Better Than Gore

Mythandriel's assumption was incorrect, the Sorcerer knew a handful of spells, he had just been saving them for the right moment. Which was now. Another arrow struck him, this time it hit a lot closer to home than he would have liked, an inch or two more and it probably would have sealed his fate. Arturo was flat on his back and hopefully wouldn't be able to keep up his resolve much longer. Mythandriel's positioning was also now very apparent, if the arrow wasn't a dead giveaway, the sound of her puking was. The Sorcerer aimed his hand in her general direction and the other towards the downed Half Elf. “DIES!” Without any other warning, both hands projected a cone of fire, spiraling from his palm and spreading outward a good four feet. His goal was to set both of them on fire and end this bout once and for all. Which probably would have occurred… Had the spell not backfired. As soon as it began to spread, a vacuum like effect took place and the destructive magic turned back on its caster. Setting fire to his robe and engulfing him in the blink of an eye. “EEEEEK!” A shriek escaped the now giant ball of fire that was the Sorcerer; however, he didn't remain motionless, instead, he sprinted towards Arturo. “FOR GRAYBOI!” He would attempt to tackle the Half Elf and take him down with him. @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

Arturo was successful with his avoidance tactic, tucking his arm close to his chest would prevent it from being severed at the wrist, but it wouldn't protect it altogether. The Lizard's blade bit into Arturo's vambrace, chopping through the leather material and then it met flesh, maybe even bone if the Half Elf's timing was off. If not tended to in a timely fashion, it could prove to be somewhat problematic. The Lizard wasn't picky, his intention was to inflict pain and he had certainly accomplished that, Arturo would feel it once his adrenaline wore off. It decided to cut its losses, as soon as he didn't hear the plop of the Half Elf's hand hit the ground, he tactfully retreated. Back peddling away from his opponent to create just enough distance to avoid any retaliation, which Arturo attempted immediately after nearly having his hand severed. “Nice trys softsk---,” His attempt at adding insult to injury was cut off as an arrow struck him. Mythandriel's shot had landed, thanks to her precise aim and timing, the lizardman never saw it coming or had any indication from his partner that he had lost the Elf's attention. His back peddling came to an abrupt stop as he sought the arrow embedded in his throat, but it was no use, even if he had managed to pull it free the blood loss would further lessen what time he had left. “Goods jobs yous dumb robe wearings scaleboi..” It then collapsed forward, face first into the dirt with an oomph. Dust and dirt billowed around him just to soak into the blood that likely flowed freely from his wound. “Uh-ohs..” The Sorcerer added as he watched his comrade fall to the ground, he now had to make a very important decision. He could either hold his ground and continue fighting, where he would end up just like his accomplice, or he could retreat and face Zanzarog's wrath for failing. Neither sounded like a good decision, but one outweighed the other. “Diesdiesdies!” He apparently made his decision as his hand ignited once more just to throw it in Arturo's general direction. His accuracy wasn't phenomenal by any means, but the explosion would be enough, he didn't have to hit the Half Elf directly for it to be harmful. He was also the only visible target, Mythandriel's position was still unknown to him and he didn't have time to look for her. @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

Arturo was a glutton for punishment; even with his equipment practically ruined, he still came back for more, angrier too. This impressed the Lizardman, even he wasn't that confident. Arturo was proving to be quite the combatant, if only there were more of his kind here to witness their encounter. His opponent closed their distance once more; however, this time his tactic was much different, his positioning was low and he aimed to thrust what remained of his weapon. The Lizardman barely had enough time to react, but he knew that if he held his ground it would end badly for him. So instead, his left foot slid away and his hips and torso rotated. In one swift motion, his sword came down like a guillotine, Arturo's closest arm was his target, more specifically his wrist. He aimed to cleanly remove Arturo's hand and narrowly avoid the thrusting motion he intended. Whether he hit or not, the Lizard backed away from the Half Elf, hissing as he did so. Mythandriel had successfully avoided the Sorcerer's fireball, leaping from the branch she was on and landing in an adjacent tree. Due to the explosion and the excitement, her opponent hadn't managed to track her movements, so her current position was unknown. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage, her teammate wasn't fairing too well, despite his commitment to violence. "Ouchies!" The Sorcerer shouted as he sought the embedded arrow, with a bit of force it was ripped from his chest and tossed aside. Blood spewed from the wound and stained his robe. "Yous pays for thats! I'ms tellings Grayboy on yous!" Grayboy? --- "Constans?" Zanzarog spit. These strange creatures somehow knew of Coth's fearless leader. His eyes darted around, doing a quick headcount of how many approached him. They were armed and judging by the looks they were giving him, hostile. Sighing heavily, the Half Orc tightened the grip he had on his halberd and waited for them to take a couple more steps. Shnnk! Taking a step forward, the halberd came down, blade first and bit into one of their necks. His arms twisted, forcing the blade to transition sideways and with all of his might he forced it to the right. Due to the blade being lodged in the monsters neck, it carried the presumably lifeless torso with it and sent it colliding into the closest advancing teammate, knocking it over. "How dare you speak that name..." There were two left, despite Zanzarog being distracted, they stopped in their tracks. How effortlessly their comrades were dispatched probably had something to do with that decision. With a strong yank, the halberd was retrieved, cleaving through the creatures neck and covering those close to it in blood. "What's wrong?" Zanzarog cackled, turning his weapon on those that didn't come forth. "I'm not done with you yet." Taking another step forward, the halberd lunged, skewering one in the abdomen. Lifting it up off the ground, it would meet the ground as the Half Orc forcibly slammed it, his eyes then fell upon the lone survivor. "Tell me.. is your beloved Constans going to save you? Pray to him." Laughter could be heard echoing through the forest, truly mad, undeniable laughter. @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

Arturo's effort hadn't gone unnoticed, before being swept from his feet the Half Elf decided to ditch his shield entirely and take hold of his club with both hands, swinging desperately as he fell backwards. The Lizardman was in the process of back peddling as the swing commenced, which created a small enough gap for the club to miss its mark, but it did connect with his shield with a clang. Surprisingly enough the Lizard wouldn't take advantage of his downed foe, instead, he waited for him to get back to his feet. Taking those moments to get back into position and prepare for another engagement. "Gets upsssss~" It hissed. Mythandriel on the other hand, was just full of surprises, she decided to stay in the tree as it hastily engulfed. Flames licked at her and threatened to singe her flesh, but she was dedicated to hitting her mark. That dedication paid off. An arrow struck the Sorcerer right in the chest, piercing its robe and managing to penetrate his scales, which forced yet another hiss. It obviously didn't feel too good. Mythandriel's successful attack also made the Lizard even angrier, so it prepared to throw another fireball at her. This time directly at her. If the burning tree didn't make her flee from her high ground, perhaps a fireball aimed in her general vicinity would. "Takes this!" He shouted as his hand ignited and he overhand threw the spell at her. She had time to avoid it, very little time, but time. If not, the force from the blow would likely knock her from the tree itself, on top of catching her clothes on fire. But that was probably the least of her worries, for her skin would also likely be drastically burned. --- Previously... Weeks had gone by without so much of a word from Zanzarog; whereas it had been against his will, all of the answers he had about his past were cleared up. Nisnav was behind it all, every memory, every motion, the Wizard was the puppeteer, pulling strings he had weaved and making the Half Orc dance. Zanzarog honestly couldn't tell the difference between what was factual and what Nisnav had fabricated, or if any of it was real to begin with. Whatever the case may have been, one thing was certain, Nisnav built the Half Orc to succeed where he had failed. Zanzarog's destiny was to oversee the inevitable downfall of Coth and all who inhabit it. But he wouldn't stop there, Zanzarog's intentions were far more malicious than that, the newfound Necromancer would see to it that anyone who praised or worshiped their false deity would renounce their religion entirely and raise the banner of the one true God, Nisnav. Zanzarog spent days on end being tortured, both mentally and physically. When Nisnav tired of tearing through his mind, he turned to instruments that the Half Orc never knew existed. Prodded with red hot pokers, carved with knifes, waterboarded, worked over past the point of shock. Nisnav aimed to kill Zanzarog's personality so that he could rebuild him into the monster he was intended to be. Torturing him until his mind and body became fragments of their former self. Zanzarog became nothing more than an animal, cries for help had been replaced with incoherent babbling and monstrous roars. Just when Zanzarog believed the torment had come to an end, the mending process began. Nisnav went back to work on his conscience, filling it with memories to mask the trauma and to mold him into the perfect successor. Zanzarog was no more, what stood in front of the Wizard was now the perfect solider. Emotionless, fearless and above all else... merciless. Yet for some reason unbeknownst to him, Nisnav kept his memories of Coth and his time spent with Mythandriel intact, perhaps a test of will? Would Zanzarog forsake those he loved in order to carry out his Master's orders? That much wasn't yet evident, only time would tell. "Oh?" --- "Conshanns?" @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

“Aye, let's go outside.” With that being said, Zanzarog took hold of both Mythandriel and his bowl once more and nodded towards the front door. Once she headed towards the door, he was soon to follow, carefully balancing the bowls in his hands. He'd patiently wait for the front door to be opened and he'd hold it open with his nearest foot, allowing Mythandriel to exit and take a seat on the front porch. Zanzarog then carefully lowered himself into a sitting position next to her and handed off her bowl. Their presence caught the attention of Black Phillip, who bleeted in recognition of his Master and immediately closed his eyes with a huff. Zan would wait for Mythandriel to take a bit before he followed suit. “I hope it's as good as it was last time,” He chuckled. It had been awhile since they had it, but from what he remembered it was absolutely to die for. @Witches Brew

"Sir, the town is bustling again, shall we---" --- "Open the gates!" Stephen's voice boomed across the camp and they hustled to follow his instruction. Once the barricades had been moved, they unlocked the gate and it opened once more with a little muscle. Peering inside the Guards could see that people were actually going back to their day to day lives, food carts were being resupplied, the Inn was open, Vice had done it. Laughing to themselves, they motioned for Stephen to take a look for himself. "I'll be damned. Take this news to Coth, tell them a friend by the name of Vice has put an end to the plague, tell them to gather a proper reward." --- "Yes sir!" With that, two guards took to horseback and rode off into the distance towards their capital. "Let's go find your Master." Stephen added right before entering the town, giving the pooch a chance to catch up. @Revvys @Vansin [Summary: A town outside of Coth caught a nasty virus, killing those who were left untreated for too long. A perimeter was set up around said town to stop the plagued from spreading said illness further. Vice was found in the forest and was convinced to help aid those infected in exchange for a reward. Vice then traveled into said town and prepared a concoction to cure the sickness. Town is reestablished and a reward is being prepared for him in Coth.]

Black Phillip wasn't the only one exhausted; Zanzarog too rolled from the creature's back and found himself panting heavily in the underbrush, as he caught his breath the Springjack's past became apparent to the Half Orc in the form of a vision. Zan watched as Black Phillip's unfortunate past unveiled itself, despite the events leading up to his curse, the two of them were similar in a way. Their past haunted them and they lashed out at anything because of it. His intentions were not what the Springjack had presumed, he didn't wish to hurt the creature, but befriend him. Zanzarog laid there for a moment after the vision had ended and rolled toward the creature, a hand patted at his fur. "You'll live to see another day friend." His voice was calm. Transitioning into a sitting position, Zan's gaze never left the Springjack, just in the off chance that he decided to take advantage of his captor's winded state. "Why don't you come with me? I'll see to it that you're properly taken care of and together we'll cause a little mayhem in the process." Who knew if the creature could actually understand him or whether or not it actually cared what he spoke about if he could, but something told Zanzarog that the creature was lonely and companionship would steer him onto the right path. Little did both of them know, that path was exactly what the Half Orc had promised... Mayhem. @Spooky Mittens

The Lizardman's hand would sneak up the handle of his sword and take hold of the guard, he then cranked it via turning his hand clockwise like a key, doing so would forcibly collapse Arturo's shield wielding arm outward. Then he spun, rotating his hips and pivoting on his rear leg, doing so forced his tail around and toward Arturo, more specifically, his knees. His goal was to trip the Half-Elf and force him face first into the dirt. An arrow whizzed by him, narrowly missing its target, the Lizardman wouldn't notice Mythandriel's positioning due to being locked in combat. But he would notice the arrow sticking out of the dirt as his spin concluded, which forced a hiss. Back peddling, his shield arm would raise to guard the upper portion of his body and his eyes darted around in an attempt to find whoever shot at him. He may not have seen her, but his companion certainly did. “NO FAIRS!” He shouted as he came hobbling out of his hiding spot in the brush. Mimicking the hand motion he made prior to the carriage catching fire, another flame sparked to life within his grasp and he threw it at the tree. He had no intention of hitting Mythandriel with it, for the tree itself was the target of his frustration. The fireball hit the trunk with a thud and flames immediately engulfed it. Mythandriel now had to make a decision, flee from her vantage point or risk catching fire along with the rest of the tree. @Witches Brew & @Opaquely Translucent

Once she had gotten out, he too would follow, grabbing a towel and patting himself dry with it before heading into their bedroom. Zanzarog then dressed in his typical fashion, undergarments, loose fitting pants and a long-sleeved shirt. “I shall be back momentarily.” He mentioned as he slipped on his socks and boots. Standing, he'd bend forward and plant a kiss atop Mythandriel's head before heading toward the front door. Upon arriving outside, he took a moment to check on Dorian and Phillip, whom were right where they left them. But now Dorian too was sleeping, nowhere near the Springjack, which was to he expected. Chuckling to himself he began his journey into town and towards the inn. Exchanging greetings with the villagers as he walked through. Roughly a half an hour later, he had returned, basket in hand. The smell wafted with him wherever he walked, he was half expecting Tamlen to be waiting for him at the door mat. Entering quietly, he would set down the basket on the counter and peek his head into their bedroom. “Dinner is here, love.” He smiled and went back to the kitchen, where he would fetch dishes out of the cupboard. Two bowls and two spoons. Reaching into the basket, he would retrieve the tub they sent him home with. Just opening it wafted the aroma throughout the house, delicious. Dishing out two bowls, he would place a spoon in each and wait for Mythandriel to come out into the kitchen. Maybe they could go sit outside and enjoy the rest of sun before it set. @Witches Brew

What awaited Vice inside wasn't all too bad, surprisingly. Save for the smell, which was horrendous. A lot of villagers sought solace in the Church, they flocked to it like sheep. All of which were ill, so that smell that immediately wafted Vice's way was that of vomit and other unfavorable scents. Some were slouched over the pews, some were sprawled out on the floor, covered in their own vomit and excrement. Much to Vice's surprise, they were all still alive, barely. Breathing at the very least. One man was resting against the podium, he seemed to be the most conscious, for he actually reacted to Vice's entrance. He was wide eyed, much like Mortimer, but not nearly as manic. "Have you come to finish the job like that crazed fool outside, or aid us?" He coughed as he spoke, managing to cover his mouth with his arm as if that would somehow prevent anything. @Revvys

"I-I don't know," Mythandriel's assumption was correct, Kelvin just didn't know who Constans was or why he was so important to the Lizardmen. Dorian's approach startled him, he had never encountered such a creature, but it seemed pretty similar to a horse and he had road those before. Mythandriel scooped him up and placed him on the creature's back, there wasn't a saddle, so he immediately hunched forward and wrapped his arms around its neck. He gripped tightly in preparation for Dorian's swiftness and off they went. Speeding across the field and onto someone's front porch. Kelvin hopped off and knocked frantically on the front door, hoping someone was there to answer it. The woman came from this house, so he was under the impression that someone was waiting for him here, and his assumption was correct when Dale opened the door. "Get in here, son. You'll be safe inside." Kelvin didn't even need that reassurance, as soon as the door opened, he slipped inside as long as there was enough room to do so. Once inside, he tried his best to explain the situation. Myth's attempt to put down the horses was a success, the first arrow struck an artery and forced the horse to topple over, tripping the other and forcing a chain reaction of death. The limp bodies came screeching to a halt as they slid across the dirt and the carriage did the same. Smoke billowed from inside as the interior steadily burned, thankfully there was nobody else inside of it. Arturo's charge didn't go unnoticed, although the Lizardman did little to nothing in regards of preparing itself for him, or his rock. In fact, the Lizardman didn't even bother deflecting the rock, simply because he didn't care. It made impact with a loud thud, yet he didn't react. It simply stood there and watched as Arturo closed what distance they had between one another. It studied his movements and his approach. Watched as he lunged with both his shield and club. His rear leg slid and his shield rose to cover his midsection, preparing for impact. They would meet with a loud clang, as wood struck metal. But as they connected, the Lizardman would shove with his shield, forward to give him clearance to thrust underneath with his sword. Aiming to skewer Arturo's closest leg. @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

"I know I don't have to, I want to." He chuckled. Zanzarog had already planned on decorating it, the decorations were in his initial planning and layout of the house itself. He still needed to build a fence and probably an enclosure for their beasts. A large one at that, they likely wouldn't have only three for long knowing Mythandriel. Before he knew it, they'd probably have a zoo. Then she spoke of food and eating the Springjack, which made him laugh. "I'd pay to see that." Zanzarog smirked. "I'm sure I could go into town and get us some dinner. How's rabbit sound? I'll even get some for the pup." Mythandriel requested rabbit stew on their first date and they hadn't had it since then. Zan was getting hungry himself, dare I say hangry, but he was so comfortable in the tub. "I suppose I can get dried off and dressed, don't wanna intimidate the Cothites with my nudeness." He laughed again and thought about their reactions as he strolled through town in the nude. "Whenever you're ready, love." He was kind of stuck, Mythandriel was sprawled atop him and he didn't want to disturb her by getting out. @Witches Brew

“M-my name?” He had to think for a second, there was just so much going on and he was still trying to calm his nerves. “Kelvin.. my name is Kelvin.” The boy was still practically hyperventilating from sobbing uncontrollably. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he latched onto the woman and buried his head into her leg. “I was on my way to my Uncle's when my carriage was attacked.” His voice was partially muffled but understandable. Attacked wasn't the right term, it was hijacked and his coachman, well, he didn't know what had happened to him. Kelvin didn't see his body when his curiosity got the best of him. “They're demanding to be taken to someone named.. Conshanss?” He spoke again, this time he lifted his head from Mythandriel's thigh and gazed up at her. “The carriage is back there, there's a lot of them..” Kelvin pointed behind him, the carriage could probably be seen if they looked hard enough. It was off in the distance with nobody in sight near it. Once he realized that, confusion set in. “I swear, they were just there, I'm not lying!” Kelvin shouted, he didn't want to seem like he was crying wolf by any means. --- “Its talks to Conshanss?” --- “Noes, that's nots Conshanss.. I burns its!” The hooded creature rose its fist and shook it about dramatically. Bringing the fist to its mouth, it would mumble a few words under its breath and faintly blow. As the breath touched its scaled hand, it engulfed in flames and he over hand threw the fire at the carriage. Mythandriel, Arturo and the boy would witness the carriage suddenly ignite and steadily burn. Which spooked the horses and caused them to take off, pulling the carriage toward them. Now standing in the open was the robed creature and a companion, whom was hunched over and wielded a sword and shield. At first glance, it looked like a komodo dragon. A bipedal komodo dragon, with weapons. “Hopes youz ready, this gon hurts…” The robed one said, snickering to himself before turning around and hobbling back into the brush. Leaving the armed one staring at the three and waiting for the horses to hopefully trample them. @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

“Are we there yet?” --- Silence. “Are we there yet?!” --- Silence. “Are we---” --- “That’s enough out of you, I swear I’ll turn this carriage around.” The coachman interrupted his passenger, clearly fed up with their pestering. Not an hour went by without this child yammering on and on. “Children, I swear…” A heavy sigh. Not just any child, this child was part of a royal family and their attitude made that even more apparent. This may have been his biggest payday yet, but he had started to question whether or not the coin was worth it. They had a long journey ahead of them and this day one of three. “Are---” --- The coachman pulled on the reigns and the carriage came to a screeching halt. “Miss, are you okay?” His voice seemed more worried than agitated. A woman laid sprawled out in the middle of the road no more than ten feet in front of the carriage. Without hesitating, the coach hopped out of his seat and to her aid. She was face down, bloody and covered in mud. “Miss!” Dropping to her side, he forced her over and onto her back. “O-oh my..” She was an awful sight, her face had been removed, judging by the smell she had been dead for quite some time. “Coach? Is everything alright?” --- Silence. The handle of the door began to shake, either something was trying to open it, or the coachman was trying to scare the child into behaving. It then twisted and the door slowly creaked open to reveal nothing. There was nobody outside the carriage. Peeking out, the coachman was nowhere in sight either. “Conshanss?” A voice hissed from the brush. Which spooked the child enough to slam the door shut and retreat to the corner. “Good jobs yous idiot, yous scared its.” Another voice chimed in, and a loud thwacking sound followed. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound drew closer and closer to the carriage until it was eventually just outside the door. “Opens the doors little ones.” --- “G-go away!” --- “OPENS THE DOORS!” Without warning, it was ripped open. A hand grabbed hold of the frame and pulled whomever up and into the cabin. They were clad in a hood, but the lantern inside allowed the child to catch a glimpse of whatever it was. It was scaled and sickly green colored. Horns protruded from the top of its robe. “Yous goings to Conshanss?” --- “What?” --- “YOUS GOINGS TO CONSHANSS?!” It yelled, which only frightened the child even more. “TO CONSHANSS!” It shouted again, the carriage started moving once more. The hooded lizard took a seat on the bench next to the child, its feet swung about freely. --- Hours later the carriage stopped just outside of Coth, more specifically, Dale Thimmick’s farm. With little struggle, the child was tossed from the carriage and the lizardman followed. “Go finds us Conshanss. Go go go!” It shooed the child with its hand. The kid was just thankful to be alive, so it ran off toward Coth itself, once he knew he was far enough away from the carriage, he began screaming for help. Hopefully alerting anyone in the general vicinity. @Opaquely Translucent & @Witches Brew

That was the million dollar question. Where was it the worst at? It was pretty bad everywhere, but a specific building came to mind. "The Church. That's the first place these damned idiots went. God ain't going to help you, I told them. But did they listen? No." Mortimer rambled, probably would have continued had Vice not interjected. "Yeah yeah, I'll stay here. I don't wanna go in that forsaken place anyways. Buncha sick weirdos praying to some nonsense." There he goes again. Mortimer hung over his porch and pointed down the street. Vice could likely see the building from where he stood, it was easily the biggest building in town, of course it was. "If I'm anything like these poor bastards when you get back, just put me out of my misery." This was of course assuming Vice's potion didn't do the trick. Mortimer sure as hell didn't have any faith in it, but that wouldn't stop him from drinking it. If it worked, it worked. He could carry on with his miserable life another ten or so years. He somewhat liked the state the town was currently in, at least he had some importance, even if it was highly frowned upon and likely to get him hung if someone were to open their mouth down the road. @Revvys