Oblivious as ever to his bodily surroundings, Ulor trudged alongside the rest of the party through the populous streets. The octopus on his shoulder, seemingly more engaged by its surroundings than its master, cast about vitreous gazes that nonetheless were laden with uncanny purpose, to the extent that unsettled passers-by took wide and deliberate detours to avoid brushing by the bizarre pair. As they advanced, the city appeared to progressively decay around them, orderly stone structures giving way to ill-shaped clay and grime in a putrescent transformation, filth seeping up through the cracks in the cobbling of the road and submerging the pavement in a layer of viscous uncleanliness. The motions of its denizens grew more furtive, and snarls and grunts fluidly - as far as either Ulor or the octopus could tell - replaced cheerful greetings in their mouths. As his mind was briefly prodded by viscid tentacles in warning against a possible stumble in an especially treacherous point of the path, the enchanter idly noticed the fleeting scrap of thought telling him they were being led by someone and laced with doubt as to whether this guide, whoever it was again, was reliable, but he unconcernedly swept it away, gladly replunging into his ponderings.

Or, at least, he would have, had a surge of cacophony from on ahead, combined with a second, more vigorous mental prod from the octopus recalled his attention from its deep lair and, much to his irritation, forced it back into the flow of events. A group of miscreants was rushing down the foul alleyway, bellowing what were presumably incoherent taunts at each other and displaying a general lack of concern about those that even contingently found themselves near their path. Now, the latter Ulor could not truly find fault with in and of itself; what displeased him in this situation, however, was that he and the octopus were apparently among the number of those unfortunates. Concerned as he was with this fact, he was barely aware of the first scoundrel coming to a halt upon reaching the group and pleading something with the tiresomely loose-mouthed green tiefling. Had he even paid greater attention to this fact, it would soon have been forgotten, superseded by the sight of a large rodent-creature rapidly drawing closer to his person, its shrouded accomplice close at its heels, provided rats had any.

As the grotesque being approached, Ulor swung his left hand backwards, elbow and wrist oddly twisted, to reach into his backpack for the magical orb stored therein. At this abrupt motion, the octopus detached itself from his shoulder and remained hovering near his head, its eyes never leaving the assailants. But, before he had retrieved the conduit necessary to channel much of his void-gifted knowledge into enchantments, the ferine invoker called upon her own arcane might, conjuring a treacherous frozen surface under the thugs' feet. As it happened, this made things worse from Ulor's perspective, since the foremost brute slid sideways, coming to a halt directly before him and readying his weapon. The elven archer seemingly attempted to wound him, but her shot, if it was aimed at all, went wide, leaving the burly figure unharmed.

Fortunately, all of this had given Ulor time to prepare his own response. In his left hand there now was a large, opaque black crystal, almost spherical in its curious many-faceted shape; the right, having left the staff leaning against the shoulder and supported by the forearm, was slowly weaving its fingers through the air, tracing invisible sorcerous symbols. As his arm twitched in a series of darting gestures, a gnarled index pointed towards the warrior, he intoned a string of half-whispered, ululating formulae, resounding eerily between the rows of malodorous walls: [i]"Ygnaiih . . . ygnaiih . . . thflthkh’ngha . . ."[/i]

All of a sudden, there appeared in the space around the tattooed brute what could only be described as a swirling, translucent angular cloud of grey shadow unnaturally stretched in such a manner as to appear similar to a solid object. The apparition writhed in place for a few moments, then shrank inwardly, flattening itself against the warrior's skin and fading from sight. What was not so apparent was that the abnormal darkness, in a distorted semblance of parasitic life, hungrily clutched at its victim's strength, seeking to sap and consume it.

Yet that was not all. While the shadow was still twisting around the warrior, Ulor abruptly stopped his gesturing in a final lunge of his right hand, and brought his incantation to a close with a loud [i]"Iä!"[/i]. As the limb darted forward, it became wreathed in pale, colourless spectral flames, which sprang into being with startling abruptness and without any apparent premonition, accompanied by a crackling sound as of thunder. The unnatural fire then fluidly stretched into a stream of fluid power, which flew through the air akin to the trail of a ghostly comet towards the thug. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that something particularly stunning had come to Ulor's mind just when he was completing the spell. His teeth reflexively clenched, and his hand twitched aside in the very moment the wraith-flames were magically propelled from it. The result was, if not disastrous, a rather sad sight: the flow of mystic energy wildly spiralled aside, narrowly avoiding a terrified bystander, and soundlessly crashed into a puddle, raising a splash of rank, foul water.

The octopus, which had until then remained suspended in place almost motionlessly, presently twisted its tentacles in alarm, and began to hover-swim upwards in mounting circles. Realising that, now that his incantation had failed, he would likely be at the mercy of any adversary who managed to reach him, Ulor, now ever so slightly more concerned, cast his thoughts into the familiar's mind as a grasping hand seeking something onto which to hold in a storm, and found its clammy, somewhat hesitating tentacle. In the blink of seven inward eyes, he conjured before the two of them the image of a plan of action. It was crude, roughly outlined and, in all honesty, quite improbable, but it was the best he could think of, and the octopus convened it did not just then have any better ideas.

The airborne cephalopod stopped its ascent, and, drifting aloft, brought itself a mere two or three steps forward from Ulor's position. There, in an extraordinary display of acrobatics, it turned its head to the sky, and its beak and gills, exposed between the radially splayed tentacles, pointing towards the ground. However, it was not the beak or the gills that warranted such a position. No, it was something less conspicuous; a defensive mechanism which would now be made to serve a double purpose, shielding octopus and master alike from harm with an inky blackness should a foe draw near. Or, at least, this was the plan, which, to Ulor's credit, was one of the least deranged he had devised in his adventuring life.

Not that this was saying much.


[hider=Mechanics]

As a bonus action, Ulor casts a [i]Hex[/i] on the goliath, imposing disadvantage on his Strength checks while the spell persists (1 Level 2 spell slot spent, 1 remaining). He then follows through with an [i]Eldritch Blast[/i], which cleanly misses its bulky target.

Eldritch Blast attack roll: [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/2770]6[/url]

Ulor then telepathically convinces the Octopus to [i]ready[/i] itself to intervene should an enemy approach into melee range, squirting ink onto the attacker's head from above.

[/hider]