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Home? The word was a sneer, cruel and malicious even without an actual sound, You have no home anymore. You are a disgrace, Aen'ryliis, and you will be disposed of as one.

Andeon had barely made the statement when... what the hell was that? Whatever it was, foolishness seemed a trait native to it's species, as close combat with an Illithid was among the most dangerous of endeavors. Nobody ever passed their grappling roll with a mindflayer; a natural twenty was considered an utterly pathetic failure. Dozens of tentacles stretched out to greet Malodore, wrapping around every narrow appendage. They curled around it's neck and ankles, the tail rendered useless by the speed with which they moved.

Is this what you've been doing, Andeon hissed the words, and the tentacles tightened around Malodore like an angry boa constrictor, Is this what we sent you to learn? How... disappointing.

---

Riley's confident demeanor melted away as Andeon grabbed Malodore - and her eyes flooded red.

YOU LEAVE IT ALONE RIGHT NOW. YOUR FIGHT IS WITH ME. She screamed, dropping to a crouch before a snarl signalled her incoming attack. Riley's mace, the only thing that separated her from Andeon at this moment, burst at it's tip - several psionic crystals now floated around it, spinning dangerously. She leapt into the air, bringing the mace down to slice away at any tentacles that held Malodore hostage.

YOU ARE THE DISGRACE, ANDEON. How dare you attack anyone but me. You aren't worth the name- She paused, as something shocking slapped her in the face.

Andeon had called her by her real name.

But Andeon did not know her real name. The only way he would have known it, is if.. if.. her father had betrayed her.

The mace slipped from her fingers slowly, and fell to the floor with a clatter. The FEAR that had imbued it with power now dissipated, leaving it a blunt weapon once more.

She was struck dumb with betrayal. An easy target.

Petro turned to Sheridan to answer, "Yeah, was trying to go into my lair when I ended up here. Dunno if 'm the only one tho-"

Pathetic.

A voice whispered into his ear, cutting into his thoughts, making him pause in his tracks. He grit his teeth, bracing himself for the worst. Looks like whatever had attacked Jericho's mind, it was going for his next.

No, not really. See, we go for the strong ones. The ones that can put up a fight. The fighter. The real ones. Not some weak, backwater chump with as much sense as a headless chicken pretending to be a noble warrior on a dangerous quest.

The voice finished with a snort of derision, then mocking laughter.

"Show y'rself and I'll show y' weak, backwater chump!" The tikbalang roared out at the fog, eyes wild as he desperately scanned for the origin. Not realizing it came from inside his own mind. Or, maybe he did, and was just pretending otherwise. Get your opponent to lower your guard then strike without warning.

A very good tactic. Except we both know you don't have what it takes. And we both know your people didn't send you to be the representative of the clan. They sent you to cull their numbers of the useless. Face it.

You're holding this herd back the way you are your clan. A shadow sneered.

"NO! 'S NOT TRUE! Y' FILTHY, JACK-DAMNED, 'TANG INANG PUNYETA!" He raised his mace, took aim and swung. He saw his weapon connect, felt it sink into something wet and soft, like before being molded clay. No amount of struggling or yanking would free the embedded, FEAR infused weapon.

Petro was stuck.

See? I'm not even doing anything and you're already messing things up on your own.

"No, 's not true. Not true. Not true. Not true," Petro insisted. For all he thought he'd done, he had simply just screamed with his arms held stiffly by his side.

Malodore let out a wild, incoherent cry that tore out of its throat, and may or may not have had a gibbering edge to it. "Riley! Riley, no, per favore, no-" The burning was everywhere now, eating away hungrily, merging with the remaining blood from that girl. The air smelled of iron and copper, the sharp metallic tang of blood dancing on Malodore's tongue as the plague doctor thrashed wildly against its bonds.

For the second time that day, blood rained down around Malodore, and this time it couldn't run. Only a strange, unearthly keening came from its throat, vocal cords already lacerated from the force of its earlier cry-

-and then it was gone, all gone, all of it, torn away in a curtain of gray that fell. One final plop sounded, not too far away, and the plague doctor instinctively turned its head to see one pure white orb rolling towards it.

Rolling towards it, the optic nerve flopping slightly against the ground, making its movements uneven and erratic. The eyeball bumped almost lovingly against the side of Malodore's face - its flesh exposed now, bandages burned through by the blood. Its touch was cold, like ice. Another kind of burning.

And then it, too, burst in a shower of vitreous humor.

Alone, alone, alone! shrieked a voice in the mist, triumphant, exultant.

Malodore shuddered once, and then all movement ceased as the plague doctor lost consciousness completely.


((Anyone who is interested, feel free to stumble over poor Mal! It would appear to just be lying prone on the ground - laying on its stomach - totally knocked out. BUT WHOLE; all the damage done to it described in this vision was hallucinatory and not for reals! (Though you can hallucinate your own damage if you want obviously. Lolz.)

If you want to try and help it or take it somewhere, feel free, or just be freaked out by it and run. XD I will be AFK for the next three or so hours but then I'll be back~))

Riley, the real Riley, was still looking at where the group behind her had been. There had been no Andeon for her. No trial. Nothing. She had been encased in the fog this entire time, feeling almost as though it was penetrating her mind, stealing her memories and thoughts and snatching them away. Her eyes were slits as she tried, desperately, to see someone.

Anyone.

She thought she heard a voice, and the sound of stumbling, and she careened towards it. The fog lifted just enough to show her Jericho's curled up body beside Malodore's unconscious form.

That, in and of itself, was a nightmare. She almost hoped this was her hallucination - but sadly, it was real.

Jericho. Malodore? She whispered in worry, dropping down to look at the two. Neither were physically hurt, but.. whatever they had suffered was clearly traumatic.

Riley flickered her eyes up at Jericho, her expression crumbling as she took in his terrified gaze. She reached down, and gathered Malodore's unconscious form, placing it carefully in her lap, before her arms reached out to Jericho.

Hey. She whispered. It's okay. It's really me.

She had had a plan. She was going to lead these people out of this fog and into the lighthouse, where they would find that signal and get the hell out of here. She had tried. She really had.

But looking at Jericho's broken expression, Riley's confidence faltered.

Just come here. She held out her arms to him. She didn't know what to do, but that wouldn't stop her from trying to make him feel better.

She was vaguely surprised that nothing had terrified her, just yet. Better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she supposed..

His eyes shut tightly against the vision, his wings wrapped around his body. It wasn't really, it couldn't be real! The stars still shone brightly, dragons still lived, he wasn't fading away into nothing, this was not how it ended!

He was going to open his eyes, and he would be back on the island, his fellow students would be with him. This was all just a bad dream, illusions of the fog and nothing more.

Darkness, pure, empty darkness. There was nothing, no fog, no stars, no sky, no earth, Sheridan could not even see himself. Had he truly faded into oblivion? NO! It couldn't be, he was still here, he was! Had it been real there would be nothing, no consciousness left to wonder. How could he be if he not longer existed? IT.WASN'T.REAL!

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I WILL NOT BE A PAWN IN YOUR GAME!"

Sheridan's voice was a snarl, a thunderous roar that ripped through the fog, echoing across the island (or at least it felt as if it should have, even if in this fog his voice only truly carried a few feet). He was back in the fog, he was no longer alone. Were the others suffering the same fate? How horrific must their nightmares be?

Deep breath, Sheridan, deep breath. Get a grip, focus on the goal.

"We have to get out of here..."

Now!