Cliffside Ruins - Fusei Fortress

The place was well lit when night fell, making it impossible to sneak near the walls of the fortress. There were a number of guard towers along the walls, manned and lit with braziers, as well as a number of walkers along the walls to help ensure that no one was approaching any direction without their knowledge. There was much for activity within the walls, and much could be heard - more so the closer one got to the fort. Men were sparring, working, mining, eating, drinking and laughing. Women's voices were scattered amongst them, some mingling with their male comrades and some crying or pleading for mercy. The smell of campfire wood and fired deer and animal meat was on the air, as well as wet dirt and dust and rock.

The front gate was a gruesome sight to ward off those not of the Fusei - pikes embedded in the earth and spikes on the wall held a number of wretched warnings to keep others away. Corpses of Dongshu soldiers and citizens, mostly just the heads, were on display for any to see - leaving the area with a foul stink. However, it didn't do anything to deter the carrion - crows were constantly a guest at this free buffet, picking away at the remains for bits to eat. Finding a bird in the sky wouldn't be too hard a task.

Patrols were consistent, and changed by the hour though this left little window in between the guards. One would not leave until his replacement was there and already in formation to make his rounds.

Indeed, there was a mass of the back of the fortress that was one with the rocky terrain of the mountain base. Climbing the sheer cliffs would be tricky, if not completely treachrous, and the walls seemed to be erected thicker and higher along the rocks - mounted with more pikes and spikes to deter people from trying to work their way up rock and plank in the corners. If things were not tough enough with the defenses, there were platforms here and there atop the palisade walls that were lit with braziers and houses a number of senties at any one - sitted at tables in chairs, chattering, watching, playing table games, anything to help keep their attention at these mundane posts.

Inside the walls, it was a tiny village in of itself. The open "square" was framed with tents and the occasional crude wooden gazebos to provide some cover over working areas and a forge. The space within the circle was large enough for a small number of fire pits, and was also a common traffic area for those living there to interact, drink and eat and laugh. People moved in and out of cover, the occasional prisoner dragged along for whatever purpose they might serve. There were several shackled together or to the supports of the ramps and platforms that ascended the rocks to the higher points of the fort, hammering and picking away at the stones. Dotted beneath the ramps and ledges created by these platforms were a number of cages to hold those that were not working, or couldn't. In the very back, tucked into a bit of an alcove further deepened by the wider working platform above was a larger cage - housing two large, hungry tigers that were chewing on remains or preening themselves.

It would be now that feeding time was seen - a drunken Fusei bandit was shoved towards the wide cage door and shoved inside, where he hit the ground just as his comrades made haste to lock the door. It would only be within moments after a brief stalking that both creatures would descend upon him and his screams would silence as he was ripped apart.

Above the before mentioned platform was a wide cliff that was relatively flat and led directly to two caves carved into the mountain and another hollowed alcove that showed a promising exposure of iron deposits. There was also a larger tent, one face open to watch over the fortress in its entirety and built of wood and bone and animal hide. Seated inside, sitting in a chair at a table and feasting on a plate of hearty deer and potatoes, was a man of an older age with wild, white and grey hair - almost a lion's mane. He was armed with three daggers in his reach and two at his hips, a katana sitting up against his knee and several more weapons around his tent - swords and shortswords, thin and wide and straight and curved. His figure was carved of pure muscle, and his rough visage was a good enough indicator he might be in charge.

There would be no simple ropes to bind steel bars for any cage, only padlocks - their keys likely hanging on a belt of a bandit, though it was any guess as to which one held which key to which lock. Shackles and manacles held prisoners to their location of work or grouping them together to help prevent escape.

The side of rock that Telemachon proceeded to climb was, as mentioned, a sheer face and guarded at a distance with dangerous walls and a few on watch at the platform above the palisade. But they had little attention to a shifting shadow in the dark outside the reach of the braziers alight with life. Two were perched in chairs and leaning either into the back or forward onto the table that sat between them. Before them was an odd game of sorts, with a design made of small stones in little tablet tiles, inscribed with markings. There seemed to be duplicates among the game pieces, and they were pairing them up in turn. A third made his rounds about the platform, and turned to continue back along his route along the wall in the original direction he came from.

One of the two seated suddenly snarled at his comrade - "Hey! You cheated!"

"Did not!" barked the other one, clearly offended, as he subtly tucked a tile up into his sleeve out of sight beneath the table.

"I hear the damn tiles rattling in your sleeve!"

"You hear nothing! You're just sore because you can't play right!"

And thus a brawl ensued, sending the table toppling over and the tiles flying down to the common grounds below, which caused a ruckus of it's own. In mere moments, there was a very clear chant to urge on a fight below the walls and under the walking platforms where they had crashed down from.

The brute climbed on, a relatively quiet chlink as each axe hit rock. He snarled to himself in annoyance when he heard the commotion start up at the platform. The attention of all would be there on that scene, and he could not then emerge upon it. With a grunt he dislodged both axes and leaped to the side, to hopefully emerge at another platform, where he would chop up that guardians at the moment he got close enough. At least the cheering and yelling would mask the sound of his climb, and when he climbed on he could take the heads of the men there without other noticing. When he arrived, he'd have to swiftly think on whether or not he should wait for a rotation of the guards to kill them too to make sure no alarm was raised prematurely, or to proceed with the rest of his plan at once.

But, something else came. It was in the local tongue. Telemachon knew it, but he knew not the specific name mentioned. A wail on the wind? What could wind do to him, he was too grand! For now he went on, but kept a wary eye out for the paranormal.

A groan came form the climber. Men were going to his position, armed and prepared. Now he abandoned the ‎careful motions. He started to enthusiastically slam each axe into the snow to quickly rise up to his initial destination. With the Guards there joining the impromptu festivities he would climb up. Through the scouting with the literal bird's eye view he had a decent if imperfect knowledge of the area, and the moment his feet hit solid ground he would bolt towards the tiger cages. He knew that even in his great armour he was at the very edge of possible human speed and so hoped that in conjunction with the current distraction of the fight he would be able to get there before being bogged down. All the while as he ran a sinister red-black smoke would slowly being to curl from his blades. He didn't have time to get to the keys, instead with strikes of an axe would the locks break if he reached them. As he was running to the first step of his plan he began to consider how he would reach those imprisoned and what he could give them to fight with more than hand and foot. Then again, there was the variable go the supernatural to account for. The origins of the strange voice had not yet shown there faces....

As Telemachon reached the cage of the felines he took a double handed grip of one of his axes and swing swiftly to free them. Then, he ran along knowing that these kitties would most likely come out to play and so he went to the prisoners. Men were knocking arrows into their bows and they were slowly organizing. Still for now he had a short break. He knew the plates proper of his armour would stop most arrows and the joints were also protected even if a man with a stronger pull could probably let a good arrow punch through. 

Once he reached the fearful people he would let his axes on their locks and then on their shackles or bindings, to liberate them. Hopefully there were tools and other such things for them to arm themselves with, but the broken pieces of their cages and shackles would have to do if none else was present. Certainly, they could arm themselves with whatever the first men Telemachon fought carried. As he went about his task he began to scream in a passable variant of the local tongue. "Hear me, prisoners of the Fusei. I will break cages and shackles, but your freedom is not yet won. You will have to fight the scum coming to return you into their grasp, but you will fight. For your freedom you will fight. Any man too much of a coward to fight for freedom shall die now, for he will slow the fight of those who are not cowards. Rise, rise to be free!" With those words he prepared for the coming reprisal of the bandits. These freed people would most likely die, for ultimately they were just a staying force for Telemachon to have a chance to get as much of the arcane power in him as he could, as well as to not have him be encircled while he let his fearsome blades go upon the enemy. If the enemy was not by then reduced to a small number - which was quite likely - he would have to flee to the region of the fortress with more structures and places to hide. One by one from the shadows he would have to kill the criminals. 

Telemachon snarled. His plan was falling apart before his eyes. The people were cowards fleeing to the sides, and he was to be overwhelmed. 
‎
Can you kill them all?‎

Something of the sort was asked of him by the person in the tea house, he couldn't quite remember the name. Yes, yes he could. But the chances seemed to be dwindling by the moment. He turned to the people freed, and he brought one of his axes down on one, then another, then a third, fourth and fifth.... Suddenly an arrow hit him in the face, going straight through his jaw and coming down out the other side. The pain, oh the pain. It brought clarity, pure thought. His initial plan was foolish, moronic; only an idiot could devise such and that was what he was. No, in such dens of thieves and other scum the leader was key. Once he fell  then infighting, and hate would make all turn upon one another. Hopefully. 

Anger - but now purified - returned and he ran forth at the enemy. As he was about to reach the first warriors with shields he ground to a halt and leaped. As he leaped the earlier smoke coming forth from him dissipated, and he would disappear from the foe having expended the charged power. He would reappear some distance past the coming wave. Having left the prisoners to die and closer to his quarry, he ran towards the tent he earlier spied in bird form with both axes raised, a savage growl slowly growing in his throat. ‎

As he reappeared he was once again encircled - trapped. He was glad that there were no crossbowmen amongst the enemy for his black plate would then be far less effective. Many arrows bounced off harmlessly, however two got into the joint from the back of his right knee, while another sheared off most of his left ear. The monster-man snarled, pointing a buzz-blurred axe at the warlord with his victim. If he meant to dissuade him from attack by having a hostage, he was a fool. In the end he did aim to rescue the woman, but if she had to die so the enemy could die, and thus many other people no longer be threatened by the bandits then who was he to care? 

Once more he ran, and leaped expending the second charge of magic he accumulated to get onto the ramp before his quarry. For now he had no more power but that mattered not for now. He would lunge at the bandit-lord, right axe going for his thigh after his left went for the shoulder. Both blows were monstrous in power but he held back from using his full force so he could give equally brutal ones should the first two be parried.