Fantasy (Closed) Retough IC

[Viper Actual]

"Sir Maldorn!" Dahlia shouted over the din of fighting. "I don't suppose you have any other tricks up your sleeve!"

Despite the gravity of the current situation Maldorn still managed to produce a brief smirk as he shrugged towards Dahlia. Its meaning however was yet to be deciphered as it could either be a "Well, maybe I do"-sort of smirk or a "Nope!".

Either way, as the remaining soldiers were frozen in place, the former option seemed to be the answer as Maldorn did appear to prepare yet another spell as he began to slowly draw invisible shapes in the air before him while staring down on the rapidly melting ice which encased the invaders.

Maldorn's staff would slowly began to glow. This glow however was not that of a fire-spell but rather an intense bright light. For Dahlia and Retten the light would feel calming, like watching the purest of stars but for the invaders- had they indeed dedicated themselves to powers of evil and darkness- the light would be blinding, scorching and absolute in ridding the invaders of any dark powers within.

Hopefully it would prove to be powerful enough.

As the light grew in power and scope Maldorn raised his staff further and glanced over at Dahlia and Bishop Retten; "Your chance to strike is now! Finish them off or subdue them for capture!"

kaito9049 Solar Daddy

 

[Dragongal]

Nyota hadn’t heard most of what was said. Her gaze was solely focused on the dead men lying in front of the group now. That was, until the masked man pushed her out of the way. Snapping her head up in confusion and anger, she glared daggers at the man until he turned her way.

“She shall heal you, sir, for I do not wish to balance my deeds with you.” It was the first time she had been completely venomous towards someone. Somewhere deep inside, a pang of guilt clawed at her, begging her to apologize immediately. Her pride, of course, would not let her.

“You are a crude man, yes? Pushing me, damning mother nature with your words. You may not believe she has ability to punish you, but yes. Perhaps in days, perhaps in weeks or… or…longer!” Huffing with anger, she crossed her arms and turned away. Nona was happy to perch on her shoulder once more, cooing softly in her ear as if trying to comfort a raging beast.

“I have done my part to help you all. Everyone is alright, yes?”


“She,” Winnie puffed her cheeks in irritation,”...is named Eilonwyn. Eh-lonn-wyn.” Only after Winnie introduced herself did she take in what the fish man had said. “Yes, I will heal you when we are safe. However,” She looked inside her bag for what felt like the hundredth time,”I’m afraid I am running low on supplies…but I should have enough to heal you.”


Winnie debated on how to approach Nyota but, if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure how. If anything, Eilonwyn also wanted to leave. Her body felt as if a weight had been placed upon it, every movement requiring more and more effort. The idea of going to the castle was a challenge she wasn’t quite sure she could manage. Though, she also could not make it outside of the city without the help of this group.

“Do forgive me for asking,” She looked around the group,”...but how much longer will this take? I’m afraid my body has grown rather weak.”

The sooner they finished this, the better.


Danny shoved the scroll in a pouch on his back so they could check it later. He looked to Lera ( Solar Daddy ) as she spoke to them. “I think we’re all uninjured over here.” Uninjured was as far as he’d go. He certainly didn’t think Nyota was *alright*, after all. And Winnie was very quickly proving that she wasn’t alright physically either. Some kind of exhaustion, probably an adrenaline crash. He’s probably have to carry her from here out.

He looked at the shorter individual with the mask ( 0stinato ) The same one he had followed down that alley with Winnie. In the end, it ended up being a good thing, and he certainly owed this shifty individual. “You did good work. Though you could have ran off, you didn’t. Your help was very appreciated.”

He looked to Nyota as well. Seeing her upset and aggressive was heartbreaking - it was partly his fault, since he asked her to kill someone. He couldn’t undo that, only live with and work with the repercussions. “I’m sorry, I’d never ask you to kill someone like that again… though he was rude to push you, it’s kind of him to offer to help you again should the need arise.”

Poor Eilonwyn wasn’t looking very well though. He looked down to her and softly said, “I don’t know, but we have to get going. The castle is the safest bet we have. If you need, I will carry you. - but I promise we’ll get there.”

He could hear yelling from behind him. With a soft curse, he turned and saw a strange girl and a man emerge from an alley, and he could hear the soldiers coming too. He took the shield off of his forearm and held it out to Nyota. “I think this may suit you better than the sword, my friend. I promise we can talk when it’s safe.”


“It is quite alright Daniel… It had to be done, yes?” She tried to keep her tone level, but there were still shaky breaths in between, the adrenaline not wearing off just yet.

“ And, um, forgive me El…El-onwyn? I did not mean disrespect. I do not have any supplies, but shall I find more on our journey I will help.” With a nod to the both of them Nyota stared blankly at the cobbled path. Her body shivered despite the heat of the raging fires, tears still stinging her eyes. She had to admit, though, it was the first time in a long time her mind remained blank. She was sure it was still processing everything, but in a twisted way it was a brief release from the constant nightmares that lived in her head. Everything around her seemed distant as well, as if this was all just a terrible, long dream.

Danny’s voice was safely calm, a complete contrast from her own calmness. Nyota took the shield without looking up at him. She couldn’t look at anyone right now, not while she wasn’t herself. They’d talk later, he said. What did that mean? Talk about what she had done? She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“I shall follow you all, just tell me what to do.”


Eilonwyn managed a small smile to Nyota, “It is alright, my friends call me Winnie- if that’s easier I mean.” Her heart ached at the mention of her friends. Would this war reach her home? Would they be alright? Surely the courts would have met by now.

The fey turned to Daniel,”If we must go to the castle I will follow.” She paused for a moment to further collect her thoughts. “The thing about fey…since we are not born like you humans, I grow weaker the longer from the forest I am.” She wanted to explain further, but talking only wasted what little energy she had left.

“I can make it to the castle, however.”


Daniel looked between the two young women and nodded. "You two watch out for each other for now, I'll be back." He turned to Lera as he pulled his great axe off his back. A two handed weapon, and much slower than a single axe, but it had reach, and enough weight to break multiple bones with a single swing even if it couldn't cut through armor. "Alright my new guard friend, let's go."

 

[queendilettante]

Hazm turned toward the street one final time before the "soldiers" crashed into him. It appeared that the, uh, one, two, three ,four, five others had effectively cleaned house of the faux-Ykrumian invaders on the street. Good. With any luck, they'd join this alley fight shortly and Hazm would be able to disengage and leave the city with Odette.

Wait, were they arguing?

Hazm's jaw dropped.

“She shall heal you, sir, for I do not wish to balance my deeds with you.”

Stars, a heretic and a pacifist. If Hazm had realized that there were civilians in the group - much less civilians who felt the need to moralize during an active invasion - he'd have just led the invaders from the alley toward them and continued running. Fuck. That's what he deserved for putting trust in Praetumians. Even a competent one would be hard-pressed to give more than a rat's ass about anyone not from the same squalor as them.

Hazm glanced back toward the alley at the three encroaching soldiers. Three meters away. There wasn't enough time - 13 seconds at most. Curse those fools in the street. What were they even doing? Was active slaughter of their city the time to fucking squabble? Even the taller human man - the only one looking particularly combat equipped - seemed distressingly distracted with regards to that woman-

“I’m sorry, I’d never ask you to kill someone like that again..."

Was this a joke? How in Stars' grace could stupidity of such caliber have survived this long?

Hazm grunted and licked a piece of last night's debauchery out of his teeth. How a base sinner such as him was the only reliable person in this nation, he could never understand. He simply knew that, as ever, it'd be on him - and him alone - to keep himself alive. He locked eyes with the leading invader barreling toward him. 8 seconds.

Inhale.

Hazm dropped his bo staff into the mud, pushing to steady it. He shook it to test the give and winced.

Exhale.

It would hold, but it wouldn't be sturdy. If he knew he'd be on his own for the fight, he'd have walked further into the street; the cobble would have been far preferable. No matter. He'd make do, as always, with less than ideal circumstances.

Inhale.

The first and bloodiest of three mercenaries crashed toward him like drunk lightning. Hazm swung his legs over the left side of his staff, holding himself afloat with his arms. The staff gave slightly, as expected, but it held. The sprinting idiot hadn't the time to register Hazm's movement, and ran exactly where he was supposed to.

Hazm pulled on the staff for momentum and swung his heel at the man's head, his foot slamming hard into his exposed jaw. Hazm dug his foot deeper into the cracked bone and followed the momentum of the crash over to the right side of the staff. He hit the ground much more gracefully than the invader and readjusted his grip.

Exhale.

Only one of the remaining soldiers seemed phased, if but for a moment, by the swift removal of the first. If he wavered, he was probably from Ykrum. A military academy drop out, perhaps? The other, a woman, gave no such pause.

Inhale.

The invader swung her probably-stolen sword down at Hazm, who quickly ducked under his staff. The blade connected with the hardened staff, but made no dent. He snickered. She grunted and raised the weapon above her head for another swing. The other looked confused; this was, evidently, his first experience of the day with someone who could fight back. Barbarian.

Exhale.

As the woman's blade neared the peak of its crest, Hazm dropped his hand from the staff above him to the mud, and threw it at the woman's face. She staggered, ever slightly, and paused her swing.

Huh, perhaps it was a good thing he wasn't on the cobble after all.

Inhale.

Hazm leapt from his knelt position under the staff and used the force to swing the muddy end at the invader's throat. He felt a distressing pop as the metal connected with soft flesh. Probably her windpipe. She fell backward on cue and clutched at her impacted trachea, mud splattering against Hazm's shins as she fell. Wonderful.

Exhale.

The final soldier was terrified, as predicted. Hazm simply swung the staff from where it connected with the woman's throat at the stunned invader's helmet. He crumpled immediately under the force of the blow, despite Hazm having pulled back before the staff connected. With luck, he was just unconscious. Not that it was Hazm's business, but he figured that one would know more than the others as to why they were dressed as Ykrumian soldiers. At the very least, Hazm could torture him more easily.

If there was any doubt through observation alone, it was abundantly clear to Hazm that these invaders were not Ykrumian's finest. He had spent far too much time training actual Ykrumian soldiers himself and serving as a chaplain in their encampments. The Stars themselves were liable to all go out before Ykrum would deem these three sods worthy of leading an invasion.

So what was this?

Hazm shook his head and brushed the mud off from his clothes as best as he could. That was unimportant at the moment. Hazm was much angrier at the idiots in the street than he was at three easily dispensable barbarians. "Girl," he said, turning around to fully face her for the first time since they were nearly pushed from the alley. He pointed at the still-gasping woman and the bloody leader with the broken jaw. "Kill those two. They're useless." He walked past her toward the cleared street, the Praetumians still far from helping. "Oh, but, keep that one alive." He pointed to the man with a slight dent to the right side of his helmet. "We can question that one."

Hazm spun from the alley on his calloused heels. The daylight in full view for the first time in hours outside of the alley felt like a stab to the head. "Fuck," he mumbled. He'd have to remember not to be hungover the next time he was an unwitting victim of invasion.

He walked forward, seeing the group of fighters and over-principled cowards more clearly than he had before. "Thank you all, dearly," he bowed, swinging his staff around his back as he did so. "It was a pleasure to fight at your side in resistance to these cowardly Ykrumian's," he hissed, mockingly. He scowled at the taller man and short woman next to him. "Genuinely," he continued, on the off chance his sarcasm wasn't evident, "I never would have been able to handle those three if not for your invaluable aid in the alley." He spat on the ground toward the taller, overly-apologetic man. "A fucking classic Praetumian welcome, I see."

 

[guac]

"Girl," he said, turning around to fully face her for the first time since they were nearly pushed from the alley. He pointed at the still-gasping woman and the bloody leader with the broken jaw. "Kill those two. They're useless." He walked past her toward the cleared street, the Praetumians still far from helping. "Oh, but, keep that one alive." He pointed to the man with a slight dent to the right side of his helmet. "We can question that one."

Typical, Odette thought sourly as Hazm walked off to argue with the strangers, leaving the dirtiest work to fall to her.

She drew her dagger and approached the gasping woman. She didn’t have to do it. With Hazm distracted and no immediate danger in sight, there was nothing stopping Odette from taking this chance to slip away and find a safe place to wait the chaos out. She knelt beside the woman, who was now weakly attempting to crawl away. The voices remained quiet on the subject.

Old habits may wither, yet they never truly die. It was a saying her mother used to mumble under her breath while cleaning up after her father – it seemed oddly relevant now. Odette quickly and cleanly drew her dagger across the woman’s throat. A kinder death than suffocation, at the very least.

She dealt with the next soldier in the same fashion, though he was mercifully unconscious for his end. She turned then to the soldier Hazm had instructed her to spare. He was unconscious as well – unthreatening at the moment, but surely not for long.

She first removed his sword belt and secured it to her own waist. Hazm hadn’t trained her much in swordplay, but she figured it would still be a better defense than the wooden spoon that already dangled from her belt – the magic she could produce with it was powerful, but unreliable, and now didn't seem the time to be taking chances. She then turned her attention to finding something to restrain him with. After some sifting through the alley’s abundant garbage, she produced a dirty and discarded fishing net, which she used to tie his hands and feet.

With her work finished, she stood to rejoin Hazm in the street.

Old habits or no, she reflected, somewhat bitterly, he'll show me some respect this time around, else his throat is next.

 

[0stinato]

•••
From the journal of the famed unknown Sazaki explorer of the mid-700s:
Many forms of Prehlaam across Amkaor discourage the cutting or cropping of head hair. While in all other areas, Prehlaam revolves around efficiency and productivity, hair is considered a counterweight to these lessons. Many styles can be adopted without raising issue, with most followers attempting to keep hair from interrupting everyday tasks. Hair, as a common and manageable bodily aspect, is supposed to serve to a Prehlaami individual the role of burden, acting as a physical reminder of the weight, discomfort and increased attention a task or war will need if it is procrastinated. In some communities, all body hair is thought of in this way, but with head hair being unisex, it serves the role most commonly in Prehlaam.
•••​

“She,” Winnie puffed her cheeks in irritation,”...is named Eilonwyn. Eh-lonn-wyn.” Only after Winnie introduced herself did she take in what the fish man had said. “Yes, I will heal you when we are safe. However,” She looked inside her bag for what felt like the hundredth time,”I’m afraid I am running low on supplies…but I should have enough to heal you.”

Electing not to further enrage Nyota and Winnie, Sohrab decided to respond only to Winnie, whose introduction served as a perfect segue to escape whatever situation his attempted sympathy for Nyota and her pact with nature had initiated. Evidently, the woman with the bird was best held in the comfort of this Eilonwyn rather than of himself. Nature was not his patron. If anything, he used to attempt to combat the entropic guiles of nature during his embalming and preparing of orc corpses up in the mountains. He was familiar with the herbs, spices and alcohols used to stave off rot, used to keep nature at bay rather than letting it in. Perhaps that was why he had failed to see the distressed woman’s side of things as Eilonwyn did: he had been fated to step into a quiet, concentrated arena with nature’s forceful presence, armed only with balsam, cotton and mercury.

Replying on that topic was out of his ability.

‘Meeting in this way is a shame, but knowing your name is helpful. I’m Taiwo Sohrab: you know I’m a wanted man, so no point in me keepin’ my lips shut about my name. Understand though, my “crimes” have never injured anyone, and I do not steal from those that would miss it. I’m no threat to you, ‘nless you’re a threat to me.’

A moment later, Sohrab wondered if his repeated word ‘threat’ had in fact summoned something that matched the description. Before his brain recognised the noises, his body had adopted the best defensive posture it could considering his injury. But yes, there were the noises he’d learned awareness of, the muffled clinkling of the scaled armour and heavy footfalls of a charging unit of Ykrumians. He stepped forward, eyes on the alleyway, seeing a figure dart inside, but not seeing the soldiers rush out of the opening. Instead, a tall man emerged, expression twisting between mockery, slander and anger. The staff in his hand would make him a difficult opponent, so Sohrab, now missing his longest and heaviest weapon, took careful steps back until he was in line with Daniel and Lera.

Listening to his slander was pointless: if he had anything important to say, Sohrab was certain one of the others would pick up on it. Instead, the orc was interested in the man’s heritage. Lera, Danny, Winnie, Nyota and himself were certainly not Ykrumian, but this man had physical similarities that leaned that way. Additionally, Sohrab realised he’d never actually seen the Ykrumians he’d heard down the alley.

With a slight turn of his head in all directions, Sohrab checked left, checked right, and checked above himself, never letting the man out of his peripheral vision. No threats, no Ykrumians lining up to charge them down while all eyes were on the man.

‘I’m not coming towards you,’ Sohrab stated to the man, ‘but I am going to look down the alley behind you.’ As he stepped swiftly, electing to move behind Lera and Danny in his quest to have a viewpoint down the alley behind the man, he said to the both of them, ‘If he’s talkin’ big, he could be trying a distraction. Don’t let him distract you.’

As he arrived, finally getting a clear view down the alley, he saw the Ykrumians lying on the ground, all unmoving. He also saw a young girl – another one! – wandering towards them. On her person, he saw no long weapons, nor any ranged capabilities, though if she had a spellcasting focus, it could be hidden anywhere.

‘Hey!’ Sohrab flattened his hand to the two strangers in a gesture to halt her, and to request the tall man keep position. ‘No closer. State what you were doing and quickly.’

He did not want to be stationary any longer, but alas it seemed he and the others would be forced to find out whether the two before them were friend or foe. The girl’s expression was not passive and distressed like Nyota and Winnie’s had been, and the man’s heritage was not giving Sohrab any reason to remain calm either. If it came down to it, he wasn’t confident about taking on the man in a fight. Staffs in experienced hands were deadly, and if he had dispatched the three Ykrumian soldiers lying in the alley, it was clear his hands were significantly trained to be a problem for Sohrab.

At least, he considered, his face and head were very well protected.

--
Interactions: Aeris Solar Daddy Dragongal queendilettante guac Pipsqueak

 

[kaito9049]

Dahlia's shaky breath steadied as Maldorn cast his spell, her puffs of condensate becoming more regular as the strange light soothed her tense nerves and frostnipped arms. Who was this man? Yet another question that would have to wait for an answer.

Dal raised her staff in her right hand, a cold feeling crawling up her arm and across her fingers as she summoned her mana toward the catalyst. Many people imagined magic, particularly elemental spells, as a force to be coaxed and prodded toward destruction. But in her experience, it would be more appropriate to compare it to a hungry beast, one that had to be restrained before it harmed an innocent — or the caster themselves. And as she felt the mana rage through her body, she could sense it demand release. It wanted, as much as a stream wanted to flow downward, to become a wave of icicles, piercing the helpless soldiers through their chests and bloodying the wall behind them.

Or was that merely what she wanted?

No, Dal decided quickly, absorbing some of the latent mana back into the core of her body. Dealing death was a task for soldiers and assassins, and she was neither.

Instead, the scribe suddenly stabbed her staff into the ground, releasing a conical blast of frost toward the invaders. The ice rapidly surrounded the fighters, encasing them in yet another layer of frost and causing great spikes of ice to sprout from the ground, surrounding them in a makeshift prison of stalagmites.

"I believe that is more than sufficient, Sir Maldorn," Dal said, leaning against her staff for support. Moon above, her self-defense instructor would be livid if she saw how tired Dal had become after casting a few combat spells. "I would be happy to interrogate these individuals, if that is appropriate, but I also do not wish to delay—"

Dal stopped short. Now that she had the opportunity to look at the soldiers up close and unafraid of being cut down with a spear, she realized what made them so odd. Their armor, while similar to those she'd seen worn by Ykrum's infantry, had a few differences. The greaves, for one, were of a different sort, and the design of the backplate differed slightly. And as she stepped closer to examine one of the fighters, she realized there was a more important difference.

"These people," she said aloud, "are not Ykrumian."

 

[Solar Daddy]

Port Hemmis - City Square, Central City

Lera, once the combat had begun again, readied her trusted sword and shield, gripping the leather armband on the shield to brace for any potential hit she may not have been expecting while gaining information on the situation around her. When the threats all seemed to be located within the same direction and there were no flanking soldiers, Lera charged in alongside Daniel and Sohrab, only to find that the strange, staff-wielding man had dispatched them all with a small girl beside him. She wouldn't admit her slight delay in moving even further to secure the defeated opponents was caused by her disbelief. These Ykrumic pigs were big, and this weaselly monk incapacitated them all so fluently? With a piece of wood? And the girl didn't look to be armed, nor very combat oriented. The hell had she missed in the few seconds it had taken her to cross the short distance between them?

Similar to Sohrab, Lera held her shield hand up in a signal for them to remain still. When his face and accent became apparent, Lera's brain made the fastest connection it could; this man was from Ykrum, and so were the invaders. Her grip once again tightened on the shield fastener and Lera kept it close to her body. Despite being rather small, the size of the shield and her collective armor allowed her to appear at least mildly intimidating to anyone, if not for her defensive capabilities alone. Her sword arm remained by her side, ready to slash at a moment's notice. She tried to keep her eyes on the man, but kept darting her gaze over at the woman now slitting the soldier's throats. She didn't appear to be Ykrumic, but she was quite casual for someone being accompanied by one.

And then the words began spilling out of his mouth. Like an ornery child who'd been missing their much needed sleep. The old man even bothered insulting Praetians as a whole, which, for Lera, was more personal than most others. Her jaw clenched, waiting to see how the man would react, move, speak. Would anything of importance come from the mysterious monk and his companion, or would it simply be a fling of insults at Lera and her band of misfits for not stopping the invasion single-handedly?

With Sohrab's dialog, Lera listened in. She didn't want the bandit speaking on behalf of all of them, especially not a soldier of the Praetian military, but his words were sound. He allowed him to speak for now, preferring to show unity over discord to their new, mysterious encounter.

"Not a step further," Lera eventually commanded. Her knees bent ever slightly, lowering her center of gravity just enough. To the untrained eye, she was simply huddling behind her protective shield more. But to anyone examining her stance in close detail, it was a honed, perfected position. No one was a master of stalwart defense like the Heloys girl. "You'll end up like the rest of the invaders if you try anything. Drop any weapons you have on you. The girl, too." She nudged her shield lightly in their direction, signaling them to begin immediately. "I wish not to spill the blood of an Ykrumic monk, but I won't be stabbed in the back for ignoring one, either. Girl, are you alright? Do you know this man?" Her tone made it clear; if his companion wished to distance herself from the man, Lera would happily oblige.

In the distance, the ambient sounds of warfare had died down more than before. It seemed as though by now, most of the civilians residing in the city had either found well enough hiding spots, or been killed already. Still, there were occasional screams, the pounding of hooves on cobblestone, even some iconic blasts of magic from somewhere close in the city - perhaps as close as a block or two away. Lera had a fleeting hope it was her missing Bishop, but the image of a surviving clergyman was getting harder and harder to picture in this environment. Retten could be anywhere amongst the chaos, either as a corpse or a stranded civilian just looking for survival at all costs. Like the rest of them.

Under her breath, she spoke quietly, only loud enough for Danny and perhaps Sohrab to hear. "I don't trust this one bit."

queendilettante , guac , Dragongal , 0stinato , Pipsqueak , Aeris

Port Hemmis - Bay Market District, Northwest end of the city

When the fighting had quelled, Bishop Retten peeked his head out from the building's façade. The frozen Ykrumic soldiers looked like a bas-relief of warfare, the kind that permeated Terin chapels and stonework. All stuck mid-action, frozen in time, as though the gods wished to frame this moment in the annals of The Scepter. Retten took a step forward, then another. When it was clear the ice was holding, his tense posture let up a bit, rejoining the two magicians. "Well done, both of you. I'm glad to see the gods have deemed us worthy of survival, thus far." The Bishop gave a forced smile, trying to lighten the dark tone of the invasion even slightly. His role was to provide hope for those that enjoyed his mass, and this was no different. Dahlia and Maldorn were simply a smaller congregation than he was used to, located under the sky instead of a majestic stained-glass sill. The neighing of clearly frightened horses inside the half-collapsed stables were a good sign; at least they were still alive. Hopefully they were in riding condition.

With Dahlia inspecting the frozen soldiers, the Bishop glanced wearily in her direction. He held his breath, seemingly awaiting the inevitable realization that came to her. When the words left the young historian's mouth, the Bishop responded solemnly. "So it is as I've feared. There will be no simple end to this conflict, I see." The Bishop spoke cryptically, and showed no signs of wishing to explain further. Instead, he shifted focus to the present problem.

"I'm afraid the ice may begin to falter in time. We should hurry with our objective, while we still can do so unimpeded." Retten motioned to the stable doors, still blocked by a pile of rubble. The soldiers had cleared a good portion of it out of the way, but a hefty amount of debris still remained. The Bishop, showing his clear devotion to Terin teachings and magical practice, stepped just to the side of the pile and waved his hand in a counter clockwise fashion. A stream of wind flowed from his movement, soon turning into a torrent that began lifting some of the objects from the pile, blasting them across the cobblestone street. The longer the spell was held, the more intense the wind became, until the path into the stables were clear. The Bishop halted his spell and tugged on the heavy framed door, to no avail. After a few attempts, the Bishop turned to his companions. "Help me get this door open, and we can finally free ourselves of this massacre."

Viper Actual , kaito9049

 

[guac]

‘No closer. State what you were doing and quickly.’

Odette froze in her tracks. The man suddenly addressing her didn’t look very friendly, to say the least. She had seen her share of oddities in her travels, but the skull mask obscuring his face was a first. Nasty business, the voices whispered, nasty nasty. Hazm seemed to be otherwise engaged at the moment, so Odette saw no other option but to proceed cautiously.

“Killing pigs,” she responded, “although I thought that would be obvious.” She nodded to the scene behind her.

"Drop any weapons you have on you. The girl, too."

Odette’s attention drifted from the chilling man to the woman in chain mail. The girl sheepishly raised her empty hands in surrender, though she made no move to relinquish her dagger or her newly acquired sword. It seemed unwise, and besides, she hadn’t even had the chance to try it yet.

"Girl, are you alright? Do you know this man?" Her tone made it clear; if his companion wished to distance herself from the man, Lera would happily oblige.

“Unfortunately I do,” she sighed. “Pay no mind to his yapping, he’s only annoyed that he had to get his hands dirty for once.”

Though not as dirty as mine, as always, she wanted to add. She shot him a withering glance.

“Anyway, it seems we’re on the same side here, aren’t we?” Close enough to see the group as a whole now, she scanned for a friendly face. The other women looked a bit kinder, though they weren’t speaking up. “Why the distrust?”

 

[Dragongal]

‘Meeting in this way is a shame, but knowing your name is helpful. I’m Taiwo Sohrab: you know I’m a wanted man, so no point in me keepin’ my lips shut about my name. Understand though, my “crimes” have never injured anyone, and I do not steal from those that would miss it. I’m no threat to you, ‘nless you’re a threat to me.’

Taiwo Sohrab.... especially with the skull mask on that rang quite the bell. Now why was he wanted? Sure he thought it didn't hurt anyone but there's always the chance it absolutely did, or he was just blatantly lying. Not that there was time to try to puzzle all of that out anyway. A monk and a girl ran out of an alley, still halfway through fighting soldiers that certainly weren't in that alley a minute ago. By the time Lera and he got there, there were three corpses in the alley and hell, Danny had only even seen the last soldier get hit.

"Thank you all, dearly," he bowed, swinging his staff around his back as he did so. "It was a pleasure to fight at your side in resistance to these cowardly Ykrumian's," he hissed, mockingly. He scowled at the taller man and short woman next to him. "Genuinely," he continued, on the off chance his sarcasm wasn't evident, "I never would have been able to handle those three if not for your invaluable aid in the alley." He spat on the ground toward the taller, overly-apologetic man. "A fucking classic Praetumian welcome, I see."

Daniel looked the man up, and down, and up again, and rolled his eyes. This was not the first time he had been spat at - toward? and it wouldn't be the last, he was sure. At least this time it wasn't blood. As for the insult toward Preatum's people, Danny didn't feel that even really applied to him anymore, but there were more imaginative insults the man could have come up with, really.

Lera was rightly concerned, and so was Sohrab. Especially since they had the others still in the street behind them, and they needed to get back to their actual allies, Winniw and Nyota. But Daniel knew the smell of stale alcohol too well even from this distance. After all, if he was actively a danger to them, why had he been running from the soldiers? Obviously he didn't know what was going on here either and it would be a very elaborate and convoluted trap to have someone kill multiple soldiers just to distract a few admittedly odd individuals. And to then waste the time insulting them? Didn't seem likely.

Emerald eyes flicked over to the girl beside the monk. Something felt off about her. He could feel it. It wasn't the murders, no. Something he couldn't name but that he'd learned to trust over the years. This girl was powerful even if she herself hadn't figured it out yet. Forget about the fact she had just slit some throats, that was a mundane means of killing someone. Danny had learned that people like her were people to be wary of, even when they were well-meaning. Raw power was dangerous.

On a more mundane point, she clearly was comfortable with death and killing to at least some extent but was conscionable to acknowledge she was getting her hands "dirty" since the monk wasn't slitting the throats but she was. Now, Danny was fairly certain this girl was being deceptive as could be and probably would end up being a very dangerous individual but she had a point in that it would be ridiculous to ask anyone to disarm themselves at this moment. The girl knew the monk and they didnt' seem to always be on the best of terms - whether this was an exaggerated act to make themselves seem more approachable or relatable and thereby more worthy of taking pity on, Danny wasn't sure. Either way, he wasn't about to kill either of them, and they had much bigger swordfish to fry.

Under her breath, she spoke quietly, only loud enough for Danny and perhaps Sohrab to hear. "I don't trust this one bit."

Under his breath, Danny replied, "You don't have to."

Time to take a calculated leap of faith.

Daniel turned his greataxe so the head was on the ground as he leaned against the shaft with a pleasant smile, "Glad to see you can handle yourself then," to the mess of a monk, "since it's tricky for us ta fight enemies we can't see." All the while he was doing his best to take Sohrab's advice and stay aware of his surroundings while looking as casual as he could in his blood-stained armor.

He looks to the girl, who he genuinely began to think would be more lethal than the man but also more reasonable, "Lotsa reason for distrust in general at this moment, but realistically I don't think either of you is stupid enough to pick a fight you don't have to pick, especially in the middle of a damned invasion, and please do not prove me wrong on that. So," this was more pointed toward everyone involved including Lera, "how about we be polite? I'm Daniel, and I promise not ta murder either'a ya without good reason. And right now I don't see good reason. If you two want to run off and get a head start escaping the invasion," he gestures toward the street they stood on, "head that way, we won't stop you. If you want to join our numbers, we can talk."

0stinato Solar Daddy queendilettante guac Pipsqueak

 

[queendilettante]

Hazm clicked his tongue and spat on the ground again, though this time with no target he was hoping to rile up. He shot a sideways glance toward the girl as she finally deigned to join him from the alley before his attention was ripped toward the short Praetumian soldier.

"Not a step further," Lera eventually commanded..."You'll end up like the rest of the invaders if you try anything. Drop any weapons you have on you. The girl, too." She nudged her shield lightly in their direction, signaling them to begin immediately. "I wish not to spill the blood of an Ykrumic monk, but I won't be stabbed in the back for ignoring one, either. Girl, are you alright? Do you know this man?"

"Oh?" Hazm chuckled, keeping his hand gripped firmly on his staff. It was one thing to demand - and on whose fucking authority - that Hazm stop walking, but relinquish his weapons? To a Praetumian soldier? Ha! He'd have been just as likely to place the bitch's dagger in his throat for her. Was she joking? Was this an invitation to fight her in the midst of this chaos?

Hazm scanned the group once again. Of the five, only the three with their weapons drawn in his and the girl's vicinity seemed combat trained. It wouldn't be impossible, in theory, for Hazm and the girl to take them out and escape. Shit, but who was to say that more of the faux-Ykrumian soldiers wouldn't arrive while they were fighting? If he was alone, maybe, but he needed to make sure Odette didn't fall in any three-way battle. He had only just reunited with-

Hazm shook his head and looked toward the girl again. He had finally reunited with her after the years of searching; searching since she left him like the trash they had so often discarded as a pair.

“Unfortunately I do,” [Odette] sighed. “Pay no mind to his yapping, he’s only annoyed that he had to get his hands dirty for once... Anyway, it seems we’re on the same side here, aren’t we?” Close enough to see the group as a whole now, she scanned for a friendly face. The other women looked a bit kinder, though they weren’t speaking up. “Why the distrust?”

"Ah!" Hazm brought his free hand to his forehead and pretended to feint. "You wound me, girl. And here I thought we were family."

He coughed into his hand, dropping the pantomime, and squinted in the direction of the armed soldiers. It would be unwise to fight them now. He'd have his chance later, should they prove more his enemy than they have thusly.

"Lotsa reason for distrust in general at this moment, but realistically I don't think either of you is stupid enough to pick a fight you don't have to pick, especially in the middle of a damned invasion, and please do not prove me wrong on that. So," this was more pointed toward everyone involved including Lera, "how about we be polite? I'm Daniel, and I promise not ta murder either'a ya without good reason. And right now I don't see good reason. If you two want to run off and get a head start escaping the invasion," he gestures toward the street they stood on, "head that way, we won't stop you. If you want to join our numbers, we can talk."

Hazm smiled sardonically. "But of course, my good sir," he bowed, "Wherever had my manners been displaced?" He forced a chuckle and threw his arm around Odette, squeezing her closer toward him. "Here I thought, inexplicable fool before the Stars as I am, that promising to murder without good reason was high society!" He brought the hand around Odette's shoulder up to his head, bending down to not topple the girl over, and rubbed his knuckle at his temple, pouting. "Silly me! Sincerest apologies to all you Praetumian filth."

"Oops!" He dropped his smile and let the girl go, "Another lapse. Forgive my Ykrum blunders, we're hardly people after all." He rolled his eyes, himself even bored with the pot shots. "We have no intention to join your numbers, but if you happen to be moving away from the fake-Ykrumian invaders, I'd be more than happy to temporarily assist you. At least," he grinned, genuinely for the first time that conversation, and nodded in the direction of the two pacifist women, "it may be helpful to have more trained hands than civilian."

 

[0stinato]

•••
The God of Roots, Rh Heth [children’s poem, translated from Amkaorian]
Rh Heth is the God of Roots, God of initiating growth.
Rh Heth grows the trees for the Twigs to Mend the Oar,
Rh Heth breaks down the dead when they are given to it,
Rh Heth chose our land to provide prosperity and future,
Rh Heth makes the beautiful and the cruel, the alpines and the nettles.
Rh Heth is the God of Roots, God of initiating bloom.
•••​

“Anyway, it seems we’re on the same side here, aren’t we?” Close enough to see the group as a whole now, she scanned for a friendly face. The other women looked a bit kinder, though they weren’t speaking up. “Why the distrust?”

He was hostile. She was less so. Even Lera seemed to think so, following up Sohrab’s request to stop with a command of her own, then questioning whether the young girl individually was in a position of her own choosing. Her answer was reassuring but did nothing to combat Sohrab’s opinions. Not understanding their distrust of the situation made him growl to himself in anticipation. Although it seemed she was right, that the soldiers were their enemies too. And if what the taller man had said was accurate – although Sohrab was not inclined to believe him in any way – then it wasn’t a case of a Ykrum individual killing others from his country. Naturally, the man could have been in Praetum a while, but his hostility towards the rest of the group suggested he had no loyalty to the country he was standing in. He wouldn’t relinquish his weapon either, although Sohrab knew he’d never relinquish his in such a circumstance either. Whether the invaders were faux-Ykrumians or the real deal didn’t matter at this point, all Sohrab cared about was the dichotomy of Enemy and Ally. Due to the man’s demeanour, Sohrab couldn’t trust either of them. The man’s reaction to the girl was overdramatic, perhaps rehearsed, enough to make a group drop their guard and expose a soft metaphorical underbelly at which to strike. All on the same side? Not while he was acting how he was and claiming her to be his family.

Hazm smiled sardonically. "But of course, my good sir," he bowed, "Wherever had my manners been displaced?" He forced a chuckle and threw his arm around Odette, squeezing her closer toward him. "Here I thought, inexplicable fool before the Stars as I am, that promising to murder without good reason was high society!" He brought the hand around Odette's shoulder up to his head, bending down to not topple the girl over, and rubbed his knuckle at his temple, pouting. "Silly me! Sincerest apologies to all you Praetumian filth."

"Oops!" He dropped his smile and let the girl go, "Another lapse. Forgive my Ykrum blunders, we're hardly people after all." He rolled his eyes, himself even bored with the pot shots. "We have no intention to join your numbers, but if you happen to be moving away from the fake-Ykrumian invaders, I'd be more than happy to temporarily assist you. At least," he grinned, genuinely for the first time that conversation, and nodded in the direction of the two pacifist women, "it may be helpful to have more trained hands than civilian."

Praetum and its people had enough flaws to warrant such opprobrium, but hearing such phrases now, during an active invasion of the victim country only served to mark out an individual as an equal enemy to those clad in the scaled armour. As many issues as Sohrab had with the country, he wouldn’t say a word to the Praetumians in the group at the moment. First of all, every country had its gigantic flaws; second of all, he was already on the back foot with Lera, considering his criminal self was allied with a law-keeper. Fate liked to play, after all. As for the slander itself, Sohrab had no inclination to refute the man. He wasn’t Ykrumian nor Praetumian, a fact which his accent would certainly suggest if his race failed to, so he had no loyalty to defend Praetum on the personal level. But if an argument broke out here as a result, they would do nothing but attract attention, and perhaps feed the man exactly the kind of reaction he was angling for. With a snarl, Sohrab spoke up, glaring from one eyehole of his mask at the man. He had no need to try to physically intimidate the man. Their side was many: his was few and could be one less if what the young lady said was correct, if he really was just uncooperative.

‘Whatever your objections to th’ country you’ve found yourself defending might be, standing around slandering it will accomplish nothin’. Make up your mind whether you ally with us or not, and if you do, I pray that your Stars keep you in line.’

He stepped back and sharply indicated to the space he’d left, inviting the two of them to join. The girl was all he could put his faith in. If she had given the final strike to the invaders, and if her other words could be trusted, she would be an excellent addition. With her on side, control over the bo-staff wielding wild-man could be easier. Still, he wasn’t going to let them travel at the back of the group. They needed to be somewhere in the middle, where the man could get away with nothing even if he tried.

--
Interactions: guac queendilettante
Mentions: Dragongal Solar Daddy Aeris Pipsqueak

 

[Solar Daddy]

The Ruins of Port Hemmis

"I believe that is more than sufficient, Sir Maldorn..."

As ice as cold and ruthless as northern wind at sea suddenly sprung up and encased the invaders Maldorn nodded towards Dahlia and visibly relaxed, lowering his guard as he did. Like his companion Maldorn approached one of the invaders and studied the man with a face deep in thought. Grunting, the hermit used his staff to tap the ice twice which was followed by another grunt.

"An impressive spell- if somewhat unconventional," said Maldorn while circling around the man in front of him. Maldorn stopped as he nearly tripped over a body and knelt beside it.

Using his staff Maldorn was able to lift the helmet on the fallen invader to reveal his face. He was young, most likely in his early twenties. Unkempt hair paired with a shaved face spoke of some military regulation but otherwise reminded Maldorn of the type of 'relaxed' rules one could observe during battlefield conditions. Fascinating, to say the least.

Looking around, Maldorn noticed another corpse nearby. It was one of the men that had been struck by his fireball. Sighing, Maldorn hoped that the man would find some peace in afterlife, far away from bloodstained cobblestone streets.

"These people," she said aloud, "are not Ykrumian."

Raising an eyebrow, Maldorn rose to his feet. He would have inquired further had not Bishop Retten spoke before him, further urging the trio to move with haste. Nodding the hermit followed Retten and Dahlia closely as the former used a spell to move several pieces of debris away from the stables. "Can you freeze the door?" Asked Maldorn aloud, glancing at Dahlia.

Dal nodded, commanding her still-aching nerves to summon the mana that remained in her core. With a grunt, she thrust her staff toward the door, feeling a cold gnawing almost-pain shoot up her arm and out her focus. A blast of blue-white ice fired from the staff, immediately coating the surface of the door with a deep layer of frost. Dal could practically hear the wood groan and crack under the cold as she stepped aside to allow Maldorn and their companion to approach the barrier.

With Dhalia’s ice freezing the door to the point of cracking, the Bishop once again used the same spell as before, ushering in a torrent of wind which quickly dealt with the frame. The frozen door, weak from Dahlia’s spell, easily cracked into thousands of pieces, scattering into the stable. The dilapidated interior of the structure became apparent with the obstruction removed. The small explosion was loud enough to inform the trapped equines inside that freedom was at hand, and among the rubble were a handful of horses rearing and eager to escape the splintered, oppressive interior of the stables. Once the path to freedom was apparent, the trapped horses inside surged forward to escape. Bishop Retten and his companions stepped back just in time as a horde of horses raced to escape the failing structure. Inside, there were clearly at least four or five horses that had been buried in the rubble, unable to be saved, either dead or dying.

The loose herd was now free on the streets of Port Hemmis, rearing and bucking as they came upon the shops on the other end of the street. Either end of the road was blocked off, one side by a fallen structure, and the other inaccessible due to abandoned shop carts and a pile of bodies; it was clear from a glance that the scout with the severed limb had a handful of bodies to choose from. She'd been collecting them for some purpose, a mystery to Retten and his companions. A few of the horses circled, looking for their chance at escape, and they found it through one of the thin alleys. Together the group hurried off to escape their demise in the war torn city, looking for any chance to flee they could find.

Dahlia leaped back, narrowly avoiding being trampled by the stampede. She shouted toward her companions, unable to see them through the panicked rush of horses. Her voice was lost in the frantic drum of hoofbeats — or was that her own heart threatening to burst from her ribcage? — and her fingers tightened around her staff.

The Stampede of Syram, 820, the monotonous, ever-present voice at the back of her mind volunteered. A fire at a neighborhood festival triggered a frenzied rush of people through the narrow street. Mages attempted to slow the throng with flora and ice spells in hope of preventing trampling. Instead, many tripped over or collided with the barriers. Twenty-three individuals were injured, and five killed.

Dal cursed lowly, loosening her grip on her staff as she watched what her group had hoped would carry them to safety sped away like a passing thunderstorm. She stepped cautiously toward Maldorn and the holy man, covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve to avoid breathing in the lingering dust clouds.

“Are you alright?” she asked, offering Maldorn a hand. “I’m sorry, I should have known they would respond in that manner. It’s only natural, all things considered. They’re just beasts, and between the smoke in the air and the damage to the building, it’s perfectly logical that they would flee to a different location at the first—“

Dal stopped, realizing she was rambling, and took a breath. “Any other ideas?”

The Bishop stood up slowly (after a bit of fumbling), dusting off his priestly robes and giving a hefty sigh. “It was worth the effort, my companions. I’m sorry to see your hard work turn to dust, but we can rest assured that, at least for these curs," The Bishop motioned to the dead soldiers, "there will be no more bloodshed from them. Come, let us find a way out of the city… and pray we keep from encountering any further resistance.” The Bishop motioned ahead in the direction the horses took off in. “If we’re lucky, we can find a mare that lost its way from the pack.”

Narrowly avoiding the stampede of horses Maldorn managed to hug the stable wall close enough to the point where all he felt was a gentle gust of wind as the creatures passed him by. Smiling to himself, Maldorn chuckled, finding some sort of irony in the situation that he chose to keep to himself.

“Are you alright?” she asked, offering Maldorn a hand. “I’m sorry, I should have known they would respond in that manner. It’s only natural, all things considered. They’re just beasts, and between the smoke in the air and the damage to the building, it’s perfectly logical that they would flee to a different location at the first—“

Maldorn took Dahlia's hand and smiled at the historian. "I'm fine, child. No need to apologize- for we cannot control or harness the instinct of others, much less animals in panic."

He then nodded towards Retten before clasping both hands together around his staff. "Animals have great intuition. Perhaps we should attempt to follow the same way the horses went and they shall have guided us to our salvation? Just a thought..."

Dal nodded, trying to find her tongue. "I—it's as good as an idea as any, I suppose," she replied after a moment. She still wasn't completely sure that this man's mind was entirely sound, though he hadn't led them wrong yet. And both he and the holy man seemed inclined to follow the horses. "I suppose we should move quickly, then. Hopefully the stampede will help clear a path for us, if any invaders remain in this part of the city."

Maldorn smiled, albeit briefly, before speaking; "Worry not, child. We will find refuge one way or another." Be it in life or death.

Realizing that there were little more to add, Maldorn looked at Retten. "Are you able to walk, bishop?"

The Bishop listened intently to the others speaking while he himself dusted off his holy robes and ensured no single fabric was out of place. It would do the fickle gods wrong to leave them uncouth. "I am, thank you for the concern. I agree wholeheartedly, sir; let us follow the equine horde. Should we encounter any resistance, I will do my best to keep up my holy protection of you both. If Commander Verk shut off the castle from the rest of the city, then we must flee North, towards Gromm's Point. But until we know for sure, we should seek refuge in the castle. I doubt this invasion will end at Port Hemmis."

---

Lera wanted nothing more than to stick her sword in Hazm's gut and be done with it. The girl, she still wasn't sure about. Was this an elaborate trick, designed to lure in those looking to help, only to be cut down by a band of warriors hiding just out of sight? Lera wasn't a very distrusting person, but Hazm seemed nothing more than the poster-man for all Ykrumic monks; a startling detail considering who they were being invaded by.

And the way he tried passing off the invaders as being fake Ykrumians - it was clear, even despite his terrible personality, that he was interested in getting in her ranks. In Lera's eyes, it was to stab them in the back. But of course, that idea was only half feasible. Not every person from Ykrum was in on the invasion, nor could she in good faith ignore someone looking to flee the invasion as well. And of course, the most important detail he picked up on; Lera was currently riding with half a crew of defenseless, green civilians who had never been in a fight before. If she wanted to increase her odds of survival, bringing along Hazm and Odette would bring up their number of combat ready members. Something Lera greatly needed.

"I'll stick your head on a spike should you so much as breathe the wrong way, Ykrumian. Daniel," She said without taking her eyes off the monk. "You're on duty to watch them. We march for the castle. Ready whatever you have and we begin our trek."

Hazm shot daggers above the short Praetumian woman’s head at the orc next to her. He’d regret his heresy, by repentance or by blade in the night.

Danny raised his eyebrows at the comment. So, were these prisoners? No, she said we march, and our trek. This was definitely not the proper way to handle this but at least it was an efficient-ish way. He shrugged and swung his axe up with a flourish to rest the head by his shoulder, "Good enough, as long as we get moving again." Really, he'd keep an eye on everyone, but for a whole range of reasons.

Hazm forced his attention down at the short woman. She deigned to threaten him, as typical of her kind, but it wasn’t surprising; she likely feared him, and for reasons beyond his clearly visible heritage. If the speed with which she had been cutting through foes in this street was any indication, Hazm was quite a bit more efficient in the life-ending arts; a fact he was sure the woman was uncomfortably aware of.

“I’d rather my head avoid any spikes, truth be told,” Hazm quipped, sending a mocking grin toward the woman. “And while I’d love to see you try, it appears as if there are more pressing concerns at the moment. Shall we cease this dawdling?”

The stampede of horses surged through the streets, trampling over still bodies and through abandoned carts. The rampage was unhalted by any attempt to calm the mares down, huddled together and crashing through the dense, narrow streets of Port Hemmis. When they finally turned onto an open road compared to the cramped alleys they'd occupied up to this point, they turned and began their run through the open area with force and speed. About 12 horses in total comprised the group of various breeds and coats. There was seemingly no end to the stampede, barreling directly towards the sparse group comprising Lera, Danny, Winnie, Sohrab, Nyota, Odette and Hazm. Those close to alleys might be able to take refuge in time, but their speed carried them at an alarming rate towards the group; it was evident most would be trampled should nothing intervene.

Eilonwyn, who hadn't been paying much attention finally tuned in to see the stampede quickly approaching. Poor things! She could sense the fear radiating off of them, and she couldn't blame them. This whole day was scary for everyone, not just people. Of course, that didn't give the horses the right to trample over whomever they pleased.

"I suppose it's my turn to do something," Winnie gently pushed her way to the front, making sure to give Sohrab's crowbar back as she passed him. Weapons would only make the situation worse in this case. She walked out just far enough that the horses wouldn't pay too much mind to the people behind her, but still close enough for the group to hear anything she may have to say.

"I know you're scared," Her words were gentle, almost hypnotizing,"...but if you continue to run like this, friends will get hurt. We don't want that, no?" She took another step towards the stampede. "I will need you to please stop, I promise you'll be okay." Slowly, the stampede lessened their pace before coming to a halt in front of the young fey. Eilonwyn smiled, giving one a pat on the head, "See? Everything is okay," She turned to the group. "It's safe!"

Lera had turned to the stomping of hooves behind her, preparing for another round of Ykrumic soldiers to run them down in the streets. However, the sight she saw was different than expected; the horses were riderless, most not even equipped with saddles as they pushed ahead through the street. And then, out of nowhere, the unassuming fey managed to halt the horde in a matter of seconds, just by… talking to them? Eilonwyn clearly wasn’t as purposeless as she’d made herself out to be. Her newly acquired friends and herself would’ve become a thin paste on the pavement had she not stopped them from getting run down.

And with the calm mass of horses, came an opportunity. Lera lowered her shield as she glanced at the herd, and within seconds decided on a course of action. Lera sheathed her sword and placed her shield squarely on her back before approaching the nearest hose. “Mount up people, we’re getting to the castle on horseback! If you don’t know how to ride, pair with someone who does.” Once she was fully in the saddle, she turned to look at Winnie. “Well done girl, we’re in a much better position now, thanks to you.” Despite her eagerness to progress to the castle, Lera had to wait for her companions to mount up on their own newly acquired assets. In the meantime, she checked around for any potential threats, but also couldn’t keep herself from checking the horse beneath her. A tall, midnight mare, perfectly kempt even despite the current status of the city. She would think this kind of quality would cost tens of thousands of ruemares, no small fortune for even a soldier such as herself. She’d be sure to attempt to return the steed to its owner when she was finished trying to survive the war.

In the back of Lera’s mind though, she paused. Where the hell had a herd of horses come from? How had they not been halted by now? Had someone freed them from the stables? She glanced back only for a moment, mostly out of curiosity, when she spotted the last thing the Heloys girl had expected; a staunch man, head to toe in garbled robes, was Bishop Retten, accompanied by two companions; a frail looking woman and an equally frail looking man. She’d almost not believed her eyes. Clearly Lera had been hoping far too long, she was seeing things!

Then, the mirages made calls for help, waving their hands to grab Lera’s attention. That was Retten, alright - and she had found him just moments before riding off, no less. After a moment of contemplation, it became clear; they must’ve been the ones who set loose the herd, which had stumbled right into their care. Lera smiled for what felt like the first time in ages at such a coincidence. It was perfectly hidden behind the stoic spangenhelm she wore, as she preferred. “Retten!” Lera called out, trotting over to the newly acquired civilians. “I was beginning to lose faith in finding you, Bishop. Saddle up, we make for the castle immediately. We can't chance the guards leaving the gates open for much longer.”

Upon closer inspection, Lera noticed the girl among them had telltale signs of those from Ykrumic ethnicity. Her sword felt heavy against her hip, but she quickly pushed out the thoughts of yet another spy or hidden agent joining their group. She was clearly in the service of Bishop Retten; a holy man such as himself would have no trouble uncloaking those wishing harm upon Praetum.

"Terin protect me, it's good to finally see Praetian colors flying proudly once again." The Bishop gave a heart laugh, unable to keep his eyes off the crest on Lera's tabard and shield. "I believed us to be running on borrowed time once the herd ran away from us. It seems the gods are not yet done with me or my new friends just yet."

Lera whistled for another three horses brought up for the newest additions to the group. “Quickly now, the sun is setting and soon our light will go with it. We must reach the castle before the bridge is drawn and the gates are closed. We’ll be safe inside.”

 

[Viper Actual]

After walking a shorter distance it would seem that salvation was at hand;

Upon being greeted by a woman donning both armor and a tabard of Praetum it was clear that Maldorn, Dahlia and Retten had reached relative safety.
Maldorn sincerely hoped that this at the very least meant having reached friendly lines or, if nothing else, a contested area not under complete enemy control.

Regardless it was good to meet people that weren't actively trying to run down, spear, maim, stab or decapitate people as a first response and Maldorn displayed this genuine relief with a big smile and several nods as he greeted the new folks;

"Good tidings to you all in this trying time!" Maldorn said, his smile fading slightly as he uttered the last three words.

"I am Sir Maldorn- though my friends prefer to call me  Maldorn", he said with a slight grin on his face as if he had just cracked the greatest joke of all time.

Turning towards Lera, Maldorn eyed one of the horses with great interest before reaching into his satchel. After moving his hand around for a bit he produced an apple and presented it to the soldier.

"Apple?"

 

[Dragongal]

Daniel mostly just stood there with a slightly bemused expression, leaning on his axe as Lera and Hazm and even Sohrab - even the beskulled criminal - spoke. Hazm's part was still hilarious to Daniel, who was quick to mentally note how the monk was so very willing to spend time criticizing everyone else he had just met rather than actually do or say much of use. Except, of course, that the invaders were fake Ykrumians. That made sense to Danny. After all, he had traveled to Ykrum himself and spent some time there and something seemed... off about these invaders. Not to mention, the scroll he took - borrowed - stole - looted? - from the invader didn't seem like what he remembered of the Ykrumian script.

He raised his eyebrows a bit almost in amusement as Sohrab said his part. The half-orc was entirely correct, after all. Really this only served to give Sohrab more good points in Daniel's book of judgment since he was being calm and logical and given how he's been more or less hiding behind Danny and Lera, rather brave of him. Maybe they could almost - possible - if they survived - get along.

Before Danny could even speak, the horses poured into the street, and Danny moved from idly leaning on his axe to high alert, shifting it to his right hand and getting ready to grab the others and push them out of the way if needed. Miraculously it wasn't needed at all. Winnie's work was nothing less than extraordinary. He'd have to remember to congratulate and thank her properly later, as well as ask some questions purely out of curiosity. He knew a bit about magic, but he'd never seen that before.

With Lera's command, Daniel looked between the horses and quickly spotted one that suited him well. She was gorgeous chestnut mare, definitely a warhorse but maybe crossed with a cart horse? She was larger than the rest which suited Danny perfectly. Besides, she seemed a bit nervous, yes, but quite tame, and let Danny put a hand on her neck without a fight. His familiarity with horses mostly extended to the work horses from his village - horses used to pull carts and plows and lumber sleds. They were large and slow and usually old. This girl - whom he was already calling Hickory in his own head - was not like that at all despite her size.

Daniel took a moment to ensure the saddle was on securely and the halter as well before swinging himself up into the saddle. Hickory snorted but quickly settled and Danny patted her neck as he took the reins again. As he did so he chuckled and said toward Hazm with a wink, "Alright, since I didn't catch your name, I'll just call you 'the monk' until otherwise instructed." Had he been in an even cockier mood he would have given Hazm a different nickname, such as "rude," or "Vex," but no, his mind had to be other places at the moment and he didn't have time to bicker.

He eyed the Bishop and his two companions up and down. Odd. Where did that old man get an apple from and why was he so calm? That was Danny's shtick. Damn. Looked like they'd have two individuals with little to no sense of self-preservation if that smile was anything to go by. The girl at the Bishop's side was interesting too, but Danny couldn't guess much about her yet.

And in all of this, Danny could feel a headache starting right at the base of his skull.

Everyone else was getting saddled up so they had a brief moment. In the movement of the horses, Winnie had ended up closer now so he said a quick "Good job with the horses." Then to Nyota he asked, "Do you know how to ride?" The fact that she didn't even have shoes on wasn't very reassuring.

 

[kaito9049]

There was a lot happening.

That was fine. This was fine. Dahlia could deal with this. It was just like that week she spent in an aging Ykrumic village, desperately trying to record its traditional myths, meals, clothing, and history while also preparing for her Grand Address, an hour-long research presentation she had to deliver in order to become a fully authorized academy scribe. She'd juggled a dozen plates before; surely doing so again would be a not-insurmountable task.

Granted, that time there weren't so many horses involved.

Dal's eyes flitted from person to person — first to the shorter girl whom Dal's keen vision had just spotted stopping the stampede with little effort, then to a somewhat taller woman dressed in military garb who momentarily eyed the Ykrumic citizen. That wasn't good; the last thing Dal needed was probing questions from a nervous soldier looking for invaders around every corner.

While she was still considering sharing her newfound revelation with this new group — that the invaders were not, in fact, members of the Ykrumic military — the armed woman turned her gaze away. Apparently, the presence of the holy man — a bishop, it seemed — was enough to keep Dal's head attached to her shoulders. Dal released what she only then realized was a deathly tight grip on her staff, her breath condensing in the air as she exhaled.

Dal focused her attention on observing the other members of the group as they selected their steeds. It was an eclectic sort, some clearly armed for battle while others seemingly caught in the middle of the attack (and was that man wearing a skull?!). She even spotted a scowling man who appeared to be of Ykrumic heritage. To her own surprise, Dal felt herself somewhat comforted, as if she'd stumbled upon a colleague. But she kept herself from embracing the reaction. Showing excitement at the sight of a countryman could give locals the idea that she was a spy. Besides, she was more interested in talking to the others. Although the tale of a Ykrumic monk who unwittingly found himself in the middle of a faux-Ykrumic invasion would certainly be an engaging one — the Scribes Superior did often encourage her to find more narratively interesting stories.

Too many plates. Too many horses. She needed to focus on the most important thing: locating a messenger so she could send out her report of the false flag invasion. She doubted she'd be able to do so while the attack was in progress, but maybe if she could slip out of the port undetected... In any case, she needed to stay alive long enough to send her message. And if that meant staying with a large, well-armed group, that was acceptable.

Stamping her staff against the ground, as if she was trying to shake out loose thoughts, Dal waded into the crowd of steeds, careful not to approach any from behind. She walked until she was close to the girl who'd stopped the stampede, keeping her hand on the side of one of the horses. This one, which was a bit of a taller beast than many of the others, but lither, turned its neck to stare at Dal, then apparently decided she wasn't worth paying attention to, scanning the ground with its nose in an attempt to locate food.

"That was incredible, what you did," Dal said to the woman. Now that she was closer, she noticed that the auburn-haired lady was slightly older than she thought — maybe late teens or early 20s, Dal mused internally.

She put on a warm smile, the type she sometimes used with children and elders. "We would have been in quite the predicament without your aid. Are you an arcanist as well? There seems to be a few of us in this group, and from all over, too. Are you from the region, or just visiting? Oh, please excuse my rudeness. What is your name?"

 

[Aeris]

Winnie frowned at the ever-growing group of people. Just how many planned on joining them on this journey? A journey she really didn't want to be a part of mind you. Despite that though, Winnie still walked over to one of the smaller horses in the group, a white mare with speckles of brown scattered along her coat.

"Hello!" She patted the mare's speckled nose, "May I ride with you? It won't be for long...maybe." The mare bowed her head in response, lowering herself to the ground so Winnie could climb on. Eilonwyn mouthed a silent thank you but chose not to climb on just yet. She hadn't exactly been paying attention to the newcomers, and now was probably as good of a time to greet them if she wished- not that she wanted to exactly.

The two, the monk and girl- they were odd. Perhaps it was due to the fact the girl had killed the soldiers lying around them with little to no remorse. Winnie had thought traveling with the fish man, Sohrab was going to be concerning. Now, however, she was going to be sure to keep an eye on those two. Eilonwyn had been occupied with taming the stampede when the others arrived. Though, she didn't see anything too out of the ordinary with them, although the older man seemed off. The woman on the other hand felt the most normal out of the newcomers.

"Good job with the horses."

Eilonwyn felt her face redden slightly at the compliment. "It was nothing! All the horses are quite lovely when they're not scared." If she was good at anything magical it was hypnosis. Most fey were naturals when it came to the power, though few used their abilities. She often forgot such a thing was possible until she had no choice, such as right now. If only she was half as good with other magic as she was with hypnosis.

"That was incredible, what you did,"

Oh um...

Winnie turned to face Dahlia, who she deemed safe for the now. She was very pretty, possibly Winnie's age. Perhaps older? Not that it mattered, of course, seeing as this group appeared to be full of people of different ages and backgrounds.

"It was nothing," Eilonwyn smiled, "...it's something most fey are gifted in, hypnosis I mean. Though we can really only use it on animals. I'm quite bad with most magic normally I'm afraid!" This was why Winnie spent most of her youth studying medicines and remedies. You didn't need to be particularly skilled with magic to help heal people, though being a fey had its upsides to enhancing her medicines. She would like to improve upon her magical abilities while on this trip, however, just to prove she was more than capable if anything.

"I'm Eilonwyn, although people usually call me Winnie! It's lovely to meet you!" Eilonwyn gestured towards the horse who had shown little interest in Dahlia. "Would you like me to help you with him? I'm sure he needs a little convincing is all."

 

[0stinato]

•••
Every once in a while, there is a fierce debate on the nature of superstition in Prehlaam. Some sides argue that, as with all cultures and religions, Prehlaam has its own superstitions. Others argue that existing superstitions are bastardised by Prehlaami people: why wait for an eyelash to shed to make a wish if you can simply pluck one out when the need for a comforting gesture arises?
•••​

Initially ready to dart into the alleyway in front of him, prepared to risk proximity with the Ykrumian fellow to avoid the stampede, Sohrab felt his muscles relax as Eilonwyn quietened the beasts without so much as a wave of a wand. Could this be called magic? It wasn’t something he had seen much of, only comparable to the intense confidence displayed by ranch workers in their handling of giant rams in the Grimm mountains. But he knew the two skills were much different: giant rams had to be dominated and commanded, since their mountain birthplaces had seen fit to give them obstinate temperaments to ensure necessary survival on the harsh steppes in Amkaor; horses... had to be treated like this, he supposed.

Several people around Winnie gave her gratefulness and praise, leading Sohrab to feel his own could wait until later. He would do as Lera had commanded. Secure a horse, mount up and get going. But there were problems with that, and Sohrab wasn’t convinced he had any solution. These horses lacked tack, lacked reins, lacked anything to ensure he would be safe, secure and in control of the beast. A giant ram at least had its horns, and even a small Orc like him had the arm strength to command a tack-less ram. He knew he’d have to improvise. Improvise and hope the horse he selected would adopt a herd mentality and stick with the group Lera would be spearheading.

He gripped the crowbar in his hands, giving it a tight squeeze to dissipate his anxiety, before glancing around at the remaining horses. A larger horse would be best, he knew: unlike giant rams where size correlated to difficulty, larger horses tended to be more docile. He wouldn’t be confident in controlling a skittish horse at the best of times, let alone mid-invasion.

Speaking of, there were others who had arrived, also made victims of the sudden appearance of soldiers. The Bishop Lera had mentioned had arrived, driven here by some divine portent. Perhaps his Terin gods had seen fit to put him here. Either way, it suited Sohrab. Sure, the presence of an older gentleman probably wasn’t a boon to their power overall, but it meant Lera wasn’t about to go patrolling the streets seeking her quarry.

There was one horse that Sohrab had his eye on. Calmed by Eilonwyn, it stood proudly and wide of chest in the street, bothered minimally by the scurrying of everyone else around it. A large white head and curved neck led down to a body of powdered pale white on grey. The mane, dirtied by the stampede and dust, was comparable to blond hair. And it was much taller than he was. So the question became: how would he mount this creature?

Spoiler: The Horse in Question

Percheron French Horse

i.e., a MASSIVE GIRL.

He approached it after tucking his various weapons away. He could only do what he had learned to in his infrequent interactions with the giant rams, approaching from the side rather than the front and holding out a hand for the beast to take his scent. It blinked, flicked its left ear, and stretched forward to inspect his hand. A curious creature too. Sohrab gradually turned his hand around until he was able to take the horse’s jaw in his hand in a soothing motion. If the horse was affected by his comparative lack of confidence, it didn’t seem to mind. Biting his lower lip, he strengthened his fingers, letting his thumb initiate a stronger petting motion. He wanted to be up on the beast’s back as soon as possible.

There was another larger horse nearby, being attended to by a young Ykrumian woman. She was in the company of the Praetumian Bishop and a bizarre old man, but was clearly not dressed like the invaders and was not a hostile presence. Despite her heritage being very clearly Ykrumian, Sohrab was inclined not to pay as close attention to her as the tall man. If a Praetumian Bishop had deemed her an ally, Sohrab would take his unspoken word for it. He couldn’t help but pay some attention to her though, as she spoke with Eilonwyn.

"I'm Eilonwyn, although people usually call me Winnie! It's lovely to meet you!" Eilonwyn gestured towards the horse who had shown little interest in Dahlia. "Would you like me to help you with him? I'm sure he needs a little convincing is all."

There was no question in Sohrab’s mind – he had to say something. If he failed to, and the two young women lagged behind, it could result in two more lives lost, and potentially the invaders catching up with them before they all got up to the castle. He paused a moment before speaking out, regretful he would have to show a lack of sympathy towards the two. Winnie had been quite the asset.

‘Manage your introductions later, and if that horse doesn’t wanna listen t’you, leave it and find another. As talented as you are, Eilonwyn, none of us have much time t’work with them. We have to move.’

As if to demonstrate, Sohrab took his hand away from his chosen horse’s face, moving to its shoulder. He put a hand up on its withers, took a breath, and swung himself up onto its back with a jump. He was grateful for his chosen type of life: with a focus on agility, he had the necessary strength to jump and climb where others might struggle. The horse, perhaps not prepared for Sohrab’s weight compared to his height, took a step to steady itself, shaking its head, but with Sohrab settled, it seemed fine. He still had no idea how he would control it, but step one had been completed: he had acquired a mount.

‘Choose safety, and choose it now.’

--
Interactions: Aeris kaito9049
Mentions: queendilettante Viper Actual Solar Daddy

 

[Solar Daddy]

"Apple?"

Lera turned to face the older man presenting fruit to her. More than anything, it genuinely bothered her how calm and jovial he was. Where the hell had this hermit crawled out of? Was he even aware there was an invasion going on? Despite all of her curiosities about the man, she hesitantly accepted the offer. "Thank you," She responded, deftly placing the item in one of her pouches. She would not risk removing her helmet to eat at the moment, despite the growling of her stomach and the ache in her shoulders. "Mount up, we ride for safety. We'll get you some hot food and a warm bed soon." It was clear from her tone she thought little more of the man than someone far past his prime. He had called himself Sir Maldorn... Was he a knight?

If only to show respect to someone who could've been highly esteemed back in his day, she gave a light nod. "Lera Heloys, 13th Griffon Battalion, Praetia Augustana," She held one hand up lightly, clearly a practiced gesture.

‘Manage your introductions later, and if that horse doesn’t wanna listen t’you, leave it and find another. As talented as you are, Eilonwyn, none of us have much time t’work with them. We have to move.’

As much as Lera enjoyed giving praise to those who well earned it, the criminal was right. Half of them didn't have weapons, and those that did had all fairly close ranged ones at that. Any scouting party with a spear of any length could poke and prod at them all day and her cast would have nothing to stop them outside of magic, which only a handful of them had. "We will have plenty of time for introductions when safely within the castle," Lera agreed with a nod. "We sally out now. Hell, I'll personally thank each of you once we're inside." Her eyes lingered momentarily on Sohrab; she was still on the fence about actually granting his pardon. Had he earned it? That would be for a ealdorman or Archon to decide. Her eyes quickly left the wanted man, hoping not to cast too much light on her thought process.

Those who knew how to ride would help those who didn't, either by offering them to ride on their horses or to help situate them on their own. Luckily no doubt quite a few had the capability of riding, so it didn't take long to get the group ready to move. Even those without saddles or reins would find that, once they began moving, the herd chose of their own accord to stick together. With Lera at the lead, the other horses followed without much command needed from their riders. Of course, those with saddles and reins (or those skilled enough to command horses without such equipment) had control over their individual horse, should the need arise to manually take over. The handful of horses without a rider continued along with the rest of the group as well, creating almost a bubble of riderless equines around the group.

The Bishop had been kindly forced to take up a mount close to hers for protection, to which he didn't disagree. Even still, as the trek to Castle Wicker began at a trot, Lera called out, "The two of you who showed up with the Bishop," Giving glances back at Maldorn and Dahlia, "You're remaining on personal Retten duty with me. Should I fall, ensure he gets back to the castle alive. The Primarchy will reward you handsomely for your efforts."

With that sentence finished and no sign of anyone being unable to manage their mounts, Lera hit the stirrups into the mare's sides, prodding it to move at a faster pace. They were now just short of a sprint, Lera showing expert grace in the saddle as they maneuvered the winding and cluttered streets of Port Hemmis. On foot, this journey could've taken an hour assuming contact with invaders. At this speed, they would reach safety in mere minutes. Any footsoldiers they encountered could only watch as they sped past, and should any have attempted to launch attacks at the convoy, Lera and those well equipped to do so would return the attack. All in all, even despite the invasion, it seemed that by now most of the force had withdrawn. Some may have thought they simply left, but Lera guessed they were regrouping for an assault on the prize of the city; the castle itself.

Chatter was at a minimum at this point, success far too close and focus keenly applied to staying mounted on their horses. Lera had to stop herself from barking orders at her gaggle of civilians who probably had no formal training in a lot of the matters she excelled in. No, these were just people, she thought. She couldn't expect any of them to do anything more than survive. They didn't deserve to fight this hard, or feel this level of exhaustion just to exist. They deserved a hot meal, safety, assurance. She wouldn't have asked anything of them had their help not been paramount to their survival. Even someone as snippy as Hazm, who Lera found insufferable, didn't deserve to be forced to fight like this. If she could just get them to the castle, they could happily wait out the two years it would take for them to run out of rations stored in the keep. And by then, Lera knew, a relief army would show up to drive out the mongrels. Whoever these invaders were - Ykrumic, or something else - she knew they couldn't compare to Praetian devotion.

---

Port Hemmis - North of Castle Wicker

After a good ten minutes clinging to the reins with white knuckles, Lera's posse rounded one of the winding streets of Port Hemmis to come into full view of Castle Wicker. Thank the gods, she thought to herself. The gate was still open! Guards stationed themselves at the entrance, spears and shields in hand to take on anyone who tried to stop their inevitable success. They were only a few hundred or so meters from the gate and draw bridge; this last stretch would bring them all under the shelter of safety finally, after a horrendous day of crossing blades and surviving an onslaught. Two of the guards stationed at the gate noticed their approach, and after Lera shakily produced the Praetian coat of arms on her shield, they lowered their guard, motioning for them to enter. For the second time that day, Lera felt a tired smile grow on her face beneath the increasingly heavy helmet resting on her head.



Then, shouting. Somewhere from inside the castle, calling down to the men stationed at the gate. Worry swept through the soldiers, some instantly darting back beyond the safety of the walls while others lingered moments longer. The same two that had originally spotted Lera's group ushered them forward with increased urgency, they themselves stepping back as they did so. Lera's heart sank. War horns just off to the south, bellowing like the lungs of Deyateya summoning them back to the underworld.

The third to last guard gave up and ran into the now urgently closing gate. Then the second to last. Finally, the final soldier began urging them away, swiping his hand in a frantic fashion. Then he, too, turned his back and crossed the bridge. Moments after, the gate's prongs fell into the wells in the dirt, locking them out of the castle for good. Though the bridge began to raise as well, a sudden charge of heavy cavalry units crossed into their vision from another street up ahead, pitch black and red banners waving in the sea breeze. They quickly enveloped the road ahead, now only two hundred meters or so, many coming right up to Castle Wicker's gates. Their weight kept the bridge from rising, leaving the castle in a worse position than it should have been. Lera slowed her horse to a near stop, the horde of horses slowing with her.

Atop the castle's walls, overlooking the main road now engulfed with invading soldiers, Commander Verk saw just how close the Bishop and his protectors had gotten to bringing him safely in to the keep. Moments, seconds sooner and they could've attempted to stave off the enemies for just long enough to get them all inside. Verk and Lera shared a similar, grim expression hidden behind their helmets. There was nothing Verk could do for them now but pray.

Lera looked on as their chances of survival were diminished. Their fate was nigh on sealed. Lera nearly let go of the reins in her stupor, having watched their window close mere seconds away from them. "Hidrastia, Miye, Erataura, Storn..." She began listing every last god she knew, her steel façade dropping for but a moment. When the invading army - now grouped into an entire force ready to storm or starve the castle - moved in, a few of the mounted warriors took note of Lera's group. Within seconds of acquiring them, they sallied out, ready to collide with the group and initiate a clearly unfavorable engagement for them. Lera had not more than a moment to decide on a course of action.

"Turn back! Turn back!" She shouted frantically, her voice faltering at first as she tried to regain her composure. "Go! Bishop, to the front, now!" She deftly maneuvered her horse though she could not proceed until the others did the same, including those without mounts. "Eilonwyn, Force them to go, now!" She prayed the fey girl could do more with her animalistic prowess besides halt the horde; now was the time to pick up speed, and quick. The soldiers would soon be spearing them all down if they couldn't get moving in time. "Is anyone here adept at magic? Can you help slow them down?" She called out among her group, praying someone in their ranks could aid them.

 

[Viper Actual]

"Lera Heloys, 13th Griffon Battalion, Praetia Augustana," She held one hand up lightly, clearly a practiced gesture.

Maldorn snapped into a military salute, placing his right hand above his heart. "Sir Maldorn, Keeper of Varaena, Liberator of Ladlasburg and Thryndonian Queensguard."
Smirking slightly the hermit shrugged before continuing; "Titles aside I much more prefer being called by my name and my name alone."

Upon being put in charge of Retten's safety Maldorn nods and slowly makes his way over to the horse had spotted before while muttering a barely audible "Excuse me" as he made his way past the orc and his gigantic workhorse.

Near the back of the group were an old mare. Much like himself this gentle animal was weathered and worn yet calm and collected. With a smile Maldorn offered the mare an apple. "May I?"

The mare blinked and seemed to nod in response to Maldorn's question, upon which he carefully climbed up on the horse. Once seated somewhat comfortably Maldorn waved towards Dahlia in a very childish manner.

Despite the gravity of the situation Maldorn's features had softened greatly. After all, he was now in the company of friends. He had nothing to worry about- nor did they.

Once the march to Castle Wicker began Maldorn remained relatively silent while sticking close to Bishop Retten. Upon seeing the castle he smiled- only to have his joy transform into worry as the enemy cavalry came into view.

"Is anyone here adept at magic? Can you help slow them down?"

Silently urging his mare to increase her pacing, Maldorn responded to Lera's question by raising his staff.

"Cover your eyes!"

The staff then fired an orb of pure, blinding white light towards the pursuing cavalry. Hopefully the mere sight of it would deter and slow down the enemy soldiers.

 

[kaito9049]

Dahlia froze mid-sentence, a half-dozen questions dying on her lips. A fey?! She'd never met one of those before. How did Winnie come here? Were the reports of fey abilities accurate? Was she on a specific mission or simply caught in a bad situation?

But the bone-man was right — she would have to wait yet again to get her answers. Not thinking to provide her own name to the other woman, Dal gingerly climbed atop the horse, praying to the Moon that the steed wouldn't throw her off immediately. She would indeed have liked to see Winnie converse with the beast, if only to ascertain the details of her capabilities, but perhaps the fey would be willing to demonstrate later.

—

There was not going to be a later. Dahlia Verne was going to die.

She was going to end up with an arrow through the back and trampled by this accursed horse, her mangled body left on the side of the road for days or weeks like so many she'd seen. How many once contained souls like her, filled with a kind of terror that made even screaming unthinkable? Moon above, how long would it take for news to reach Mother and Father? Bodies were sometimes found in the advanced decomposition stages during wartime, unless the opposing forces struck a deal to exchange the dead. But these invaders seemed particularly vicious — Moon above, would her limbs end up in some dark ritual like the one she and Maldorn had interrupted? No one would be able to confirm her death. Her colleagues, her parents, her friends, they'd all spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to her. But to most of the world, she'd become just another tally in another statistic in another battle in another war. And the worms would devour both her and her knowledge alike.

Subject exhibiting signs of stress-induced panic attack. Removal of primary stressor recommended, if possible. Primary stressor identified as incoming contingent of calvary, a subset of main invading force targeting a more strategically important position. Division of forces sometimes employed as a tactic to deter potential flanking units, or to eliminate secondary targets such as shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP

No. It couldn't end like this. A hundred sunken, bloodied faces cycled through Dal's mind. She would not become one of them. She would not let these false Ykrumians cut her work, her life short. Everything else, save the familiar feeling of chilled nerves and air that was too cold to inhale comfortably, immediately faded into the back of her consciousness as she raised her staff into the air. She shouted an incantation she hadn't spoken in years, the sound lost to the drumbeat of hooves against earth, and pointed her staff toward the group's pursuers. A fan of razor-sharp icicles materialized in the air, trailing condensation as they shot toward their targets.

Oh. Oh no. Even as she watched the deadly projectiles fly, a sheer cold swept through Dal's veins, muting a large portion of the terror she'd been feeling. She...she hadn't meant to do that. Had she?

 

[Aeris]

‘Manage your introductions later, and if that horse doesn’t wanna listen t’you, leave it and find another. As talented as you are, Eilonwyn, none of us have much time t’work with them. We have to move.’

Eilonwyn glared at Sohrab but obeyed, turning to face her own horse. With just a simple nod the mare bowed her own head, lowering herself to the ground to allow the fey to climb on. Winnie thanked the mare, whom she decided would be named Winter, before bracing herself to ride. Though she had calmed the stampede with ease, Eilonwyn had never actually ridden a horse before. Growing up in the forest with the closest village within walking distance required no such need. But Winter knew this of course. The mare looked back at Winnie every couple of seconds to ensure she was still there, which the fey greatly appreciated. Winnie just prayed the rest of this trip would be easy, especially since all they had to do now was go to the castle.

If only she had the foresight to see that, in fact, it would be far from easy.

Winnie wasn't quite sure what was happening. Wasn't the gate supposed to close after they were inside? Why were they stopping? And oh, those were a lot of bad people. Eilonwyn felt the weight of dread settling on her shoulders for the hundredth time that day. They needed to leave, quickly. If they had listened to her earlier they could've been in the forests, safe from these scary people. But they weren't and now wasn't the time to dwell on what they didn't do. Now, they had to focus on getting to safety for the third time today.

"Eilonwyn, Force them to go, now!"

"Come on, you heard her." She urged the groups horses to move quicker. "We mustn't let them catch up to us, okay?" Winnie was happy to see the horses pick up pace just as the older man and woman casted their own respective spells. She urged her horse further up until she was next to Lera.

"Parden me, but where are we going now?" Now was not the time for questions, she knew that. But she also didn't want to be following Lera blindly to who knows where.

 

[0stinato]

•••

A Dwarf man from long ago invented a candle which was intended to burn from both ends. Sitting in a movable cradle like a see-saw, the candle was intended to continuously sway back and forth as wax dripped from it and changed its weight on either side. It is thought the original purpose of this object was to be used in a ritual or other dedicated Prehlaami affair; the candle needs to be constantly monitored and tipped manually, since the flame on the heavier end of the candle often goes out if left unattended for too long as it becomes smothered in wax. Whatever ritual this candle represented has either evolved past needing such an item, or has been lost to time. A more popular theory amongst scholarly Amkaorians is that the candle, in a bid to teach the lesson of constant awareness, distracts a budding Prehlaami from their more important daily chores.

•••​

Ice and light glistened in the dry, breathless air before the castle in the dissonance of panic amidst the arrival of an army. Sohrab didn’t know which language he was swearing in as his horse began cantering, a dazed calm across its face under the command of Eilonwyn. Without her, his horse would most assuredly have whinnied and bolted in the noise and light, if not due to Sohrab gripping the beast tight with his thighs. He would have very little control over the horse’s trajectory now, given Eilonwyn’s control and his lack of reins, but he’d be damned if he’d just sit idly on the back of the horse. If he was deft enough, if he was lucky enough, if he was controlled enough, he might be able to make himself useful.

Sohrab had no magic. He had no magical core within him that would allow him to innately craft and release spells, and nor had he ever been taught the art of grasping volatile energies from around him and forming them into elemental blasts. He knew of magical methods that some used to deal with the dead, from practical spells of levitation to spells of presentation that assisted in preparing a body for funereal reasons, but he had never learned them. There had been no need. Entropy and rot were the God of Roots’ arenas. Storage of a body was the only reason to apply preserving chemicals, since after that point a body was either burned or set up on a Path of the Dead on the mountains. Once situated there, it was supposed to undergo the natural changes brought on by the altitude and arid conditions of the Amkaor mountains. Mummification or desiccation. Only the hair would escape such a fate, as each strand eventually tugged free from the dead scalp and twisted into the wind. To use magic in such a process could disturb the natural process, prevent it entirely or make such rituals irrelevant.

But, perhaps that in itself was a type of magic. He had no doubt that a Tribulator performing the funereal traditions of Praetum and Launce was tapping into some divine energy through their devotion and words: whether or not that divinity came from the numerous gods of Terin or from somewhere else entirely wasn’t Sohrab’s place to question, the point was that a Tribulator acted as the midway point for the appropriate energies to accumulate around before flowing into the objects of Praetum and Launce funeral rites.

Maybe what he used to do, quietly and without complaint in the embalming chamber on the precipice overlooking the yellowed grazing fields was a type of magic too.

It wasn’t practical here though. All he had was his horse and his crowbar. He had to make use of his resources.

He was ducking down against the neck of his horse to diminish the space his body took up to avoid potential arrows. While his horse moved, he slipped his crowbar behind his back into his dominant right hand, holding the unhooked end. His gaze, shielded somewhat by the bone mask, was fixed on the bannermen the group was moving towards, through the disorder of dazzled horses and ice shards.

His grip tightened on the horse’s mane, and with a tug the horse beneath him was broken somewhat out of her reverie. The tug moved her head, and thus altered her movement, carrying Sohrab on a path slightly angled from the rest of the group. He flipped his wrist around, teeth clenched in anticipation of an attack, but kept his eyes on the bannerman he was aiming for. Among the group were two kinds of bannermen: a few carried the large banners, textiles dyed black and red against the raging and exhausted sky, but more carried banners of a smaller size. Sohrab was aiming for one of these: a smaller banner was still, in essence, a large staff, possibly longer than the quarterstaff wielded by the Ykrumian man among the group. Without magic, there was little Sohrab could do to increase his range, but with a makeshift staff in his hands he could improvise more readily. He could defend against an incoming blow or sweep at an enemy. They’d soon come to know that the orc was not a defenceless civilian ready to fall and die: he’d swing, and he’d swing hard.

It all happened in the space of a second. He saw the flash of the banner’s metal tip, brought up his crowbar and angled the hooked end outwards, a moment later feeling the dull tap of metal on wood. He twisted his wrist again, and pulled in his elbow to yank the banner out of the man’s hand. Whether it was the speed of Sohrab’s skill or the unsuspecting strength behind the orc’s muscles, that good tug was all that was required.

The thunder of hooves picked up in his ears again as the world began moving its spiralling dance. He squeezed with his knees as he reoriented himself, now acquainted with the banner. It would be his ally here, despite the colours it was sporting. If he was fortunate, if he was skilled, if he was as deadly as his visage promised he was, the banner would be doused in the blood of the invaders. He’d deliver it to the castle with his own hands and throw it at the feet of the captain of the guard. He’d demand his pardon. For now, he kept the banner close, parallel with his horse’s neck so as not to allow the banner to get captured.

‘Soldier!’ Sohrab shouted at Lera as the horses kept running. His new target was before him, up front as Lera had commanded. He tried to spur his horse on with his heels as he cried across the battlefield to her again. ‘Let me help defend your bishop! I can’t do magic, so this is the only offer I have.’

--
Interactions: Solar Daddy
Mentions: Aeris

 

[guac]

It all happened so fast. The stampede, the Bishop, mounting the closest horse available, arriving at the castle – Odette could hardly catch her breath.

She was used to high stakes situations such as this. Life with Hazm had exposed her to more life or death situations than she could count. None had ever lasted this long, however, and Odette found that the adrenaline that usually carried her through was losing its potency. Simply put, she was exhausted.

"Is anyone here adept at magic? Can you help slow them down?"

Adept was not the word Odette would use, exactly. Capable, sure. Dangerous, yes. Accurate? That was another story.

Before she had much of a chance to decide whether or not to risk catching her new allies in an errant explosion, the others reacted. A flash of light, then a barrage of ice – she could have left it to the others, hoping it would be enough to keep their pursuers at bay, but who had ever been hurt by a little overkill?

Odette ripped her wooden spoon from its place on her belt and tightened her grip on the reins. Stars, don’t fail me now, she silently prayed as she clenched her eyes shut in concentration and flung a ball of fire out from the tip of her spoon towards the soldiers behind them.

 

[queendilettante]

Typical. Hazm bounded along atop a cream colored horse he'd taken to calling "Coffee" with the Praetumian fools he'd begrudgingly signed up with as invaders began to charge them down. The Ykrum girl that arrived with the stampede - arguably the only one of the bunch that seemed to know what she was doing - threw ice magic toward the invaders. Odette did the same, though using her fire, as did a strange older man.

What horrid nightmare had Hazm gotten himself into? He'd awoken in the gutter, as he was unfortunately wont to do, then been present for an invasion by people pretending to be from his homeland, then reconnected with the girl after Stars know how many years, and now was about to die because he was stuck in the middle of frightened galloping horses.
Typical.

Could he not have just one year of peace? Was asking for even a moment of relaxation truly too much of an insult to the Stars for him to receive? He was apt to curse this entire wretched country. If not for his position inside it, he'd watch its destruction with giddy anticipation. How cruel an injustice flung upon him.

Hazm looked back at the rapidly encroaching barbarians and sighed. He slowly lowered his staff until it was dragging on the ground next to him, yet still secure in his grasp. "Taurus," he whispered, summoning three ethereal, astral bulls from behind him to charge directly into the hoard. Let's hope that settles this nonsense, finally.

 

[Solar Daddy]

"Cover your eyes!"

The staff then fired an orb of pure, blinding white light towards the pursuing cavalry. Hopefully the mere sight of it would deter and slow down the enemy soldiers.

(Enemy cavalry rolled: 2)

As Maldorn's blinding orb of light seeped from his staff and out into the world, the rays of pure sunlight pierced even closed eyelids and the most adept of composure. Horses veered off or bucked their riders into the mud at the confusing sight, while others crashed into wagons or tripped over battered bodies in the road. The entire front line of the charge had been completely brought to a standstill for moments, buying the group precious time to get caught up to speed in the opposite direction they had just been in. As much as Lera wished to look back and gauge the effectiveness of the spell, even attempting to get a peek was enough to singe the sight into her eyes, persisting well after she looked away. Luckily she wasn't leading the charge anymore, lest she steer them all into a wall in her momentarily blindness. All in all, Maldorn's trick of light had managed to knock seven riders off their mounts and slow the entire force, an extremely worthwhile endeavor.

No. It couldn't end like this. A hundred sunken, bloodied faces cycled through Dal's mind. She would not become one of them. She would not let these false Ykrumians cut her work, her life short. Everything else, save the familiar feeling of chilled nerves and air that was too cold to inhale comfortably, immediately faded into the back of her consciousness as she raised her staff into the air. She shouted an incantation she hadn't spoken in years, the sound lost to the drumbeat of hooves against earth, and pointed her staff toward the group's pursuers. A fan of razor-sharp icicles materialized in the air, trailing condensation as they shot toward their targets.

(Enemy cavalry rolled: 3)

Once the orb had been snuffed of life and the charge had begun anew, the leaders of the sally were met with another painful obstacle; a volley of ice shards whistled through the air and impaled anyone who was unfortunate enough to be in their path. Some were knocked off their mounts from the force while others faced complete decapitation from the force of the ice. A few horses had received lethal hits from the shards and toppled over, causing another delay in their advancement. By now, Lera's party had caught up to speed and were moving down the winding roads of Port Hemmis at breakneck speeds, valuable time having been bought by Dal and Maldorn, and the help in moving the herd along thanks to Winnie's affinity for animals. By this point, some even yanked their reins away from the direction of the group, fearing what other magical spells they may have up their sleeves.

"Parden me, but where are we going now?" Now was not the time for questions, she knew that. But she also didn't want to be following Lera blindly to who knows where.

Lera had been keeping tags on the encroaching enemies for the time being after Maldorn's beam of light had worn off, and needed a moment to just focus on Eilonwyn and find a response that wouldn't cause her fellow survivors to believe she was without a plan. But of course, she was. Lera had no clue where to go from here. Out of the city? Of course, but they'd be riding out into annexed territory. If they had stormed Port Hemmis and Castle Wicker in such force, the remaining countryside surrounding the polis couldn't be safe either. She supposed for now though, the only goal was getting away from the warband chasing them down.

"I-" Lera began, but was cut off by Bishop Retten at the front, flanked by his personal bodyguards.

"We're going North, towards Gromm's Point. When we reach the fork where the Grynnin Stream meets the Baramouth Strait, we ride East. I can assure you all we will find a haven from which we can plan our next course of action." Retten's words were decisive and formulaic, with an edge of grandiosity. Though Lera had no idea what the Bishop had in mind, it was enough of a goal to keep them all assured and cohesive for the time being.

"I recall no fort or castle near there. Is it defensible?" Lera shouted so Retten could hear, taking occasional glances back at their pursuers. Despite all the magic thus far, a handful of outriders were determined to stick them with spears and hoist their severed heads on spikes to parade through the city.

"Defensible, no. Safe, yes." Retten swerved his horse haphazardly to avoid a structural failure that nearly knocked him off his mount. "Believe in me as you would believe in the pantheon, all. I will guide you to safety." Lera wasn't sure how much she trusted the Bishop, nor how much her non-Terin believing associates would either. But it was either this, or disband and fight for oneself. Lera believed in numbers, and thus stuck with Retten's mysterious plan.

Lera was going to respond when an arrow glanced off the top of her helmet. She reflexively ducked her head, noting the skilled enemy cavalry gaining on them. Their horses were faster and more agile, a fact Lera cursed under her breath. At least their numbers had thinned.

‘Soldier!’ Sohrab shouted at Lera as the horses kept running. His new target was before him, up front as Lera had commanded. He tried to spur his horse on with his heels as he cried across the battlefield to her again. ‘Let me help defend your bishop! I can’t do magic, so this is the only offer I have.’

The riders closed in on this gap in magic, utilizing their speed to bypass Lera at some stretches and attempt to take the life of their mages who had caused them far too many casualties. If they could reach those casting magic, overcoming Lera's group would be much easier. Luckily, those such as Lera, Daniel, and Sohrab were there to protect the immediate vicinity. She didn't trust the bandit completely, but she was in no position to be picky over protection details. "You have my permission, protect the Bishop!" She called out, narrowly missing a swipe at her by an invader's polearm. Lera's goal, now that most of the melee specialists were devoted to keeping Retten alive, was to protect the flank as well as she could.

Lera had no shield as she needed a hand free for the reins, but her sword arm deftly deflected blows aimed at her. Even stabs that she was unable to parry luckily glanced off her advanced armor, leaving nothing but scratches and small impact collisions on her helmet. She had managed to cut down just one rider in the short engagement, which was a miracle in itself. Lera was no cavalry rider and was not accustomed to fighting on horseback. Lera had contributed to the defense and that was good enough for her. Protecting the mages and the Bishop was all that mattered for her, now. It seemed Sohrab was able to do his part and use his newly acquired weapon to drown invaders in their own blood by the crimson colored tip it adorned.

Odette ripped her wooden spoon from its place on her belt and tightened her grip on the reins. Stars, don’t fail me now, she silently prayed as she clenched her eyes shut in concentration and flung a ball of fire out from the tip of her spoon towards the soldiers behind them.

(Enemy cavalry rolled: 6)

Though the catalyst was a strange one, Odette's fireball had proved more than useful as it hurled towards the oncoming invaders. Though it was destined to hit one rider, he deftly swerved his horse out of harms way, only to let his unknowing teammate in the rear take the brunt of the blast. The unlucky soldier had been immolated into brittle ash in a moment, even the horse beneath him crashing into a fiery end. The flames engulfed the bodies, cutting a knife's edge in the pursuing soldiers as they needed to route around the screaming victim. As they needed to move out of its way, Odette's move had contributed in the group's survival not just by removing a combatant, but by also slowing down the entire convoy chasing after them.

Hazm looked back at the rapidly encroaching barbarians and sighed. He slowly lowered his staff until it was dragging on the ground next to him, yet still secure in his grasp. "Taurus," he whispered, summoning three ethereal, astral bulls from behind him to charge directly into the hoard. Let's hope that settles this nonsense, finally.

(Enemy cavalry rolled: 2)

The ethereal hue produced by the sudden charge of bulls was almost mesmerizing to anyone who watched the attack. Hazm's spell was stunning in motion, the astral projections so lifelike and sure of their purpose. Even someone as well versed as Lera had never seen such a spell in her life, but soon, she'd find herself thanking the gods the monk was on her side. The bulls collided with the cavalry as there was simply no room to maneuver around it, and the impact of the attack easily pummeled through the riders. The bulls travelled through their forces with little effort, horns impaling and hooves stomping indiscriminately. The first three rows of riders were obliterated in seconds as clashing metal and cries of pain from mare and man alike sounded. Though the projections faded soon after, this was the final straw for the attackers, who had received far too high of casualties to be worth another attempt at attacking. They would slow their horses and watch as Lera and her group rode hard out of the city, now unpursued for the time being. They were safe, for now.

The dense urban environment of Port Hemmis was replaced by the rolling fields and farms that surrounded the immediate vicinity of the city. Eventually the golden wheat fields faded and they were left with open grassland, only to travel further and find themselves in a wooded grove along the main road to the North of the city. The ride was long and hard, especially with a lack of proper mount equipment, but now the ride had slowed to a canter and, more or less, the anxiety of the situation had passed. They had all survived the siege and were safely away from the main army surrounding Castle Wicker. Bishop Retten travelled in silence, leading the group to his mysterious destination near Teathe's Ridge.