If Malcador were a less intelligent man, he might have given into the thoughts of how adorable he found Serphia while she was deliberating, or while she was doing most things for that matter. He knew that Lolth, the dark mistress cast out of the Seldarine, had made her children deceptively attractive. And while Serphia certainly was extremely lovely in a deadly sort of way, he just always assumed the attractiveness meant alluring rather than the more typical "I really want to ask you out" sort of inclination that took hold of most surface dwellers. Luckily, Malcador had a strong will and knew to watch out for these sorts of things, and he was simply relieved when she ended up giving in to his logic.

He was not keen on running into the fray either. A sorcerer had less spells in their repertoire and were by omission slightly less educated, however they had the convenience of their magical power mostly being from their own magical blood and will. A wizard needed a spellbook, most usefully his own spellbook, to properly use what spells he was familiar with. Of course, studying other spellbooks allowed him to add more spells to his list, and right now he would have to find a another spellbook to use on the fly. However, he was talented enough that, as long as he had a grimoire, he could still likely protect himself as well as Serphia. Granted, he might need certain spell components, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

But as it were, with out a book he was at the moment just a charming, albeit mediocre, thief. At least he had a somewhat mercurial dark elf assassin and her little (in a certain point of view) spider to help out. He would ignore the small thrill he got when she told him to stay close, and instead took a professional curiosity at Arloke. It was rather fascinating watching him spin the web and created an exit for them, and with a "WHOA!" from out of his mouth when Serphia slapped his ass, he flew out of the barn. It was fortunate he was slim and still fairly fit and not a soft greybeard, he kept his grip and dropped when it was applicable. He hit the ground in a rough roll. It was planned, but he hadn't practiced in awhile.

Still, he rose smoothly and brushed himself off. Serphia dropped beside him far more smoothly, Arloke clambering behind with his squat but nimble body. Malcador crouched in the wheat, and they moved closer to the town as the chaos continued to spread. A few men with swords had seen their descent, drawing their blades and wading through the field, but their vision was obscured and it was easy to evade them. "We have a better chance attacking those not looking for us," he whispered, somewhat redundantly. He mostly wanted to emphasize they should bypass them because there would be more loot indoors.

They reached the edge of the field, and there was a short five yard road between them and the closest houses and businesses. They weren't small, but most were just one story tall and relatively long. At the opportune time, after a winged devil flew overhead, causing Malcador's hackles to rise, they sprinted from cover and burst into the backdoor that led into a lobby facing a hall. It was a domestic residence, likely to a middle class merchant or tradesman. Blood soaked the floor, an open door behind them showcased a limp arm laying into the hallway.

They heard a scuffle in the other room, and a woman's scream. There was an aggressive shout from two men.

"Could be an easy target?" Malcador voiced, indicating there was likely no devil in there.

Serphia dropped down from the silk, bouncing lightly as she bent her knees before she sprang back up as if she had done that landing a thousand times before. She flipped her short hair out of her face as she unsheathed her dagger. She raised a hand to the tree and Arloke crawled down, latching himself to her back like a snuggly backpack. It was at that moment that Serphia realized she had left her pack in the barn just before they had left. The wizard’s attempts to sway her choice on the battle caused her to forget the most essential thing she had at that present time. She peered back at the barn with a frown. It was lost now. They couldn’t go back at that point. With a huff of annoyance, she followed him into the wheat.

She could hear the crunch of wheat stalks as a few of the raiders stormed into the crop to find them. She crouched, her dagger at the ready in case they came into contact with people before they were anticipating it. She listened to him intently as he whispered to her, her eyes flashing to the moving wheat ahead before she followed him further into the field. Somehow managing to avoid the raiders as they stalked through the wheat, eventually growing frustrated and using their swords as sickles and cutting down the crop in a futile attempt to find them.

She slipped silently out of the hiding and moved against the wall of the building, her eyes taking in the scenery with practiced skill. She marked any places where enemies could come from and any place she may use as an escape to get away. As the devil flew past, snarling and mumbling to itself, they took the chance to go. As they crashed through the door, Arloke took aim at the flying creature before releasing a thick line of silk that broke off just as they barreled into the home. The silk flew in the air before wrapping around the devil’s wings, knocking it out of the air with a cry of shock and confusion. Serphia peered back at the spider with a scolding sneer on her face but they were already hidden away and the devil’s back was to them so there was, likely, no way he could have known it was them or where they had gone.

Serphia slowly crossed the hallway, one foot over the other as silently as she could move. She was crouched against the wall and when she approached the hallway threshold, she lowered to examine the corpse that lay just within the other room. She grabbed it, pulling it further into the hallway as she got to work on searching it for anything useful. She patted its pockets, checked its belt and boots for any kind of weapons, and checked along his hands for any kind of rings that might speak of enchantments. He had nothing. Not even a pendant around the neck. She shoved him out of the way as she slid up to the threshold once more. She listened a moment before taking a peek inside. Her head was only sticking into the room for a moment but she registered the scene with quick efficiency. She turned to Malcador, holding up two fingers in one hand and one finger in the other. She was sure to keep the hand with the one finger lower than the others, showing that the screaming woman was not able to put up any kind of resistance.

Without saying a word, she lowered Arloke to the ground and flipped her dagger in her hands. She pointed to Mal then to the floor before raising a hand in a symbol to stay. She gave a low whistle and Arloke made his way along Mal’s leg then settled on his back just like he always had done with Serphia. She locked her indigo eyes on him for a second, two seconds, a third before she took a breath and slid into the room.

She moved quickly. Slinking into the room she saw one man kneeling on the bed holding the woman down and the other standing over her while ripping her clothes open. The woman’s voice screamed out as she thrashed, trying to kick the men off her. Serphia didn’t hesitate. She stepped up to the man at the end of the bed and, with one hand on the grip and the other pressed firmly onto the back for extra strength, she slid the dagger into the back of the man’s throat. She could feel the dagger sliding between vertebrae of his spinal cord and she gave it a quick twist. The man fell down dead in an instant. She moved quickly now, drawing the sword of the man who was now kneeling on the bed in baffled confusion. Serphia slid onto the body of the first man, straddling him while leaving her dagger in his neck. She sliced across the other man’s throat with his own blade. He gurgled, his hands releasing the woman and shooting to his neck as he tried to staunch the bleeding. She sent a kick to his chest and watched as he collapsed off the bed, thrashing on the ground as he suffocated on his own blood.

Serphia peered down at the woman now pinned to the bed by the dead raider and Serphia’s weight. Her purple eyes locked on the woman’s panicked face. She pulled her dagger from the man’s neck and reversed it in her grip. She lowered the blade to the woman’s throat, ready to end her life as well but she hesitated. Her jaw clenched tightly for a moment before she ripped the blade away from the woman. She sheathed the dagger at her waist and grabbed the guards’ swords before she stepped off the dead corpse. She kicked him off the woman who stood up quickly. Their eyes locked for a moment before the woman turned and ran out of the room. Serphia stood there a time, questioning if she made the right move in letting the woman go. She was getting soft. She was spending too much time with humans. They were rubbing off on her.

She finally turned from the bloody scene, stepping into the hall with two swords now in her hands. “Here,” she called out as she went to hand Mal a weapon. However, before she could hand the sword off to him, the wall directly to her right broke open. A devil came crashing through, the same woman from early screaming in frantic panic as she tried to rip the creature off her. The devil released a low cackle as it violently ripped the woman’s head to the side, almost twisting it completely around. Her corpse dropped to the ground and it turned its eyes on Mal and Serphia. It dove towards Mal at first, bloody claws glistening as it went for his face. Serphia grabbed a hold of its wing and heaved. The creature was larger than her in body mass and in height. It took a lot of her strength to keep it from getting a hold of Malcador.

The devil whirled around, turning its attention on her as she ducked under its claws. Ripping the dagger out of its sheath and using one of the two swords she had gotten, she danced around the creature’s claws as it lashed at her. Its tail can flashing at her head. She flung herself back, raising the sword to catch the knock the tail out of the way. It was far thicker and beefier than she had expected and the blade went clattering out of her hands. She sneered at the creature as she looked for an escape. He was between her and the entrance to the home they had taken. She could dive through the hole he made into the street outside but she was sure that more danger awaited her there. Her only option was the back room she had just left. She dove into the room, rolling once before she sprang back to her feet. Dagger up in a reverse grip, she eyed the creature while it followed her in the room. She rolled her shoulders and brought the dagger up in a guard before signalling for the devil to come at her.

The commotion from the other room had Malcador questioning on if he should go in and help out or simply wait, weighing his options. On the one hand, he was allergic to blades entering his body. On the other hand, Serphia was in there and he did not wish for her to die. It was lucky that another woman ran out of the room before he decided to burst in, and his small attempts at stopping her to tell her everything was okay turned out to be futile. Meanwhile, Arloke had begun to crawl off of him in anticipation for Serphia's return. That was a good sign at least, until a devil broke through the hall, snapping the rescued woman's head in the process. Malcador gave a small 'eugh' sound when he witnessed the death, but he was suddenly too busy dodging a spiked tail that tried to behead him with a quick flick. He ducked and rolled out of the corridor into the main living area.

Within, there was a black clad figure rummaging through a cupboard, either for something to eat or some goods they could steal. When Malcador hit the wall, both men paused and then looked to one another. Malcador cursed as the dark figure dropped what he was doing and unsheathed his messer, chuckling darkly. Malcador scrambled to his feet and looking around for something to use as a weapon, but realized he did not have the strength or swiftness to break a chair leg that quickly, and so he did the only thing he had the mind to do.

He opened the backdoor and ran.

Malcador was a fast runner, thanks to his long legs and his experience ducking and dodging town watchmen when he was young. He heard a shout from behind him, but he turned a corner into a small alleyway and hopped a wooden fence without pausing. Being unarmored and unarmed helped him in that endeavor at least. Unfortunately, he was now alone beside a shop with a broken window. Harsh roars and cries of anguish and glee could be heard in the street, and he knew he couldn't stay where he was. He cursed, and went around the back. He heard a hiss and something sickly, accompanied by a child's whimper. He stopped cold, hesitating as his heart pounded, before finding a small pocket in his mind that lacked self preservation and he stepped out to see a child and a grown man, likely a father, with him. The child was desperately trying to wake up his mother's corpse. Before them, back turned to Malcador, was a legion devil. He had read of such infernal footmen. Not quite as deadly as the spiked devil that had come between him and Serphia, but it still wielded a longsword in its right arm. As Malcador suspected, its left forearm was bloated, with a shield strapped to it.

They were without speech, and only communicated via telepathy. Malcador merely hoped he couldn't 'hear' what the mage was thinking, and once he mustered up the courage, he charged, an electric ball of energy exploding out of his hand. The legion devil evidently heard his feet brushing the soil, but he could not turn around quickly enough before Malcador's 'shocking hands' spell burst into his form. It's breastplate was no defense from the spell, its demonic-human face opened its mouth in agony. A long, purple tongue turning black from the electricity. Malcador held him there as long as he could, but the spell ran out after four heartbeats. The legion devil still had the vitality to shove Malcador back and backswipe at him, the mage leaping out of the blade's way in time, however the legion devil quickly toppled after that. The wizard waited for a moment to see if it was a trick, and when he was satisfied, he took the longsword from the devil's clawed paw.

"You should make for the forest and turn west." Malcador told them tiredly.

"Come with us! Protect us!"

"I have no more magic, now go!" He told them, pointing north with his new sword. The father knew he could not argue, and bade his son to follow. He still clutched his dead mother. Malcador moved past them, knowing if he stayed around it would decrease both of their chances to survive. Unfortunately, he was moving away from Serphia. He needed to find a way back to her, but a screech behind the fence told him that theory was not tenable at the moment. He would need to find another way around. Fuck this to the seven hells.

Arloke moved quickly. When the devil crashed through the wall, he jumped out of the way and onto the wall. His unblinking eyes watched as the devil attempted to attack Malcador to be pulled away by Serphia. He watched as Malcador rolled off into the living area before he turned his eyes to Serphia. She dove back into the bedroom she had previously come from. Suddenly he was alone in the hallway and he sat there a moment, contemplating who he should follow. With only a moment more of hesitation, he jumped off the wall and headed to where Serphia had gone.

Serphia and the devil clashed. Again and again claws met dagger as each tried to get an upper hand on the other.

As Arloke skittered into the room, Serphia’s eyes flashed to him for only a moment before she had to jump away from the devil’s thrashing tail. She panted lightly as she stared the demon down. Her side throbbed painfully. She should have never agreed to this damn plan. She flipped her hair out of her eyes as she crouched. Time to kick it into overdrive.

She dove at the devil, dropping herself to the ground as it slashed at her with its claws. She let the momentum take past the devil and towards Arloke. She extended her hand out to the spider and he jumped up onto her shoulder, a living shoulder guard. She whirled on the devil and Arloke shot a string of silk at the thing. It latched onto its wing and Serphia grabbed a hold of the silk before she slammed her foot down on top of it, ripping the devil from the air and crashing it down on the ground. The thing grunted then thrashed as it tried to get back on its feet or in the air. Serphia didn’t wait. She ran forward before slamming her foot down on the back of its head, crushing its face into the floor. She brought the silk around like a lasso and looped its wings. She continued to loop it and bind its wings before it finally pushed off the ground and forced her to back up. Arloke broke the piece of thread and they both stared down the devil as it tried to flap its tied wings. A dark predatory grin crossed Serphia’s face. She was balancing the game board, one little pawn at a time.

Malcador crouched behind a collection of ferns as the townsfolk either ran or led a desperate defense against the onslaught. Winged shapes flew over as cutthroats in black killed men, women, and children alike. To the wizard's satisfaction, he did see a number of them dead, even the winged fiends. While he doubted the townsfolk of Thenton to hold them back, the people of the moonsea weren't unaccustomed to harship and knew how to defend themselves from incursions from Thar.

An opening!

He sprinted across the street while a heavy cavarlyman was busying a trio of swordsmen with his lance, and there seemed to be no overhead fliers at that moment. With his long legs, he crashed into the next house, opening the front door swiftly and abruptly closing it. As he spun to the foyer, he saw a macabre scene. A haggard mage, using fel energies, was drawing the blood out of the slaughtered family. It made Malcador's skin crawl. Blood magic was banned from being practiced except under the strictest circumstances, even in the Hosttower of the Arcane. Only adepts and above could do so, and always with supervision.

Immediately the bloodmage spun towards Malcador, the siphoning blood splattering onto the floor. Mal got on the balls of his feet,, reaching for a small bust on the foyer table as the bloodmage began to chant. As the incantation increased in volume, Malcador realized he recognized the spell. He waited as the mage raised their hand to him, and with the reflexes of a thief and the knowledge of what was going to happen next, he threw the bust at the bloodmage. His eldritch lightning hit the copper statue and burst it, copper shrapnel flying everywhere. It tore into the bloodmage's chest, but Malcador tackled him before he could even buckle, and the two went to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The mage felt like a sack of meat slapping onto the ground, having lost control of his limbs from the evisceration of the copper fragments.

Malcador's face was scratched, but he got the better of the weakening bloodmage and slammed his head into the hard floor, knocking him out cold or killing him outright. He was not sure, but he really couldn't care less. What he did care about was the book that was sprawled open, having fallen out of the mage's limp hand.

Well, it wasn't his spellbook, and it would take some time to work through it and learn the spells, but it was better than having nothing. He rifled through the sorcerer's robe as the blood began to spread, taking a number of silver and gold pieces and a clawed amulent of some kind. He would figure on it later. He grabbed the book and went into the other room, hoping to find a spell to help him locate Serphia, or at least defend himself. He didn't want to remain in the foyer. He had seen too many dead families today, he believed.

Briefly, he prayed to Mystra for Serphia to be safe, then he prayed for her to bring his sanity back, because he had no idea why he was even the slightest bit worried. Likely his lower half doing the thinking.

It wasn’t much of a battle after the things wings were bound. Its morale plummeted once it couldn’t use a main concept of his battle strategies. She could see when the switch was flipped. It began to grow frantic, its attacks sporadic. It lashed at her at every chance it got, no tactics or strategy behind it. In one way, this was better for her. She could taunt out attacks and strike when they were vulnerable. In another way, it was dangerous. A cornered animal will fight with everything they had to flee and that was exactly what she was currently dealing with.

She jumped back as the creature slashed at her with its claws, ducking under another swipe as she brought her blade in and dug it into its side and slashed it across its ribs. The devil hissed out and whirled, bringing its spiked tail up and at her. She sidestepped it and bright her blade up in a sweep, slicing across the tail. The devil cried out as blood splattered from the gash. She took the chance to dive in close, bringing her blade up in a vicious slash across its abdomen. It wasn’t as deep as she liked and had to back away as the creature slashed at her with its claws. At this point, it was bleeding from multiple locations and its movements were beginning to slow.

She stepped around the thing, throwing her hand out and releasing a low whistle. Arlocke let loose a long line of silk that grabbed a hold of the devil’s wrist. She gave it a tug as she planted her foot directly between the creature’s shoulder blades. She heard a pop as she dislocated that arm and the creature thrashed under her. She kicked it to the ground before slicing through the silk, severing it. She stalked around the creature as it tried to get back on its feet. Whenever it looked like it might actually succeed in getting off the ground, she sent another kick to it and forced it once more to the floor. She could end this swiftly or she could let it bleed out. She wasn’t sure which she favored more. It had killed the girl she had set free and in a way, that bothered Serphia. She had gone through all that trouble to rescue the girl and he ruined it all with a snap of her neck. Then again, she had to go find that stupid wizard. She had told him to stay by her side but the moment trouble arose, he fled like a coward. She should leave him. Let him die in the damn town. She gave him one rule. One! And yet, she found herself sighing in frustration as she dragged her hand along her face. She had to go get the idiot. She looked down at the dying devil with a frown. First, she needed to handle this thing.

She circled it like a vulture watching a dying deer. Her face was serious and stern as she stepped around it. “Return back to the fires of hell.” She said as she finally stepped up to it. She grabbed the spines on the back of its head and gave it a quick twist. A loud crack sounded as the creature’s neck snapped under the pressure and it dropped to the ground in a heap. She allowed Arloke to drop down from her shoulder and feed from the creature as she went about the room, looking for anything useful. She pulled open the wardrobe and found women’s clothing. She began pulling the outfits out, one at a time before throwing them to the ground behind her. These wouldn’t be useful in a battle. She needed something better.

She pulled out one outfit that looked to be made of a shimmering fabric and was rather narrow. She allowed an eyebrow to raise as she looked at the dress in her hands. If this was as snug on her as it looked, this would do. After some modifications of course. She pulled her tunic off and slid the dress down over her head. It was just as snug as she had hoped. She smiled lightly as she brought the dagger up, cutting the dress short just above her bellybutton. Then she cut the skirt short as well, just barely at midthigh. The skirt kept trying to slip a little further down her butt than she would have liked so she dug through the wardrobe again until she pulled out a sash. She made a slit through the skirt in a few places then threaded the sash through. She tied it tightly around her waist and was pleased to see that it didn’t want to slide around anymore. It stayed snuggly in place on her waist. She strapped her dagger’s belt on as well before sheathing the blade.

By the time she was done making her new outfit, Arloke was finishing up with the devil. He pulled his fangs out from the creature’s side and got to work on cleaning himself as she turned to him again. “Alright,” she said as she held her hand out for him. He jumped onto her arm and moved along her form until he settled on her back in his usual position. “Let’s go find that fool.” She left the bedroom for the second time that day, snatching up the sword that was left behind earlier. She would go find Mal and then rip him a new one for fleeing like a damn coward.

The book was, at times, undecipherable. He could not make hide nor hair of certain passages, but others seemed pretty bog standard, and others were just familiar enough that Malcador believed he could cobble together the pieces to make a spell. Unfortunately, much of it was blood magic, an art strictly forbidden by the academy he attended. Though he disagreed with most of the stringent rules of the academy, this one made perfect sense to him. Even the gods looked at it in a poor light, and the one time he tried it, it made his skin crawl, even under controlled conditions. He was glad he beat the blood mage to death, otherwise he would have been in a bad way.

Outside, pandemonium was still occurring. He felt a weight on his psyche; on his very soul. The screams of women and children and the cries of demons were the backdrop for him sitting in a dark kitchen, reading a book full of blood magic. Why on earth Mystra had cursed him so, he did not know. How the gods could allow any of this to happen, he wasn't sure.

Still, after raiding the larder and reading up a bit, he felt more dangerous, or at least less helpless than he had at the start of the day. With a few more spells in his repertoire, he could cause a bit of havoc to anyone trying to get in his way. Briefly he wondered where Serphia was, but despite his worry, the sly mage knew she was more likely to survive this whole ordeal than him.

Without warning, the door to the foyer burst open. It did not directly lead to the kitchen, but it was close enough to where Malcador saw the devil step in as it did so, though it did not face him immediately. The mage, thinking quickly, unleashed a cone of cold, one of the spells he had placed in his roster. An incantation and a gesture of his hands, and a blast of wintry ice flew from his hands. The devil spun, and to Malcador's disbelief, pulled the icy magic into a controlled, floating ball within his hands. Malcador's eyes widened, and leaped aside as soon as he realized the devil was using a counterspell. The cone of cold was shot back at him, and had Malcador not had the dinner table before him and the cabinets in easy reach, he might have been hit directly. He fell behind cover, and the devil stalked in, eyes peeled for the hiding mage.

Suddenly, out from the other side of the kitchen, two wooden guardians, animated figures of the collected wood used for the floor and furniture, stepped out. Both were the size of men, made into a humanoid likeness, and they charged the surprised devil. It hissed and prepared a spell, likely one of fire, but before it could, both constructs hit it at dead runs and the three tumbled to the ground in a cacophony of splinters and spikes. Malcador was not going to wait around to see if his constructs had beaten the thing, and he was now down two very useful spells he could have utilized at better times. Instead, he felt past the snarling devil and the constructs as they pummeled one another, making his way out the front door.

When Serphia finally stepped out of the back bedroom again, she found herself face to face with a marauder. She let out a groan as she scanned him up and down and he did the same to her. Of course the wizard couldn’t handle the mercenary. The whole reason they were in this mess was so he could get a spellbook and her weapons and armor. Speaking of armor, her eyes settled on the armor the man wore. It would be large on her, to say the least, but the more flexible pieces could work for her. A dark grin crossed her face as she pulled the dagger from her waist. One simple mortal man was not a problem for her. Thankfully, the second one had tried to follow Malcador, leaving this one alone to forage through the house. With a click of her tongue, she got to work.

Armed to the teeth, well more like tooth. She would rather have more weapons than the, now, three she currently had on her belt and in her grip, but those three would be more than enough for now. She had taken the shoulder pieces off the man, along with his gauntlets. She had even managed to strap his skin guards onto her legs. She was sure she looked a fool with her mismatched outfit and armor pieces but she didn’t much care. She may look like she didn’t know what she was doing as she stepped out of the longhouse but the armor and weapons made her deadly as she slipped through the shadows of the town like a reaper of souls. Devils and humans alike fell under her blade before they understood what the stickiness was that had covered their nose and filled their mouth. She didn’t even bother trying to hide the bodies as she went. The longer she took to find the wizard, the more likely she would find him dead or captured. She needed to move quickly.

Up ahead, there was a large group of mercenaries. She stepped into a shadow of a building, pulling it around her to hide and her Arloke as she watched the group parade down the town street like a morbid celebration of slavery and slaughter. She saw children, women, and barely able to walk men chained along in a line, being led by a few mercenaries and a devil or two. For a moment, she considered freeing them from their fate but then chastised herself. Bothering to try and free them would only end up getting her killed or worse, captured. If she ended up getting captured by the end of all this, her pride would never survive it. Who were these people to her anyways? She was here to find a weapon or two along with getting a spellbook for the wizard. That was all this little mission was supposed to be. So she remained hidden in the shadows, watching as the parade made its way past and turned down the street to vanish behind buildings.

She moved quickly through the shadows, her indigo eyes ever scanning her surroundings as she went. She had no idea how she was going to find this damn wizard. If she could just find any sign of where he went, then she could start tracking him but at the moment, all she saw were devils, mercenaries, and dead villagers. When a squad of marauders came down the street she was currently on, instead of picking a fight, she slipped into the broken window of the building next to her. Her bare feet crunched down on the broken glass as she quietly dropped into the house. She froze against the wall when a devil’s head snapped up from his meal. A disemboweled man lay dead at the feet of the devil and the creature had his arm in its mouth, chewing lightly as its dark eyes scanned the room for the source of the sound. This devil’s body was completely covered in spines and its sharp claws were covered in blood from the person it was using as food just a moment before.

When its eyes locked on Serphia, she snarled. One of these days, she was going to be able to get through an area without having to fight to the death against one of these damn creatures.

She held out an arm, allowing Arloke to remove himself from her back and finding a place on the wall behind her. She flipped her dagger in one hand while bringing the sword up in defense. She considered running. The vicious spines along this creature was going to make fighting it a huge pain, especially for her dagger attacks, but if she fled, it would most likely only follow her and track her down. So she prepared for another fight as she wondered for only a moment if Malcador was facing such frustrating situations and surviving.

Malcador was unaware, but he was about to get lucky.

The wizard had managed to stumble and sprint through the pandemonium of the assault well enough to make it to the other street, with another dead black clad swordsman in his wake from a well placed cantrip. Even with the spellbook, he had precious few spells left. He needed rest, and to link up with Serphia, but not in that order. If he could find her, they could make it out of there as quickly as a bird flew, or near enough. Of course, a part of him screamed he should run away without her, but another part of him also reminded himself that he needed her around for extra protection. Then, of course, another small part of him wanted to feel what it was like to lock lips with her, and that was a very annoying part that would not shut up.

He stepped over the cold corpse of a man, innocent or not he couldn't know. He did not bother to wait and check. Instead, he stepped over, nearly stumbling, and burst through the front door. He spun and slammed the door behind him, thinking the dangers had stayed behind him. In a twist of fate, however, be both found his salvation and his doom.

A devil and Serphia were squaring off in a corridor down the lobby of the large home. Arlocke scuttled over to him, webs spinning from his behind.

Despite his anxiety, seeing Serphia gave Malcador a sense of purpose, and he was cloaked in power as he hugged the tome close to his chest with his left arm, raising his right hand. With a word of arcane power that echoed across the walls, his hand began to crackle with coruscating blue and purple energy. It arced around his hand like lightning, and when the last syllabal left his mouth, it burst from his hand in a bolt of mystical energy that struck the devil like a cannon shot.

It hit the devil, charring its back and sending it sprawling to the floor. He was uncertain if the attack killed the devil, they were hardy creatures. He doubted it was, and even as he thought it, he was proven correct by it trying to move, albeit still stunned with pain. Arlocke's webs began to sling atop it, but unless Serphia did something, it wouldn't be down long enough to be immobile forever.

The door to the building she was in opened and quickly closed. Serphia's eyes flickered to the door for only a moment. She saw Malcador and her eyes quickly flicked back to the demon, only to move back to the wizard in surprise. Well, that solved one problem for her. At least he was safe and judging by the large book he kept crushed up against himself, he found a spellbook.

As the surprise passed enough for her to turn her eyes back on the devil, it had taken her distraction to close the distance between them. She cursed as she flung herself back as claws swiped at her chest. She braced herself on the ground with an extended arm as she brought the dagger up to slice at the creature's arm. She would have gone in for another strike but the hairs on the back of her neck rose and she dove to the side just as the magic slammed into the devil. The creature slammed into the ground just where she was previously. Arloke worked quickly to start covering it in web to try and lock it down.

She moved quickly. She would not waste a chance to bring this fight to a swift end. She pulled her sword and without waiting for even a moment, she drove it through the creature's back, right over where she knew hearts in non devil creatures were. Just to be sure it would not survive, she brought her dagger down and across its throat, cutting it open. Even if its heart wasn't in the typical place, no creature could survive bleeding out. The devil thrashed for only a moment before it stilled. She sent a kick to the creature just to be sure it was dead. When it didn't react, she pulled the sword free from its back and wiped it on the web before sheathing it once more.

“You.” She said as she turned her lavender eyes on Malcador. “You ran! Like a coward!” She wiped the dagger on the web as well before she flipped it in the air, catching it in a backwards grip. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just end you now? I had given you one rule. One! And you couldn't even follow that!” She sheathed the dagger with a grumble before she looked him over with a quick scan. He seemed safe at least. “At least you managed to not get killed. A Blessing, at least.”

She turned her eyes on the disemboweled man the devil was eating before she dropped in through the window. It looked like some kind of guard. She stepped over to it, ignoring the stench of stomach acid as she dug through it for anything useful. She found a pouch of coins on his hip. She pulled them free before casually tossing them over her shoulder at Malcador. “We may have just gotten lucky.” She said as she dug through the man's armor for anything useful. She found a ring on his finger. It was of silver with some kind of seal on it, possibly a family crest. She slipped the ring off his fingers before tossing that over her shoulder at Malcador too. “Do you know that crest?" She asked without even looking to see if he caught the ring.

She rolled the body over and a sword clattered to the ground. She picked it up, noticing subtle runes carved into the blade. She gently ran her fingers along them before sliding the blade to the side. She would have to find an enchanter to look them over to figure out what they did. Until she did, it was best to leave the blade unused. Whoever this man was, he seemed to come from a wealthy family.

She didn't find anything else she could use. She did turn to look at Malcador and scan him up and down, gauging his size. She then looked at the man before beginning to pull his armor off. He seemed to be close enough size to Malcador that he could probably make use of it, if he wanted.

She undid straps and buckles. As the pieces came off, she stacked them in a pile. A few of the pieces were covered in blood and bodily fluids but that could just be cleaned off. “Let's get you in this armor and we can get out of this hellhole.” She bent over the body and undid the last few pieces of armor before finally turning to Malcador expectantly.

Luckily it seemed their combined skills killed it, but Malcador was still shaken. The power he had displayed was unfamiliar, and the spells esoteric. Serphia's safety was nice, if unexpected. Certainly she appeared a bit more banged up than when last he saw her, but he would have imagined a dark elf to be the primary target of any enemy that came across her. Then again, she could either be lucky or the devils could feel some sort of small kinship with her. Though admittedly she was a far more attractive sort of evil than they.

He blanched when her eyes cut to him, but at the tongue lashing he grew defensive. "I AM a coward, and I'm an alive coward as well. Pardon me for keeping myself in one piece before I found my way back to you." He responded, brushing himself off and strapping the tome's leather cords to his belt. Which was a redundant, as he was then ordered to strip and change into the black leather and iron of the attackers. He could have told her to stuff it where Deneir couldn't find it, but she had a point. It was safer if he was dressed like one of them.

"Okay," The handsome man breathed, acquiescing. He unbuckled his belt and stepped tentatively over the dead devil. Its blood smelled of sulphur and brass, rather than the normal metallic iron scent of human blood. He would have to consider that later. Malcador stripped himself of his robes and cloak, rolling them up and shoving them in his small leather sack. He still bore breeches, but his upper body was lean, yet toned. He kept himself maintained for nothing if not vanity, with fair, cream colored skin. He donned the armor as quickly as he could, but nearly protested to put the helm on before he forced himself to do so. He didn't see any distinguishing marks on the corpses of the men he found, but he did not want to risk it.

He opened the visor, however, and examined the ring he caught. He was lucky enough to have seen it coming his way. "Hrmmm, no, I don't recognize it. Though I am not too familiar with the Moonsea's aristocracy. It'll come in handy, however." He assured her, hoping he was right. Knowledge was still something to get paid for, if nothing else. If they found out who it belonged to, a wealthy cousin might give them a reward for the return of the item and news of their family member's demise.

"Alright, I think I'm ready to get the hells out of here, if you are." He told her, dropping his visor and pocketing the ring. He only had a few spells with the limited time he was able to study the tome, but if push came to shove, he could at least perform a few tricks. Arlocke crawled up Serphia's leg and wiggled his thorax as if to goad them on.

The violence outside could only last so long. It was best they left while it was still going, or the chances of them being spotted was raised significantly when there were no other distractions. Or worse: They were actively looking for those who sought to escape. Mystra be praised, there was still some commotion on the street, so that had to count for something.