The guard before Cris and Mina twists away, clutching for a moment at his the pain shooting through his back and spine (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPiWUq5DUjE) and hissing with pain at the movement, instinctively regathering himself by taking his feet and drawing his sword with a wicked hiss of steel.  Cris' determination with the dagger-- a decent piece of metal itself, but not crafted for this task-- looks to be ill-fated, despite her best intentions.  The mechanism on the manacles is clearly intended to be tightened with the simplest of tools-- not a lock, but a simpler mechanism... a bolt.  Cris readies the point of the blade to breach a lock and force a pin, as she's done so many time with simple locks, even risking the tip of the blade for immediate access, but this would be fruitless.  By reflex, she tries the small bolt with her fingertips, feeling oil and iron slip between the pad of her forefinger and thumb.  The Tries the butt of the dagger as a fulcrum, but it only slips, too rounded and unwieldy, and then the leather-wrapped grip-- too long for the task.<br/><br/>Mina can see the blade leveled as the guard steadies himself preparing for an attack while she is helpless-- then suddenly Cris spots a the tiny gap between the manacle's hinges on one wrist, and with careful placement and a twist of her wrist, she pries the pin loose, then turn the blade edgewise and rocks it slipping the oiled cotter pin out of the manacles where it had been somehow tapped too short, and it rises into the third ring of the hinge enough to spring one manacle open, letting the cuff open and freeing Mina's hand.  The manacles dangle now from Mina's left wrist-- a minor, but forgettable obstruction in the face of certain death.<br/><br/>...<br/><br/>A few steps across the deck, Malia feels the blade in her hand sizzle eagerly as she strikes at the Walker, seeming to guide her hand truer than her skill-- but the oily beast darts quickly aside, rolling and poising itself for retaliation.  It lifts its hands in a wild gesticulation and curses in the Devils' own tongue again, this time the spell readying it for a more sinister assault.  "GA'ASH NI'KROM FAL'KAG" it spews,<br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Concentration=check 2+6=8</div></div>but the sudden appearance of a weapon that the thing seems to sense is aligned against its very<em>nature</em>has confounded it, interrupting its concentration, and when it sucks air through the great gilded skull, green balefire seems to spark from the air, beginning to draw in through the nostrils-- only to dissipate suddenly as the beast coughs, cursing in common as the spell fails.<br/><br/>Guards moving in immediately to suppress the pit-fighter's interference are met with a furious swing from the long-haired elf, whose springing attack whizzes in the air and resonates against the hard metal of the cauldron just as the beast drops its stance to cast its spell...<div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">For Ox, the way I do fumbles is that if you get a 1, you roll again to hit... THEN, if you miss again, you fuck up bad.  Otherwise it's just a normal miss. Your 20 on the confirm roll simply means that despite the miss, you made a remarkable recovery.</div></div>The heat of the cauldron is palpable against his knuckles and a swarm of amber fireflies flits up from the pot of ruinous fire, and the scalding wave of heat causes him to recoil just in time to avoid being blinded by the cinders.<br/><br/>The guards he had skirted past are not heeding the bleating warnings of the half-starved acolyte who frantically waves the feathered letter like some kind of banner of truce.  The first lets his sword fly at Ox's back, and a second moves in from Ox's side with a piercing stride, letting the blade lead the way in a hopes to stay out of the range of this crazed maniac.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"> 8 + 2 = 10 v 12 miss, 7 + 2 = 9 vs 14 miss.  Fuck these bad guys. </div></div><br/>With his practiced movement and precision, he is able to avoid their strikes with a simple sidestep, and their blades ring out as they collide harmlessly-- not deterred, the two guards whirl around on him and prepare to press the attack, side-by-side, as another guard's footsteps can be heard closing from behind Ox on the stage.<br/><br/>...<br/>From the stage beside Nephele, the chiseled-jawed mage... or wizard... or sorcerer?  Whatever he is... continues his subtle, but clear to her, spellcasting with a bemused smile.  Although the cloaked Raven on the stage has backed away... her empty hands showing deference to the order although the Executioner is bearing down on her with the steel rakes on his hands at the ready... she shows no fear, no sign of further intruding into the fight.  The mage on the other hand brushes his fingers together, whispers more words in a strange tongue, and then interlocks his fingers--<br/>...<br/>As her hands are now free, and Cris is now armed with a dagger, they are free to act... and Mina has a sudden awareness of a spell reaching her.  A faint shimmer in the air between her and the guard, a glow the shape of a disc, perhaps? ... and the guard's raised sword bears down-- and bounces harmlessly away.  "Oh, really--" the guard says with a sneer behind his folded-iron mask.  "I seen this one before.  Killed the mage who used it, too-- Let's go, girly!"<br/><br/>