Glory woke, working his dry mouth. What had happened? He had just suddenly felt so sleepy...

Andar spoke softly from a crouched position, "Please tell me that I'm still dreaming. That this....this isn't true." He waved his hand at the scene, and Glory saw it for the first time...

Swifttail was still on the ground. Must still be asleep...wait, there was something in his mouth. An arm? Where in the world did he find an arm? A moment later, he spotted the body of a cultist, currently missing its arm. He also saw the cultists sword thrust into Swifttails neck.

Billy was nowhere to be seen and Glory vaguely remembered the shrieking of a madness-taken Suffering. He was gone as well, though the broken branches could be seen from his erratic flight. There was also a trail of broken brush, and blood, as well as signs of a struggle. Billy.

Andar's face fell before he scrambled frantically over to Swifttail's body. His hands roughly searched the man, until he found what he was looking for and held it up: a blue river stone, shining brightly in the morning sun. His face had a look of relief for a half second, before settling into a grim countenance.

Glory cracked his knuckles and winced at a crick in his neck, "We are going after them of course."

"Of course. My apologies, but I need just a moment." Glory nodded and was confused when he saw Andar stalk into the trees. Pretending not to, he inched his way to see what the half-orc was up to.

Andar stood hunched, his muscles clenched. In a slow, controlled motion, he raised his hand to the mask. It slipped off, and out of his senseless fingers. It hadn't even touched the ground before Andar changed.

His muscles clenched and he let out a bloodcurdling roar. His glaive slammed into a young oak, shearing its way halfway into it. Glory winced and judged it lost, but Andar wrenched it free and swung again.

It cleaved through the rest of the bark, bringing the tree down with a crash. Panting, he picked up the mask and slipped it back on. Control back, he shook and walked back to Glory. "We can go now. We must find them."

Glory nodded, content to not mention the display of sheer strength, "The path goes to the northeast. Seems like the cultists are taking him back to the camp. Now is the only time to strike, most of their forces are probably still out searching. We have a window."

"I agree. We run."

And they ran. They followed the path up until lunch, and then past. GLory managed to pull out a strip of dried meat to gnaw on, but he knew better than to try to stop. Andar would leave him behind, and who knows what would happen.

Just an hour after they should have stopped, they heard voices. The jumbled up accent made it hard to understand the words, but it was obvious anger.

"Ya stupid fookin rock! Yer s'posed to be special! But yer not! Yer just a damned rock!" A clatter, followed by a curse, rebounded through the forest.

Andar was posed to continue running, but Glory stopped him, "Whoever it is might have Billy. Or have seen him. They obviously came this way, it won't take long."

Andar glared, but nodded, "Five minutes. Then I go." Glory sighed, but accepted it. They pushed past the brush into a small clearing. At one end, there was a small dirt roading, dividing the clearing into two unequal parts.

The other was a sight to see. There was a small, heavily armored woman, shouting at a rock and hitting it with her mace soundly. Sparks flew, and a small chip of stone whizzed into the bushes. Glory stepped from the bushes lightly and called out, "Hey there! How's it going? That rock do something wrong to you or something?" He edged sideways to get a better look at the dwarf without getting closer.

"Aye. The rock did. It was fookin useless, and it was s'posed to be something grand. But who be ye, and why are ya in the forest?" The dwarf leaned the mace on the ground against her hip and stood looking at him, impatience making her tap her foot.

"Oh, uh. Glory, at your service. Sorry about the rock. But we are currently in the woods searching for a young boy? Kinda young, possibly being dragged away by some cultists? Yellow-robed guys. Most likely put up a good fight."

"Why the fook would I just let that past and not done anything? Ya think I would have just let them drag a kid by? Ya out of ya damn mind? Idiot." She spat out towards the pirate, then her eyes widened slightly, and she gulped, "Wait...ye don't happen to mean....those yellow-robed cultists, by any chance?"

Glory stiffened, not looking back, "With our luck? Most likely."

He spun around and saw three of the yellow-robed men scrambling through the bushes. The first, and fastest, already had his crossbow raised and fired, the bolt flying quicker than thought. Glory backpedaled as fast as he could, but he could tell it wouldn't be fast enough.

A blur, and a clang. Andar stood poised, his glaive interposed between Glory and the cultist. The bolt had been deflected to the side, striking the rock behind them. There was a slight tremble, and the dwarf lady turned with an expectant look on her face, cultists forgotten, "About time!"

The rock cracked even more where it had first been chipped. Luck caused the bolt to strike the same place, and it started to crack down like an egg. It split down the middle and a dark-skinned man with pointed ears tumbled out, gasping air like he was suffocating.

Glory leaped over a bush and thrust with his cutlass, catching the crossbowman off guard for just long enough to drive him back, clearing the room for Andar to swing. He pinned the man on one side of the clearing, his superiority in dueling clearly showing.

The others were trying to pin Andar, but his mask had slipped off and he was lost to their attempts. His glaive crushed one man's chest inward. Before he even hit the ground, Andar had grabbed the other and lifted him into the air, his hand wrapped around the man's throat. "Where. Is. The. Boy." He hissed through his teeth, rage barely restrained.

The cultist was turning a deep red, and then faint purple, trying to gasp for breath. Glory pried one finger off while slamming the mask back into place. Andar dropped the man instantly, shoulders slumped, "Thank you. I was....not myself."

"It happens." Glory turned to the man who was just starting to turn back to his normal color, "I think you better tell us whatever you know, lest my friend here loses control completely."

"Uh... uh, the boy? There was, a boy I think...someone small. Talmion had him, took him straight to his tent. I don't know who it was though, just told to patrol. I'm sorry, please, just let me go, I won't say a word that you're here, I swear. Please. I have a family. Two kids, both girls. I miss them..." The man trailed off, eyes full of hope.

A deep, gravelly voice spoke from behind, "Lucky kids. They won't ever have to deal with a dirtbag father coming to harass them. They get to be free of you." A bolt of fire flashed by Glory's face and impacted the cultist in the chest, catching his robes. Frantic, he tried to roll to put it out, but it spread too quickly. The screams echoed through the night.

"Good job, ya dimwit. Now everyone be knowin' where we be. Idiot." The dwarf let out a growl and stalked towards the dark man, now on his feet. "And who do ye think ye are? That stone was s'posed to hold something special to Lyealle, and now all I find is YOU. This was all a waste of me time, why did I ever listen to that damned old man?"

"Wait, who the hell are you? You the rock guy? Why the hell were you in a rock? By the gods I'm not drunk enough for this, I swear." Glory proceeded to remedy that by taking out his ever-present bottle and taking a deep swig.

"I? I am Raja....but I don't remember anything else. It has been a long while since I entered the stone to listen to the Earth. It is in pain... I must remedy it."

Glory rounded on the dwarf lady and held out a hand, "Unless you're going to introduce yourself so we know who the hell we're talking to, don't say a blasted word. Thank all the gods for liquor." He drained the bottle with a gulp and tossed the empty aside, pulling yet another from his sack. "Now spill

The dwarf pulled herself up straight and grunted, "I am Magra Dunn. A pleasure, I'm sure. I am a priestess of Lyealle and was here on a task sent by her. You are intruding. However, thank you for dealing with those...." She gestured towards the men on the ground, "You are handy to have around. However, I must study this one further and you are getting in the way."

Her eyes were locked on the dark-skinned elf, and he looked everywhere but back at her. It was awkward, and tension was growing before Andar grunted, "Come. It grows late, and we must find the boy. They must be close if this is one of their patrols. It also means we have a window. We must fly."

Glory nodded and walked back to one side of the clearing, "You want, you can come with. Might learn a thing or two. Or you can stay here with whoever the hell that is."

Magra nodded, turning to leave, but Raja stepped forward, "You go to save a young boy?" Glory hesitated, then nodded slowly, and Raja sighed, "I must go with you... this is at the heart of stone, and she whispers to me so." His hand was clutched in a fist at his chest, almost reverently, "You have my magic at your disposal."

Everyone stared as his skin took on a rough appearance and shifting from black to a deep gray. He looked as rough as stone, and as tough as it too. Magra stared at the man in both wonder and exasperation, "No, you need to come with me. We have an old man to find! I have to find out why you're so damned special to Lyealle!"

Raja smiled dreamily, "No. The stone tells me this is the way to go. To find the boy. Yes, this is a good plan, my friends."

Glory looked at Magra with a confused look on his face, "Friends? He does know that we don't really know each other, right?" Magra shrugged and sighed, walking to follow after, "I'm not sure how you intend to track them back, but I guess I shall follow."

"Tracking is not a problem, our good friend Andar over there can take care of it easily enough. He lived in the woods for a while, right Andar? Something about elves?"

Andar's eyes were flat over the silver mask that obscured the bottom half of his face....the more Orcish side. "Yes. I lived with my Elven side for quite some time. They sent me out to find out what was making the animals of the forest disappear...I suppose I found part of the cause."

"Then lead the way, my friend." Glory sidestepped, holding a hand outwards, beckoning down the path, "We're behind you the whole way." The tall man nodded in response, as even the light faded from his eyes. Magra shrugged, rolling her eyes, but readied her mace. Raja seemed to be just as blissful as he was when he fell out of the rock, and that was far, far too blissful.

Tracking was easy, as the cultists weren't trying to hide either their trails nor their camps. The number of tents was appalling to see, that this many people would participate in slaughter and unclean acts...

But the information they had pried out of the cultist proved mostly true. The guard was very light, only a few sentries at the edge of camp, and then two guards standing outside a large tent. The sentries were actually more zombies, not skeletons, but there weren't many, standing slack-jawed at their posts.

"What's the plan, sneak in an-" Glory started to ask in a barely heard whisper, but was interrupted by Andar bursting forth with a roar, glaive swinging at the nearest zombie, cutting it almost in half. The others all started shambling towards him at once, but the two gray robed guards stood still as stone, seeming to watch.

The surprise, what little there could be with the undead, wore off quickly, and soon, both Glory and Andar were fighting with everything they had to hold back the wave of dead flesh. Magra was standing still, her mace glowing white as she whispered a prayer. The undead hissed back from her in what looked like fright, trying to shield their skin from the light being emitted. Striding forward, she slammed her mace around and yelled, "Come and get some ya undead freaks. Magra will show ye wha' it really means to die!"

Raja stood in the farthest back, head cocked to the side as he stared at the gray robed men, "Why do they only watch? Will they continue if attacked, you wonder?"

Glory looked back over his shoulder for a vital second, almost being brained by a heavy fisted blow, "How about we don't find out, eh? Got enough here, don't we?" He dived out of the way, coming up and trying to hamstring the corpse, but the tendons weren't what was holding it up anymore and he cursed, backpedaling to regain his footing. Raja ignored him, causing a tounge of flame to appear in his hand, sending it flying to splatter against the sentry still standing idly.

The fire licked hungrily against the gray robes, but the figure underneath stood unfazed. He pushed back his hood and revealed a gaunt face, devoid of any emotion save hunger. His hands ended in long claws that were still covered in dried blood and gore, and his smile revealed teeth sharped to points.

He leaped from his spot by the tent in a blur, crossing the camp and slashing at Raja, but the claws failed to pierce his stony skin, and Raja responded by hitting the creature with another bolt of fire. The second gray robed still stood next to the tent, looking like he was barely held back from joining the fray.

The zombies fell quickly under the onslaught, but the gray robed man put up a fight. He was still standing directly in front of Raja when one of the Elf's blasts blew it to pieces, sending fragments splattering back onto him, gory chunks sticking to the rock easier than normal skin. He froze, his expression stuck in one of disgust and horror.

No one noticed his dilemma, leaping forward to deal with the last of the gray robes. When they got close, they could hear the rhythmic noise of someone chanting from within the tent, as well as the smell of smoke and burnt flesh. Andar ignored the last of the guards, leaping forward into the tent to stop whatever was happening inside.

The clawed creature should have run, seeing how it was vastly outnumbered. Instead, it seemed to frenzy itself, flinging itself with abandon into the party members. Inside the tent, Andar was appalled. At the center of the large tent stood the man they had seen shouting at the cultists back at Billy's house. Burning on the ground at his feet was the stretched out figure of a young boy, so burned and disfigured he was no longer recognizable. Andar knew. The man was chanting something, coming to a crescendo, "I AM TALMION! MY DIVINE WRATH WILL BURN THIS WORLD TO A CINDER!"

In a rage Andar flung himself forward, his glaive stretching out to catch the man off guard. Something under his foot turned, and he found the thrust slightly off, catching Talmion high in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. Snarling, Talmion looked at him with crazed eyes and twisted his hand, magic flooding Andar's mind. With a gasp, he fell to his knees, hands clutching at his head.

Glory somersaulted over his inert companion, his cutlass flicking fast as thought. Talmion couldn't keep up with his spell casting, all of his efforts going to keep Glory's blade away with his bone knife.

Magra grunted, laying a hand on Andar, "Get up ya big oaf. Quit slackin' thar's still work to do." Divine energy flowed through her hands and into Andar, his wounds slowly sealing closed and color returning to his cheeks.

Talmion was busy cackling madly and didn't notice Glory using the fight to turn him around. He also didn't notice Andar come slowly to his feet and rush forward, glaive coming around in a loop to take him from underneath. Talmion lifted clear into the air, the expression on his face going from surprise to pain, and then back to madness.

"I will return!!! This is not the end of Talmion! None can stop me!" Blood started to come forth with each word, and then he slumped, madness still in his expression. From his hands, a knife made of bone and carved with all sorts of runes clattered to the ground, blood dried in every crack.

"Thank the gods," Glory slumped to the ground, exhausted, sweat mixed with blood and dirt. "That's it, right? That's everyone?"

Magra looked at him in disgust, "We have no idea, ya daft idiot. We're in the middle of their camp, they can come back at any time. We should clear it, and get out."

"Ugh. I just want to take a break and get a drink. But fine, there's work to be done." No one agreed, but everyone knew what he was talking about. Even though the fight was over in minutes, they could feel it in their bones.

They all walked back into the opening to see Raja still stood frozen, one hand outstretched in his spellcasting while he was recoiling from the blast. "Well shite. What could be wrong with this one?" Magra leaned close to look at it but refused to touch it. Andar had no such compunctions, one finger stretched out to pick at the chunks of flesh. On contact, his skin started to change, an effect they hadn't noticed with the already stony skin of the dark elf. "By the Balancer, what is this?"

It spread quickly, and nothing any of them did slowed it. Magra's magic was useless, and Glory even tried to pour some of the liquid from his fresh flask. Magra didn't even bother asking what it was, just shrugging and hoping it worked. It didn't.

"Well, we should search the place and head out. We can't touch them, so moving them is impossible. And we are still in danger. I'd say goodbye, and then get out."

Glory stopped mid-pour, thought for a long second, and then took a deep swig. "You're not wrong. Damn, I hate leaving people behind. Let's search quick, someone might already be coming back, and we are severely outnumbered."

Magra met his eyes and nodded, quietly starting to search. All of the tents were empty of both life and unlife, save one. It was a tent that was only slightly smaller than Talmion's, and towards the edge of the camp.

Hanging from the top of the tent was a small, old figure, one that both Magra and Glory recognized. "Galt!" Glory yelled, dashing forward, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Magra muttered, "Oh, I got a bone to pick with ya, ya old coot."