[As the fierce battles rage on in the maze, slashing blackened leaves and littering thorns and weapons and apparently body parts every which way, the storm also rages overhead and lightning continues to shine through the slightly slowing rain (moisture (3)). They've fought through the night, and it seems as though the dawn is not yet here.
The crash of thunder and the general din of the weather makes it difficult to communicate or know where their allies are -- so what happens eventually is that Yamanbagiri comes dropping down from the top of the hedge maze wherever each group is, landing lightly and nodding at them as though he didn't just drop out of an extremely-not-clear sky. His cloak swirls around him, wet with blood and rain and mud, but he's apparently elected not to take it off, regardless. His sword flashes as he holds it at the ready.]
... I've found the gate. I think we've cleared out enough of the maze, so there should be time for us to close it if we hurry. Before anything worse comes through. Follow me.
[And before anyone can question him on what worse actually means, he's already moving -- perhaps too quickly for the conditions and suddenness of the message, but they have more people to gather so they can bring a proper and quite literal close to this thing.
Once those who have been patrolling the maze have gathered, they move on. Deeper and deeper, twisting and winding in single-or-double file on the path; the farther they go the more the rain drums down, though it seems as though the violence of the storm itself is calming, like moving into the eye of the maelstrom. As things quiet down without, however, other troubles start within: the headache and buzzing ramp up again, not quite to the point that no one can walk, but Tiamat and Sabo might recognize this particular unwelcome escalation.
And in fact, it's easy to tell when they get to the center of the maze, because not only is there a large, freestanding double-gate with criss-crossing bars pouring black miasma and that unpleasant feeling out of every opening, but arrayed in front of the open doors of that gate are a number of warriors who look to be at least semi-black mist as well, glimpses of armor and bone flashing in the lightning and the reddened glow of their eyes. None of them are armed, but their sheer numbers and the bizarre mental oppression of their existence are menace enough.
Beside them, Yamanbagiri mutters, half to himself:]
Week 4: Friday - Graveyard Endgame FINALE
The crash of thunder and the general din of the weather makes it difficult to communicate or know where their allies are -- so what happens eventually is that Yamanbagiri comes dropping down from the top of the hedge maze wherever each group is, landing lightly and nodding at them as though he didn't just drop out of an extremely-not-clear sky. His cloak swirls around him, wet with blood and rain and mud, but he's apparently elected not to take it off, regardless. His sword flashes as he holds it at the ready.]
... I've found the gate. I think we've cleared out enough of the maze, so there should be time for us to close it if we hurry. Before anything worse comes through. Follow me.
[And before anyone can question him on what worse actually means, he's already moving -- perhaps too quickly for the conditions and suddenness of the message, but they have more people to gather so they can bring a proper and quite literal close to this thing.
Once those who have been patrolling the maze have gathered, they move on. Deeper and deeper, twisting and winding in single-or-double file on the path; the farther they go the more the rain drums down, though it seems as though the violence of the storm itself is calming, like moving into the eye of the maelstrom. As things quiet down without, however, other troubles start within: the headache and buzzing ramp up again, not quite to the point that no one can walk, but Tiamat and Sabo might recognize this particular unwelcome escalation.
And in fact, it's easy to tell when they get to the center of the maze, because not only is there a large, freestanding double-gate with criss-crossing bars pouring black miasma and that unpleasant feeling out of every opening, but arrayed in front of the open doors of that gate are a number of warriors who look to be at least semi-black mist as well, glimpses of armor and bone flashing in the lightning and the reddened glow of their eyes. None of them are armed, but their sheer numbers and the bizarre mental oppression of their existence are menace enough.
Beside them, Yamanbagiri mutters, half to himself:]
Historical Revisionists...!
No. They're not right.