It All Comes Down To This: The Kamil te Koup

[Procrastin]

A rush of relief filled Procrastin when he finally spotted Auroran. He's too detracted by the sight to notice whatever has been flapping around, but that relief soon turns to horror at the vile fog consuming Luri, and leaching its way onto Auroran.

He takes a step back in shock as the first person...or thing, to lead the ambush seems to be an enormous snarling beast, but Procrastin doesn't question it. It clearly has its eyes set on Luri, whatever it is, it must be on their side. Procrastin immediately starts gathering crackling arcane energy into his palms...time to hit the bitch with everything he has...

[Auroran]

Auroran freezes upon seeing Luri and Procrastin. He didn't expect her face to be so... so ugly. The coiling dark mist wasn't expected either, the feel of it is unnaturally soothing, and for the moment he's frozen on the spot.

Well, frozen until a giant -err, beast?- of some sort comes barreling down to attack her. With that he decides it's a good idea to step back, calling his own shadows out to shield him. Long strands of dark purplish energy stretch out from his arms and shoulders, and they coil around him protectively.

[Campion]

Luri is closing in on Auro, though the smoky, oily hands that form and shift from the miasma pouring from her socket are already pawing and petting his face and hair and clothes. She's humming and crooning, reaching to touch his face for herself, when there's the heavy thump of paws, the snarl of something feline and feral.

She SCREAMS and it makes the pebbles underfoot rattle, a gust of (coincidental?) wind to kick up. The black plumes seeping from her churn and rumble, thundering and flashing with streaks of purple lightning within. There are a few now-sharper tendrils of the stuff scratching and clawing at the shadows now protecting Auroran, as if determined to break past them and claim her prize. THEIR prize. For how much of what's present now is Luri, and how much is just the thing now working through her?

Aren's fangs find their prey and sink into a shoulder, and black liquid immediately sprays from her, tasting nothing like blood. It's more like a sensation; a feeling of luke-warm, cloying and permeating unease and sickness floods the attacker's mouth. She screams and falls back and the inky darkness pouring from her gathers. One large set of claws forming to grab at Arenvald, aiming for the scruff, intent on flinging him away like an unruly kitten.

Campion wordlessly is already moving. He knows Ley will go her own way like a rogue always does, coming in to attack when the time is opportune, so he clambers and slides his way down the rocky embankment, already hurriedly muttering prayers, gathering the Light to him. Running forward, shield up and sword lifted, intent on helping defend the rest and get Luri disoriented enough to END this.

What she is channeling is not of the Light, but not of the Shadow either. He can sense his own patron faith in its presence, but it is not right, it's as if it were a pretender, a disguise or a remnant of Light-based powers. Like an offtune lullaby.

[Arenvald]

Aren fights furiously to not immediately let go, to spit and hack the foul and sickening liquid from his maw. He's -never- liked the taste of draenei anyway; their blue blood acrid and nasty under the best of circumstances, and this is worse yet.

But he's -not- merely a beast, a long and hard-learned lesson indeed... instead of spitting her out, his jaws clamp down as hard as he can muster, his feline bulk twisting as he tries to force her to the ground against the force of the flailing shadow-tendrils. It's a move intended to leave her mostly on top, though, letting gravity drag her down against those raking rear claws in addition to leaving her more exposed to the rest of the pride. Or... in this case, the rest of the Kamil mutineers. He bunches himself in close though, not giving those clutching talons much to grab onto; his mane is short for a reason even now, and though the claws rake red furrows across his shoulders, he's not letting go.

[Natharai]

There is not much more Natharai can do aside from work faster, but it is hard to do when he's concentrating on the sigil he's etching in the dirt. He glances towards the scuffle from time to time, nose wrinkling from the stench of that horrific blood. He can hear the others move to descend upon her, but for the time being... He is perfectly fine on staying where he is.

Perhaps his caution, or possibly cowardice, that drives him to stay put but... he knows that all of them cannot go rushing into the fray since things could only get sloppy. At least from back here he can keep an eye on Auroran, the happenings down below, and be ready for anything else that might come their way.

[Campion]

(( Throwing in some more action in between the usual posting order! Also, going to be out for a bit this evening due to unavoidble circumstances. Going to try and be back ASAP. ))

Natharai will have his own mess to deal with in time. Luri is screaming. She's ALWAYS screaming, to the point where the sound is like a physical, muted force pressing in on the ears. But she's screaming words, shrieking commands in Draenei.

The air over the warlock is moving to the sound of feathered wings. And golden darts begin to zip down onto him and the others.

[Procrastin]

Procrastin unleashes his spell a fain smile, and quickly follows up with another barrage of missiles. Well... He's been waiting for this.

[Auroran]

The mist that's actively trying to BREAK THROUGH Auroran's shadows spooks him quite a bit, being that he has little in the way of speed or proper combat training he instead plays up his defense. It takes a few tries to utter a shadow word to create a shield around him, being that it's hard to say a spell properly when a monstrous looking woman surrounded by dark mist fighting a beast of some sort are both right in the nearby vicinity. (Not to mention the chance that he may get caught in the crossfire in this battle)

Other than that, he takes the dignified route and tries to scramble behind the rock he was sitting on for extra protection.

[Aleyna]

When Arenvald moved, Aleyna disappeared into the shadows. The only thing that gave away her position was the shifting of rocks as she slid down to the battle.

She stayed put for a few moments, head full of questions and breathing increased as she waits for the proper moment to go into the fray. She waits for Arenvald to get the blunt of her attacks, prepared to draft in and strike.

[Campion]

Luri continues to screech and she crumples under Arenvald's weight, drug down into an unnaturally bent position by the shoulder, stunned into shock for a moment from Procrastin's arcane bolt. The claws of roiling black and purple-streaked smoke seem to be behaving frantic and erratic; the draenei woman is being scored by scratches just as much as the beast attacking her is, freeing more of that sick fluid that has long since stopped being proper blood.

It pools around her and fills the rocky cracks underfoot, slithering faster than any liquid should flow. Spreading and seeping, sneaking underfoot in the small canals the fissures make.

Campion swats away golden darts that rain down from overhead, the projectiles pinging useless off his armour. There's an erratic moment where he recalls that he's the only one clad in proper metal, everyone else in cloth and leathers. It spurs him faster towards the nearest person, his shield raised overhead, sprinting in the direction of Procrastin. Getting too close to Arenvald's work would only get in the way right now.

Two things happen at once with Luri, both of them unexpected and violent. She SCREAMS, now in pain rather than fury, and with her hooves planted, pivots her body upwards. Pushed forcibly by the black miasma that encompasses her, her movements unnatural and unbidden. And perhaps now those scratches being inflicted on her as well were done with purpose, because the arm that Aren's teeth have a hold of stays where it is. It tears from the woman's body with an organic shredding noise, accompanied by another spray of black.

And at the same time as limb is separated from body, the black blood in the cracks grows wicked and slick spikes, hard as bone and sharp as needles. They erupt from underfoot sudden enough to send a scattering of broken rocks flying as well. Campion himself finds his foot caught by one and he stumbles in his hurry to shield someone, anyone, the unnatural black protrusions piercing metal as well as it would flesh.

Luri stumbles drunkenly, as if her movements truly are not her own any longer. And in the place of her lost arm, the taloned one made of churning, dripping black has taken root. The claws flex and close angrily, and then lash whip-quick out at Aren, intent on slapping him clear across the ravine.

[Arenvald]

To say that the warrior-druid was not expecting the arm to come -off- is something of an understatement. Most of his weight and force is centered around that 'killing bite', and when it's no longer attached, he only has his claws to rely on... a far, far less secure hold. He scrabbles furiously at his thrashing 'prey' (although he's at least -somewhat- grateful he can spit out the mouthful of fouled meat he'd had ahold of), but it's not enough to keep him from being knocked flying.

On the bright side, his airborne transit means he misses most of the spikes (although he clips one of the longer ones in passing over it)... the downside is that when he does hit some distance away, it's in a rolling end-for-end tumble that fetches up against some boulders. So much for 'always landing on his feet'. As the dust clears, he rolls back upright and gives himself a shake, but holds his ground for the moment. The situation has changed, and he needs a moment to reassess it. And wait for the stars to clear out of his vision, that'd help too.

"Ware above!" It's basically a modulated roar, echoing off the stones, but it's at least mostly intelligeable. He's had a fair bit of practice getting feral jaws to wrap around Common. But he can hear that infernal buzzing, and doubts the goblinoid pests are likely to lay off their assault just because their mistress is in particular distress.

[Natharai]

Dammit!

Upon hearing the pins go airborne, he hastily abandons his task of putting the final touches upon the sigil as guttural, terrible, words froth in the pit of his throat. His ceremonial staff arcs through the air as viscous and dripping plumes of black and violet drool from the skull ornament's gaping jaws – painting the air above him with a swathe of muculent pitch.

Hands tighten on the shaft of the weapon as the warlock keeps the figurehead pointed towards a pack of flying 'imps', soon letting a harsh howl of demonic rip from his throat.

The coagulating, writhing, stripe of black shifts and part like lips, its 'teeth' horrid webbed strands of inky black, as a ground-shaking roar tears through the air in a twisted amplification of its caster's voice.

A gout of dark flame bursts forth, racing towards the heavens above the rebels in swirling plumes of infernal color straight from the devil's paintbrush. The airborne imps, and their poisoned pins, are obliterated in the blast… but that is only a portion of them.

Though, there is no rest for the wicked, as they say. Natharai is quick to begin the next arc towards another pack of these flying pests as shadowflame continues to burble from the skull's ever-smiling jaws.

Though that, too, is interrupted as a stream of blackened spikes come racing towards the group. Body reacts quicker than thought as he bounds up towards a rock, to another, before scrambling to an outcropping of stone several feet above the ground. Nath crouches on all fours, muscles straining, and panting tightly as claw-tipped fingers clench to the rim of the slab he perches upon. Though he is still human... his paranoia-driven subconscious wills it to be so, but his grip on his steadily unraveling humanity is slipping.

Eventually thought catches up to him and the warlock blinks with mild bewilderment as he notices that he is, indeed, not on the ground any more. How the hell did he get up here?!

...And his staff was left on the ground. Fantastic.

((Edited because I forgot to respond to a part!))

[Procrastin]

Pro's concentration on his newest spell broke out of shock when the spines of blood erupted from the ground. He let out a strangled oath and called the energy from his core to form a shimmering shield. A few of the scattered rocks bounced harmlessly off the barrier as the mage stared in disbelief. Of course it wouldn't be so easy. How silly of him. Of course her blood would be magical and take on a life of its own. And flying...imp things. Well, at least that was marginally more expected, if still not quite what he'd imagined.

The mage glanced back at the stumbling horror that Luri was quickly becoming, and the immense beast that seemed to be taking care of business pretty well, and then at the pack of flying creatures. He exhaled slowly, something always seemed unnatural about going into a calm trance in the middle of battle, but he wasn't sure he usual trick of blinking would do the job. He shifted the energies around his body, causing the air to hum with energy. The sounds of battle quickly faded as he felt his usual reality slipping away as he shifted phase.

The horrible spikes and, well, battle in general, clear from his path, replaced by the all too familiar and eerily still shadow world, Pro ran Nath's last known position. He hoped nothing...significant had changed in his last few seconds out of phase as he focused the fire in the air and in himself, forcing it to his hands. He then erupted back into his own reality spraying a cone of fire into the sky, engulfing another portion of the imps in flame.

[Auroran]

The moment he sees the blood taking on a life of his own, Auroran is curled up behind that rock and praying his shield holds. A spike or two is barely stopped by it, and the barrier begins to fade, so Auro decides to move elsewhere, in Campion's direction. His shadows are still curling around him protectively, purply smokey hands outstretched and trying to push away the eerie mist trying to consume him.

"Hey! What NOW?" He manages to yell between Darnassian cusses, not to anyone in particular, but some direction would be nice. This fight has gone crazy in record time.

[Aleyna]

Amongst the chaos, Aleyna finds herself a nice rock to hide behind to shield herself. Shakey hands work quickly, loading her gun with bullets. She breathes raggedly, leaning to prop her gun on the top of the rock to take proper aim.

"Stay down!" She yells back to Auroran before firing her first round at Luri.

The bullet shells clatter against the ground as she reloads, prepared to shoot again.