[i]In pursuit of answers or attackers, our heroes delve into their respective issues[/i]

[center][b][h3]Woodstop[/h3][/b]
[@TheFake] [@Lord Zee][/center]

Effin, happy to play the sage, was stroking his whiskers and preparing an enlightening reply when a lean, ratlike man in white attire came walking up.  Recognizing him immediately, the axe fighter gave up his pondering with a shrug and just pointed toward the approaching newcomer.  “Him.”

Hand clasped behind his back, the thin-faced man attempted to find Revanmar's eyes within the slit of his visor, before focusing on Effin.  “Good day Effin, milord.  Morderik Biupolt at your service.”

“Boss o' the mess hall,” Effin explained, giving Morderik a nod of acknowledgment.  “This is Revanmar, a mercenary from afar, jus' come to join our sorry bunch.”  He seemed to take a degree of pride in the knight's presence beside him.  “We're on official business, as ye mighta gathered.  It's a li'l sudden o' us, but might ye know anythin' 'bout this here knife?”

Once the knife was produced, the cookmaster scrutinized it through narrowed eyes.  It didn't take him three seconds to reach a conclusion.  “Carving knife, best for separating meat from gristle and bones.  Got a handful of them around here.  Why?”

Shaking his head, the axe fighter pressed him further.  “Wanna find out whose it is.  Any mo' details, cookie?”

Though clearly resentful of the nickname, Morderik took the blade into his hands to review it.  After a moment being held up in the light, he said, “Dirty, based on the oil residue.  Used recently.  If you found it outside the mess haul, someone probably took it with 'em to deliver some food, then left it somewhere.  Whoever it is should still be in the kitchen.”

Effin gave another nod.  “Thank ye kindly.”

A few moments later, the trio stood in the mess haul's brick back room.  To say it was cramped would be to make an understatement; it filled what little space it had with ovens, larders, and surfaces upon which ingredients were heaped.  The present cooks, who numbered five, might have succeeded in ignoring the new entrants had Revanmar's armor not reflected the fires with such brilliance.  Only one, a stocky bald man whose back was turned, did not immediately look at him.  Two (a woman with short blonde hair and a gangly youth with his long brown hair tied back), having looked up, returned their attention to their work with great haste.  The remaining three, which included two older men similar enough to be brothers and a middle-aged man with black eyes, took in the unusual sight before continuing.

“There are two more that aren't here at the moment,” commented Morderik.  “Though one of them was here when I went out to greet you.”  

While scanning the room Effin asked, “Who d'ye reckon mighta handled the knife?”

The cookmaster singled out the gray-haired, mustachio'd men.  “Markris and Setheo typically clean and cook our meats.”

Sure enough, the countertop near the old men sported a small wooden knife rack, and three were missing.  Effin leaned toward Revanmar and whispered, “What d'ye make o' the sichy-ation?  Ye got the manner o' a clever man, maybe ye can figger it out.  If one's the culprit, he's playin' it real cool with us just standin' here...”

[center]-=-=-[/center]

Every fox present alerted his or her bright eyes from the despicable luster burning at Kallahar's fingertip, save the spellsword.  She gritted her teeth and flattened her ears, the skin over her eyes bunched up from anguish, but she did not look away.  By the time the death knight made her demands, however, the vixen's resolve had hardened once again.  Lenore felt as though this enemy knew the impossible odds she was up against, but somehow found it within her to power through.  Either she was very brave, or something was assisting her behind the scenes.  Around her, the ambush brigade seemed to have physically shrunk, the beastmen lowering themselves whilst backing away with their bushy tails between their legs.  

Kukri in hand and foaming a little at the mouth, the vixen stood alone.  After a brief glance to either side to take not of her underlings' reluctance, she returned her yellow glare to Kallahar and growled, “Allow thee passage so that thou might splinter our force from the rear?  Keh.  Never shalt I betrayeth he who saved me from who I once was.  I am not afraid to die for him.”  She moved in a flash, not to the left or right, but both at once.  A blue rippling energy rolled off her form as the vixen split into six identical copies in a semicircle, three on each side, each about a yard away from the next.  As one, the readied their blades.  “We art Rorryln the Gleam.  Ready thyself.”

The impressive sight, coupled with the vixen's display of dedication and the hint of an interesting past, procured a nod from Lenore.  [color=E2725B]“Alright.”[/color]  She knew nothing of these beastmen, or why they attacked the humans, but it was clear that they were much more than ravenous beasts.  The courage to persevere for the sake of what one believed in, regardless of the odds, was something Lenore had thought to be uniquely human.  [i]Maybe I could learn something from this Rorryln,[/i] she thought, [i]I'll face her as a worthy opponent.[/i]

With that in mind, Lenore moved first.  She lunged forward, striking with her free arm.  With startling speed her arm changed form, morphing into a lance that extended straight toward the nearest clone.  Those nearest to the target dodged away, but the target herself raised a hand to project a rippling magic shield.  Lenore's lance pierced straight through the weak barrier and impaled Rorryln in the heart.

[i]Is that it?[/i] Lenore wondered, scarcely able to keep track of what she herself was doing.

Her answer came when the clone detonated in a mighty burst of force energy.  The shockwave smacked into Lenore like a freight train, causing no damage but sending her flying back to crash with a sickening [i]crunch[/i] into a tree.  A touch dazed but otherwise not much worse for wear, she stared at where the clone had been with a surprised expression.  Her gaze quickly shifted to the remaining foxmen who, having witnessed their leader's conviction and what looked like a success with her clone trick, had rallied and charged forward to join the attack.  Several ran her way to make sure she was finished off, and from her higher elevation Lenore could think of one possible, though disturbing, way to handle them.

Tentatively she willed what she'd hoped were legs to move.  In an instant the fleshy tentacles beneath her dress lashed out and grabbed the two nearest foxes.  After coiling around them, the tendrils embedded themselves deep into their victim's flesh, and a nasty reddish magic began to seem into them.  Beneath their fur and sparse clothing, the beastmen's skin bubbled and churned, changing on the inside as well as on the outside.  Matter visibly pumped down each tentacle and into the victims, swelling them as they mutated, until two [url=https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c0/61/46/c06146be59a822380d8ee6e776d1a2ee.jpg]hideous golems[/url] were all that remained.  Lenore gaped, trembling, as the tentacles retracted themselves.  She'd done the same thing in Yggdrasil, but seeing it in such detail inspired both nausea and regret.  [color=E2725B]“Uh...sorry...I'm sorry,”[/color] she said as she winced, one eye closed.  The golems stared at her blankly.

Meanwhile, the five remaining Rorrylns attacked Kallahar together.  Some darted in for a melee strike, but others slashed the air to send out magical replicas of their kukris like boomerangs, each composed of cutting rather than concussive force magic.  Two foxman archers also took aim from a same distance, peppering her with arrows.