“Well, isn’t this just lovely…”

The words sprang from the youngest (as of little less than an hour ago) member of the rag-tag group of adventurers as he stared at a rather large, stone door that looked nothing less than impassible to the ex-squire. A sigh escaped his lips as he looked around the room for any clue from the others of the group, who were currently scattered around the large chamber.

The young bastard’s white-steel sword was still held loosely in his right hand, black iquor dripping from the blade, and onto the now newly-deceased of one of the not-so-restful dead that had decided to bar their way into the latter parts of the crypt. The battle had been a short one, the group having made rather short work of the shambling, unarmed undead. They’d been nothing like the undead he’d heard of from his knight; great wights that wore armor from ancient times and bore weapons made in the lost ways. They’d just shambled and groaned whilst flailing around, perhaps in the hopes of catching one of the would-be crypt robbers. Their blows had done little more than cause a slight discomfort through the leather armor and chain mail he wore.

Gileastos (or Gil) shook his head then ran his free hand through his pitch black hair as he tapped the stone door with the tip of his sword, scraping a piece from one of the engravings laid in along its edge. The entire surface of the door was covered in such drawings, each most likely telling some sort of story that would have drawn the attention of any scholar or bard.. But he, himself had no hope of understanding any of it, nor had he any interest.
“How are we supposed to get past this blasted piece of rubble?!” He exclaimed, despair apparent in his voice. He would shouted more, then turning to the many complaints that had arisen in his mind over their almost idiotic quest, when a hand encased in a red leather glove found its way onto his armored shoulder.

“Now, now, little lord,” Came the voice of one of the more disagreeable members of the party, a rogue whose personality and tendencies toward evil rivaled that of a daemon, “A way will always present itself to those patient enough not to start throwing a tantrum the second they’re met with an obstacle.” The rogue, Cale, patted the young bastards shoulder, the many rings on his fingers clanking together as stepped away from Gil and closer to the door. The young bastard despised the red-headed rogue, though he did admire him ever so slightly. After all, he looked something like a hero out of the old stories his knight used to tell, dressed entirely in red leather armor fashioned as if it were made for a high standing lord, with a blood red cloak that perfectly hid a pair of magic blades.

Cale held up his left hand, pointing his index finger at the solid stone door before him. “Reveal your secrets..” He said in a hushed tone as a ring shaped in the image of an owl, which resided on his index finger, started to glow with a magical blue light. A field of blue light washed over the door from top to bottom, then back again. Two points on the door, the eyes of a dragon carved into the mid-section of the wall, started to glow blue then. “Ah, there we go..” Cale as he pressed down on both eyes with his fingers, the protruding eyes receding into the door under the pressure of his fingers. A loud set of clanks was produced from the wall as a series of machines inside it or on the other side suddenly released the large piece of stone from its holding point. As the door swung inward, as if by its own accord, the ring on Cale’s index finger burst into a small cloud of dust; the end result of using up the last of its charges.

Cale sighed and stepped back from the doorway that led into a rather dark passageway and stared for a moment at his now ring-less finger. “That witch had better repay me for that one… It was worth at least a dozen gold..”

A look of disgust found its way across Gileastos’ face as Cale made that comment. “The Alchemist offered each of us a king’s ransom for this job, yet you mourn a trinket worth only dozen gold coins. You could easily afford several hundred of them once this is done…” Gil turned then and walked away from the rogue and towards the rest of the group, all of which he barely knew, but were more pleasant to be around than the rogue.

Cale chuckled a bit as he looked up from his finger to watch the boy walk away. He brushed a single locke of red and white hair from his face. “I already have a pile’s worth.” He said under his breath before stepping away from the now open passage and towards the rest of the group, deciding to wait on them before diving further into the crypt. It was always best to let others go first into dangerous areas.

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.

The tomb held a dreary fascination over Sven from the very second the ancient doors had cracked open like the maw of some forgotten Eldrich beast. Laying in a helpless wait for the first to stir it from a slumber in unknown realms of consciousness. The rush of chilled air had ushered from it's initial opening like the breath of a daemon and wrapped itself around each member of the party. Especially Sven who noticed things weren't as they should have been from the start. Cold air, yes but crisp as a fresh apple, not the dank, damp muck-like air a sealed cypt usually carried. He'd idly wondered if anyone else had noticed, a historian and a necromancer did travel with them after all, but such thought was quickly drained from him with each step into the old construct they took.

A myriad of interesting things assailed him with each step he took further and further into the abyssal place in the most literal sense. Their footsteps, each of them from each member of the party echoed oddly, to dense a sound for your average building, even a crypt. As if that wasn't enough to set an air of apprehension into him the tomb contained obvious signs of being built twice. The first time was a simple project, hewn from the very earth's skin with what seemed to be common tools, and then once again in a more advanced manner it was established, though signs of work came from the opposite direction as if it were built form the inside out. As it were both builds seemed to be a little wrong historically. For this region the type of architecture, the placement of different hollows and bodies and even where the long-drained torches rested in their crumbling holsters were out of place. The age of this beast was immeasurable to him. The first construct could easily be in the realm of eight or nine hundred years old, likely more due to how aged yet well preserved it was. The second build though, that escaped him completely. It looked as though it had to be only two-hundred years at most, the cynical smile of a lying child in historical terms. It simply didn't add up, magic was at work here, but the most tell tale sign however was the hieroglyphs.

Pictographs danced about, clinging to each and every wall like a scarred and foreign second skin. Never before had he seen the likes of such glyphs on this side of the world, let alone any such detail in the alleged time period of the initial crypt. At first the carvings progressed in a chronological manner, a simple progression and though he couldn't read them each wall and the ceiling told a story in a linear progression. The tid-bits he could translate seemed to be harmless enough at the start but began to take grave twists. It wasn't long after their decent however things became a jumbled mess. Glyphs atop glyphs, regional styles and time-styles overlapping. Stories going forwards and back and entirely new directions all at once, entirely new stories in some places. Markings looking older than the tomb's suggested age and some looking as new as a decade ago. Wasn't this supposed to be sealed? It had felt sealed when they first entered but now it felt...Violated. It felt like someone or something was watching, maybe the very stone itself. More than once he stopped to stare at a wall or bit of ceiling as the group pressed on. Fascinating, but increasingly deadly he thought. Whatever was at work here was no friend it seemed, a fact made clear by the many, often hidden entrances he found, and not a single exit.

When the group had reached the room with some sort of block Sven had decidedly not taken interest in it. Cryptic doors with a story strewn about them and some 'press-here-to-die-horrifically-or-progress' button were sort of commonplace. Someone would eventually figure that nonsense out. It was the left wall that had captured his attention, and he'd been starring at it for a good five minutes now, in utter silence.

"There once was a man from the seas of Azear.." His low, gravely voice bounced around the chamber perfectly, it's unnatural grace resounding more on each reverberation due to his cloak. "Dressed like a seer, with eyes like a mirror.." If you listened closely you'd notice a hiccup in the echo, as if it split off in another direction. Stepping closer to the wall he unsheathed his proud scimitar and tapped the hilt of it against the center of the wall. The sound moved both through the chamber the group stood in and down what sounded like a hall on the other side of what was supposed to be a solid wall. Common practice in crypts and mines alike, once you dig your way into your final chamber you dig a way back out, this he knew. But he also knew you usually dug all the way back out, not stopped in some sort of random chamber. Still, the whole place was peculiar and it could come in handy if they needed a quick out up ahead.

Their blocked passage finally opening brought his attention back to the group just in time to hear the necromancer offer their much loved rogue up to the darkness of an unknown passage, a sentiment that made him chuckle.

"Aye," He said, his ton of voice dropping as low as it could while his glowing blue orb-like eyes narrowed into slits and fixated on his the target of jest. "Don't you rogue-likes enjoy traipsing off alone ahead of the group to grab yourselves a bunch of loot because we even see it, then come reporting back about all the danger you masterfully sidestepped?"

Their little trek into the beginning of the crypt had a tad bit of interest already; a few ragged corpses tried to take them, she had released at least two arrows pinning a corpse to the wall, before it burst into flames giving the crypt the smell of burning decayed flesh, which was not a very welcomed smell in the already dank and murky crypt. She felt rather good about her twin barrage into said corpse, but that didn’t seem to matter at present, as a few more had found their way into the way of the group, she frowned slightly beneath her mask a sudden regret for using two arrows regardless of the situation though drawing her own daggers she proceeded to pounce on one both knives driving for the things skull and piercing the eyes, to the center. Two for her as it were, the rest dispatched just as easily as she sheathed the daggers back beneath her cloak. The fight was nothing, if not short and they won quite easily a ragged bunch of undead thralls would never stand a chance against this motley crew.

They had resumed their steady march deeper into the crypt, now more than ever she huddled under the folds of her cloak a chill in the air she was sure she could feel, something was very off and it wouldn’t be long before she had chattering teeth, and her intuition was right, a block in their path, voiced angrily by the group’s very own noble, only to be silenced by the head-thief. She listened intently on The words spoken to the noble laughing softly, as she stayed near the back, near the necromancer her eyes slowly widening in mild surprise, a simple ring worn by the thief; Cale found their path for them, it wasn’t so much she was surprised by the rings ability; but more so in the fact that Cale would use it for a simple door, though he did voice a complaint in it, before he and the young noble rejoined them, now came the decision on who would lead the way, which two voices had decided on who should go; Ishmael, and Sven saying Cale should go first; obviously having some experience in disarming traps and the like to get his arsenal of magic rings, she wouldn’t object to Cale leading the way, probably better off too he had the most impressive arsenal and already seemed to have an air of leadership, if not heavy greed to keep him in front of the pack. She stood there quiet just contemplating the situation as it was, it wouldn’t be long before someone step forward; of course she wouldn’t she was anxious to get the artifact, and get it back to the alchemist for their reward, but she wasn’t going to be stupid and let bravado lead her down a path which she might regret.

Lacuna had kept a brisk pace with the group as they made their way through the ancient crypt. He was relieved with how well they had managed to dispatch the small groups of undead that attempted to end their quest. None of them had sustained injuries and they had at least proven in the meantime, that his services as a healer would only be use when an actual threat came to challenge them.

If that challenge ever came…

The bulk of Lacuna’s body was hidden by a cloak he had outfitted himself before setting out to join with the rest of the team, unlike the lavender and nigh-obsidian that adorned the rest of his garments and armour, this cloak was a deep oak brown. The gentle ambience that emitted from the series of ageless torches did well to hide his features as he walked. He hadn’t spoken to the group as of yet, the only sounds coming from his mouth being the slight grunts of combat made as he fought off the undead that had shambled toward his direction. Strikes from his powerful punches had broken the assault of a few of the undead while his tail was used quickly and acrobatically to smash into the chest cavities of a couple more, the impact sending their bones splintering in many directions and their undead skulls still chomping and gnashing in their eternal unrest. Lacuna had made sure to pay close attention to the focus of his allies when he revealed his tail, not fearing any of them or any sort of reprise but just as a sub-conscious habit formed from years of exploration of peoples un-open to the concept of foreign looks.

He knelt to pick up a short sword that still had the decomposing hand of a restless dead attached to it as the group made their halt in the chamber. The blade was still in stable condition, his fingers running slowly along the edge of the blade to test his theory. Meanwhile his eyes alongside everyone else’s in the party scanned over the myriad of runes, carvings…stories and glyphs that echoed their silent stories and passages. He hadn’t worried when the path before them appeared stalled, as the one in their group who had finally made use of one of his many rings revealed the way before them. Indeed this group was at the least competent, and prepared for a host of situations by looks of their current appearance.

When the door opened, and the party scattered themselves to decide who would be the first to trek through, Lacuna decided that at this moment he would reveal some of the uses that he held. He slowly removed the cloak that had hidden the bulk of his features and allowed the brilliant craft of his armor work radiate within the gloom of the crypt. The tri-peace insignia upon his chest gave off a gentle glow before him as he neared the entrance to the newly opened chamber, one hand resting along the hilt of the blade that he sheathed upon his belt, and the other hand firmly gripping Adastra his trusted staff. He stepped forward, silent graceful steps contradicting the size that he his body held as a light slowly began to form around the hand that held his staff.

With a shallow incantation the light split into tendrils and began to travel languidly along the walls of the passage, Lacuna’s eyes closed in a subtle meditation as he felt the energy and force of the path that they traveled. His now hidden face gave the appearance of a newborn wraith as his eyes were now the only visible part of his head . The energy that crept along the walls served as his new eyes as he navigated their course. Though he could not see what lay ahead of the group, this magick was allowing his body to feel what lay before their path. He was able to discern the stories of spiders as the energy circled over their ancient webs. Ripples of water that the energy cascaded over told their tales of undisturbed ages. But then there were the runes….

He could feel their grooved carvings cast from an unknown maker. He could sense their omens, their purpose, but what they defined was eluding him. As much use as this ability was, it was limited and he had not enough experience in his mental bank to be able to decipher the lore. Such would take some time and unfortunately that was a commodity that they did not have an abundance of. Thus he shook his head and attempted to force his energy onward but then his body was violently shaken out of its meditation. One of the runes that were ahead drew his energies like a magnet and scattered it like an egg fallen from a great height. Before he would come to, his real eyes saw the image of a horrifying Geist, formless yet staring back at Lacuna for that brief moment before his vision cleared and he once again found himself within the confines of the chamber, scanning over his temporary allies before clearing his voice to speak.

His eyes met with those first of Cale before moving back and forth through all that were gathered. If one’s senses were especially sharp, they would notice, albeit just for a second that the colour of the skin upon his arm had a different tone growing from his hands to his arms as he spoke out. The natural caramel tone that was reflected in the light changing match that of the man who was before him.

“ I know not of the dangers that may await us and our prize, however I feel that for the while, our group’s passage is clear until a certain ways….half a league if mercy smiles upon us.”

He then arced his hands towards the group, drawing out a new sphere of energy and letting it disperse over their feet. The glow would surround their boots as long as they held no natural resistances and or were unwilling to have foreign magick envelop them. He stomped his foot hard to demonstrate the padding effect that his spell was currently placing on their feet. While it would not offer complete silence for stealth, for a group of their size the added quite could come in handy. "My name is Lacuna", he bowed solemnly before continuing "this shall be a boon to our quest. May we find what we are searching for in good fortune."

“Come” he then spoke out before quickly taking off into the passage at a brisk pace. While he was far from a rogue or scout, Lacuna’s natural body was well adapted to such places and climates. His eyes were trying their best to scan what he had felt before. He knew that he would eventually be surpassed by one of his group, perhaps the rogue would even get deeper into the crypt than he but at the least progress was being made.

Lacuna was no stranger to meeting the unknown head on, thus he moved ahead with only a small moment’s anxiety before the adventure settled within his mind. His concentration could not afford to deal with such emotions while he tried his best to make sure that his allies’ sounds weren’t heightened as they went forward.

Cale had to scoff at the idea of him being the first to brave the passage ahead of them. He wasn’t about to risk his own neck for the sake of finding this artifact, and the closer he stayed to danger, the quicker he would use up his rings. If he could, he would only use the ones that carried the lesser enchantments during their little expedition… Those cost the least to replace. If he were to get stick in a narrow passage way with however many traps and whatever variety of creatures the tomb’s creator had decided to stock it with, he might actually be forced to use the better rings in his collection. Now those cost many hundreds of gold to replace, and had precious few charges left on them after his last venture.
“I highly doubt that a tomb such as this could offer any reward or “loot” worthy of more than second glance from me, and I’m sure any one of you could disarm any of these foolishly made traps… Besides...” He started, pointing lazily at Gil as he spoke, “This boy seems to be better equipped than even I.. He should be the first to venture into harm’s way..“

Gil had been listening quite intently to Sven as he spoke of the histories the various illustrations in the room depicted when he heard Cale announce that the young squire should be the first to venture into the black void of the crypt below. He also let loose that Gil was also better equipped than the thief, a fact that Gilleastos had been hoping to hide. Apparently his effort to hide the white steel chainmail under his leather armor, using a gambeson underneath to quiet the links, had been for naught.
“I’m hardly better off than you, thief. I have a rather distinctive lack of magic items… Whereas you have a seemingly inexhaustible supply. You also have a much more useful skil-“ His rather well thought out point was cut off prematurely by the words of the rather soft-spoken member of their merry band, the not-so-human Lacuna. Apparently the area ahead was supposed to be safe, and as an added bonus, the apparent mage laid a spell upon them that silenced their steps. Then, to further his point, Lacuna made his way down the passage ahead of all of them, relieving them of the rather pointless argument over who should brave it first.
“Well, that was rather decisive.” Cale said with a rather large smile as he made his way into the tunnel after Lacuna, leaving the rest in the better-lit chamber with the various undead corpses.
Gil stood in place for a moment, dwelling on the words left unsaid, before running off into the black passage after Cale, his sword drawn and held rather firmly at his side.

After a few moments of walking through the decently wide hall, that was now partially lit by a blue glow coming from a ring on Cale’s left hand, concerns started to rise into Gil’s mind once more, and the urge to voice them had become almost unbearable. “Don’t crypts like these have more than just traps and magic guarding whatever remains or objects contained within?”
Cale glanced back at the boy with an eyebrow raised in question. He stared for a few seconds before deciding to humour the squire with an answer. “Some do have more than a few spells and traps.. As you’ve already noticed, whoever made this particular tomb made sure to leave a few undead lying around.. And, in some tombs, they lay enchantments along the walls, or in specific chambers to block the mage sense, that lovely ability to perceive with magic that most of you seem to possess… Others, so few others, have entire passageways or chambers made from Octurnium which, in large, refined quantities, absorbs whatever magic an individual possesses, should they attempt to cast a spell. I’ve only ever run into three tombs with the latter two, but the habit of stocking creatures is a common one.”
With those words said, Cale turned his head back around and continued after their rather silent friend, the ever more nervous Gil following close behind, somehow now finding some shred of comfort in being closer to the obviously far more experienced thief. While they walked, Gil tried to reach out with what little of the magical sense that he had with the intent of finding whatever life that lie ahead. What he found was rather discouraging. He could sense everything before him up to the distance Lacuna was in front of them, but everything beyond the man seemed to be shrouded in a very thick fog.
“What kind of creatures can live in places like this?” He asked Cale as he continued to try to push his mage sense, attempting to satisfy at least one of his curiosities.
Cale didn’t even look back this time, just kept walking. However, he did give a brief answer. “Mostly undead… But, if the architect and whatever mage who did the enchantments did everything right, any manner of creature can be stored in a crypt like this. I’ve come across drakes, trolls, and goblins that had apparently survived for centuries guarding the various treasures of other tombs.”
A strange thought entered Gil’s mind as he gave up on his attempts at using his rather weak mage sense. “What about ROUS’s? Have you ever seen those?”
“Rodents of Unusual Size? Boy, those only exist in the less believable adventure stories told by bards with a significant lack of skill.”
“But my knight said that they were used as guard hounds by the ancient nomads that called this land home.. He said they were three feet tall and more dangerous than any ho-“
“Boy, bite your tongue! I’ve been through hundreds of tombs and never once have I seen a giant rat! They Do No-“ Cale had stopped and turned then to look Gil square in the eyes in an attempt to get his point truly across. However, just as he’d turned, a section of the wall on their right had crumbled away, and through this rather large hole pounced a creature as large as any war hound, but twice as feral.
The giant rat took Gilleastos to the ground, sparking a rather intense battle for survival between the two as Cale stood spectating with an expression of utter shock. “Well…. I’ll be damned…” He managed to say before drawing the rapier at his side and placing the tip of its blade into the ROUS’s frontal lobe.

Ishmael smirked and chuckled as the eventual argument between various members was silenced by the mage who declared the way ahead safe, a spell that captured sound and nullified it, in this case the sound of footsteps, and strode off to lead the way. Bold mage, he had to give credit towards, and followed right along after the others. It beat him leading the way into a trap and having to deal with the injury taken from such a leadership role again. Better someone else rather than he, for there were important matters he would be attending to within due time. The leading nobleboy and rogue fell to discussing potential matters of security that they had yet to encounter, the rogue boasting about having seen many a different defense, and this having rather lack luster security. He found the statement was asking for trouble, as it had worked this long. They fell to talking about oversized rats, and he chuckled at the mention of the fabled creatures. They existed, in his opinion, but the architecture of the crypt hardly supported the idea that they were used as guard hounds. Of course he was proven wrong when the rogue was jumped through a ruined section of wall and found out, rather curiously, that they did exist in this tomb. He muttered to himself, clear enough that he could be heard, as he shifted his grip on the walking cane to a more staff life manner. "Curious, the design of this crypt hardly supported the time those things were favored as guardians. Odd, isn't it, how some people can't help but buck historical trends?"

With a gesture of the cane, he fired off a conjured blade of bone into the side of the ROUS that was following the first, knocking it off to the side. Another gesture, and the rot and decay that would set in accelerated to the point that the disease spread and rapidly killed the creature. It was a simple matter of aiding the innate disease that was kept outside a beings body to, after being introduced to the susceptible interior, spread and rapidly weaken or outright kill some beings. He leaned on his cane, appearing not to want to really put much effort into dealing with the rats. After all, the nobleboy and rogue were in the line of fire, and he had no distinct interest in accidentally wounding them with a spell that they got in the way of. He would defend himself, and prepared another bone shard just in case there was a fine number beyond a handful that would come into the fray, and he would be required to waste energy, granted very small amounts, dealing with the creatures. He found it amusingly ironic, though, the rogue getting attacked by beings he dismissed as myth and fable. He kept his amusement to himself, he would content himself with pointing out such a fact after any immediate trouble and danger would pass them by for the time being.