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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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Nerrik listens as he walks with the butler "Never heard of monks needing a butler though."

As they arrive at the kitchen, the luchador looks around just to be sure there are no hidden ducks. "Well I guess so, it'd be a shame if they did the job badly or caused undue harm in their task."
 
Korsarro removes his heavy leather sash and wraps it tight around his fist, there would be much punching before the day was over. If the Temple was under attack then his place would be protecting the old drunkard and the small girl. Though calling anybody small at his stature was laughable. He stomped his way to the doors of the inner sanctum and found just the two he had in mind almost instantly "You two are safe then? Perhaps one of you can tell me what is going on? Perhaps you have something firey and drinkeable stashed away for a Tanner who has had a bad day?" Korsarro looked Zato up and down, hoping to the Beessiah that the old man had something that would calm him.
 
The tracks lead deep into the temple, into what would you assume as the inner court in most mansions. As the duo goes deeper into the building, they here the voices of a couple of men and a small girl.

"Ah, here we are. It seems that we found our objective, sirrah"
 
Concentrated on his musings, Morr soon had to realize that he had once again become utterly lost, walking into corridor after corridor without real aim, until he finally found himself in an empty hallway, the see-through glass on one side showing him he was near the gardens, he commenced in his step, went around another bend and-

Came to face with a hunched over man whose almost entire face was covered in bandages, the body itself obviousely suffering from some ailment. Carefully setting one hand onto the heft of his sword, Morr shouted to what he assumed was a man "Sir, are you in need of-" before, suddenly, from somewhere, another man, almost the same yet different on closer inspection, alike to the first approached the former and engaged with him in a bloody duel.

Uncertain just what he was witnessing, Morr drew his long blade and watched.
 
Korsarros face breaks into a grin as he takes the bottle and gulps down enough to fill his small body, he pulls it back with a large burp and smiles hazily "Truly. You are a gentleman Zato. Now what's all this commotio-" Korsarro stops mid-sentence as his stomach begins to feel as if it is on fire. And not in the good way. "Zato. Is this brew sa-" Korsarros words are interrupted as blood-tinged bile bursts forth from his tiny frame, splattering upon Zato, Mary and the giant with the ducks. Korsarro collapses to his small knees, a look of revulsion on his face "Nothing is going well today... " He looks down at his mud and now blood-bile stained body "Nothing at all."
 
As the 2 enter the room, they encounter a huge man of muscles, what seems to be a high ranking monk, and a little girl. At their feet are your feathered onjectives.

But that girl, she seems so familiar, so close. A sharp pain goes through the butlers head.
NO, I have an objective. Until the Little One is found, I MUST follow my orders.

"Greetings everyone, I am Jacob Laplace, and this is Brother Nerrik. It is a pleasure to meet all of you."
"A certain ailing man has requested me to "kill the ducks". I assume these are them. Can you assists me in my quest?"
 
Al has been following after Leonard, hoping he might find Wolfram. But the older, plagued warrior seems to have given him the slip. So he had continued for some time. He was quite lost for a spell but saw someone that looked to be of high rank ahead. He was just about to call out when he saw Leonard. He had drawn his sword! And seemed to be threatening the important one! With a pang of dread, Al noticed the same tension from the squirrel incident just past. Setting himself for the worst, he strode forward. "Is everything alright, gentlemen?"
 
Arngeirr looks down at his boots at lets out a sullen sigh. That was the second time today.

"Good sir, perhaps you have had enough to drink for today."

Turning to the newcomers, he says, "Greeting brother Merrik and good Laplace. Unfortunately I cannot help you in the task of murdering these creatures. Whoever tasked you with this must surely have been confused, for these are the property of young Mary here. I have been charged with her well-being by a brave knight."

For the first time, Arngeirr's eyes narrow, and a disturbing aura of calm falls over him. With a stern, almost threatening voice, he says, "And it would surely be a disgrace if her feathered friends were to fall to any harm while under my care."
 
as the foul liquid makes contact with her dress the young girl breaks down and begins to shudder

tears from at her eyes and she soon let's out a great wail and brings her hands up to her face in an attempt to hide her eyes from everyone.
 
Brother Nerrik adds "We'll do it completely humanely of course. I think they're wanted for dinner, or, something."
 
"I told him it was strong" Zato said as the new people arrived.
"I suppose you mean these ducks? Certainly not! They belong to the girl." He tapped his cane on the ground.
 
Jacob then notices a leather wrapped man puke over the group, how you missed him is beyond you, seeing as your butler eyes demand that you see all in the household. Something is distracting you.

Then the girl cries, and this strikes the heart of the servant in a way that hasnt been experienced by him in a long while.
Those tears, that wail, so familiar yet so heart-wrenching
Jacob rushes to the girls and takes a towel from his holding pocket.

"There there little girl, hush now, dont cry, everything will be alright"
 
Korsarro wipes his face with his sash and looks up at the giant "That... " His throat felt as if the giant had reached in to tick his very insides and the hoarseness of it showed "That was my first drink of the day." Korsarro looks to the butler and the masked man "If you kill the ducks I want the skins, I need them to make replacements for this mans boots." Korsarro sways slightly before falling backwards. That damnable drunkard. If it wasn't one thing ruining his day it was another.
 
Nerrik suddenly jumps forward and tries to revive the passed out person "Wait, are you the Tanner? I need this tanned!" he says while waving about the squirrel face.
 
"Be silent, ruffians! There will be no more talk of hurting these noble beasts! Certainly not in front of Mary. Not ever, under any circumstances!"

Arngeirr, the ducks still in his hands, puffs out his huge chest and spreads his huge shoulders, displaying for all how truly huge he was. And he was certainly huge.
 
"T-Thankyou" Mary stammers taking the towel from the man

"D-Don't hurt the Quacks, Th-They're my friends..."

she looks up at the man with big round tear-filled eyes...
 
Damn. Just got back too. Sorry guys! Have a wall of Text as a sorry.
Click to expand...

Leonard has a venerable hacking fit as blood and mucus splatters all over his face. To his credit, his eyes show the horror of what he beheld well enough to make up any failures his covered head could not.

And what a horror it was.

Memories, long buried beneath prayer and meditation, brutally rupture the subconscious. Screams and laughter, flash-backs to snapshots of evil, all of it.

And Leonard screams, pissing himself in terror.

Scrambling to his feet, Leonard brought his shield up quickly, slamming it against his dopplegangers sword-arm. The blood-red demon laughs, a sick, wet thing, as Leonard grabs for his sword, and leaps to his feet. His cross-guard comes up in time to block a downward slash, and Leonard counters with a quick headbutt, before shovering his shoulder forwards. His attack was anticipated, however, and a knee to the chest heralds a pommel to the back of his neck.

Leonard stumbles, his eyes going wide as he sees a metal-plated knee fly into his face, and the crack of teeth splintering is far more painful than it sounds. The stunned knight swallows his chipped teeth, unable to spit them out, and not wanting to risk inhaling them. He embraced the pain, thankful that it got his mind off of the corrupting presence of this... Thing, before him.

The two collide in a flurry of blows, both parties coughing up thick ropes of phlegm and blood as they fight. Leonard to his credit, scores multiple slashes upon his dark imposter, but for all his skill, he cannot compete against a clone with far more strength and stamina, without the earlier fatigue.

Leonard drives the pommel into the demons face, before pivoting on the ball of his foot expertly and raising his shield, staving off a savage hammerfist, but unable to account for the side-kick that sends him skidding with a shower of sparks across the floor.

Coughing and wheezing from the constant fighting, Leonards lungs ache as his vision swims, the phlegm in his lungs starving him of oxygen and air. He gasps, desperately, from beneath his woolen mask, the sweat of the constant fighting stinging his eyes. He drags his shield closer to him, his swordarm heavy under the uncompromising weight of the armor.

He is jerked backwards and up, looking up into the flaming eyes of some eldrich monster from his own nightmares. Leonard wants to scream in terror, he wants to run and hide, he wants to void his bowls at what he stares at.

His lungs are too weak to manage more than a strained cough from the rough handling, his legs refuse to move, so tired is he, his shit and piss already soils the inside of the armor, his knees soaking in the stuff.

With a weak gurgle, he watches as the creature raises its blade up, ready to end him, then and there. Atleast he would die knowing he had given atleast this small goodness to the world, that his death had some meaning. Now he could, perhaps, move on to the torment that awaited his wretched soul.

He hoped his death would give peace to those he had hurt, wherever they were.
 
Watching the battle before him, Morr beheld the opponents further, both looking quite inhuman, yet this he would not have judged for death, but the other one, he realized now with some amount of apprehension, bore the familiar marks of a demonic entity, a third blood-red eye chief amongst them.

Sword held in one hand, Morr approached the two, the non-demonic one obviousely losing, the foul stench emanating from him tell-tale of his own desperation, rapidly losing ground, the creature holding a viscious sword to end him.
He no longer had time, Morr broke into a run, pleading for his screaming muscles to yield just a little longer, and rammed his entire massive armored bulk at the demon, bringing it to fall with sheer momentum, while blocking the strike that would have culled the other man with his right plated arm.

Raising his upper body, Morr prepared for his sword to end the beast.
 
As Al walked in, he saw the truth of the situation. Leonard was not in fact Leonard, but a twisted demonic version of himself. The real Leonard was locked in battle with him. He watched in horror as the demon gained the upper hand. But then a knight, perhaps one of the guards, had charged the demon and knocked it to the ground. Leaving the demon to him, Al rushed to the real Leonard. "Are you okay, brother? How did this happen?"
 
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