a few golden hills over. Qunith looked at M'kama as if he was an idiot.

"Oh, right, she over there," M'Kama nodded, as he began to walk over to the Waste Witch until he was close enough to peer over her shoulder. He had an onion in hand and suddenly began to bite a huge chunk our of it, spilling it's crumbs on whatever the waste witch is forging. "The fuck is that supposed to be, a chariot?" He asked of her. "You've got it all wrong. It's supposed to maximize horsepower, not civilian comfort," he continued on, knowing nothing about forging.

He grabbed another hammer hanging from the forge rack and began to slam it violently and haphazardly on her work. "Let me do it I wanna make it, damn it!"

M'kama crawled up the mountain of gold, desperately trying to get his vegetable out of his prop comedy bag. But as he approached higher and higher towards the forge his vision grew weaker, the heat of the spire causing sweat to drip from his face. At the centre of the cavern, where he now climbed, was a great forge- all the gold surrounding it, and in the fires she stood, smashing away at the metal within.

M'kama began to do his onion bit but it instantly caught fire. Instead he grabbed a hammer out of the metals and attempted to use the great forge, but the fire was too great. The flames roared as suddenly the figure stepped out of the fire. She was a middle-aged woman, medium height and build. Brown Sorillian hair, one eye missing from a scar and a naked body with a smelters apron adorned with golden trinquits. Gloved hands held forging tools. She looked not sinister, though. There was something about her that seemed rather harmless.

"Careful," The witch whispered in a Sorillian tongue. "It's hot," She told M'kama, referring to the forge as she stepped out and onto the metal. "It's a nice sword you have, dear." She added, walking passed the man with a crooked smile.

Down the hill Qunith went to their knees as the witch climbed down the hill of gold carefully, like an old woman watching her footing down the front door. "Welcome, welcome all..." She spoke weakly. She paused suddenly, glancing to her left- her good eye making direct contact with the invisible guardian. "You too Otis. It's been a long time."

Syra opened her mouth to protest but was quickly cut off by M'Kama's advancement on the Witch. What she was seeing wasn't justice, and Qunith seemed to be just as much a prisoner as those she was torturing. This was life in the wastelands though, a mistake would cost you your life, betrayal was a dangerous game no matter the intention, you could never escape a blood-oath. A debt would always need to be paid, and blood was as valuable as gold. Syra knew these people had nothing to offer in exchange for their lives, it made her blood boil, she was growing tired of the senseless death this world seemed to covet so much. She had half a mind to grab as much gold as she could and find someone who would take her of world.


"Welcome, welcome all..." The Witch's voice filled their ears. Syra balled her fists and stood up straight, eager to hear what this vile woman had to say to them all, what tricks she would offer in exchange for their wildest dreams. She worried her companions would see her offerings and swear their allegiance to the Witch, their every move relayed back to her while they ran her devious errands.