RP:A Disarming Conflict

Part of the Unforeseen Consequences Arc

Portal of Darkness

As you step through the area you can see a large wall, it ripples like the waves of time and reflects like a newly polished mirror. Curious you examine this massive body of energy, and with close inspection realize you can almost see through it. Placing your hand slowly on the glassy surface, your hand sinks in like it would through a pocket of water. Drawing your hand back, the thought of walking through crosses your mind. South lies the portal, while a path leads to the west as well, away from this area.

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Ranok sat atop a monsterous machine, smoking what appeared to be a cigarette. A brief moment of respite, an opportunity to regroup and rest. He wasn't normally much of a smoker, truly. Addiction was a powerful thing. The smith had spent enough of his life under the thumb of commanders, people who'd control him, take the choices of his life away from him. There had been quite enough of that for him. He was a free man...bound by the chains of which he forged himself. Bound in the end by words and duties of a different sort, but his choice in the matter made all the difference in the world. Regardless of reasonings, this smoke in particular wasn't of the tobacco sort. A plant, suggested by a soldier in his ranks, that was known to be quite the stimulant. Found somewhere on Rynvale or other. Fighting was a constant, tiresome thing, and even the abnormal smith was prone to needing such silly and wasteful things as sleep. He wasn't the only one smoking, either. Drifts of fires, from cook fires, watch fires, torches, and the burnings of abominations set to smolder when they decided that beating the ever living piss out of them wasn't enough to make them dead. Ranok's machine, what he sat upon, the infamous Doorknockers, though recently the soldiers had taken to calling them 'Ex Machinas' because of a number of somewhat obvious reasons. Tending to be pulled out when the fecal matter was squarely headed to the fan to be spread in a fairly stereotypical manner, they were also, fairly clearly, machines. Roughly in the shape of a man who was missing his head, thick arms that ended in three equally thick digits that served has hands were on either side. Sitting on chicken toed digigrade legs, which is to say, legs that folded backwards rather then forward, the cumbersome machines torso held a somewhat padded interior with runes all over them. Lacking a brain, a humanoid pilot directed them instead, which gave them a few advantages at the cost of some disadvantages. Each was powered by a collection of runes inscribed onto sliding bits of metals. Some runes contracted, others pushed. In a proper arrangement, a fair approximation of muscles was granted. Two of these things sat equidistantly from the portal, the pilot sat atop if. Ranok was on one, a greasy looking man in a leather jacket with hair slicked back on the other; that fellows name was Johnny. Or maybe it was his construct christened that. No one was really sure on the particulars. When Ranok pulled back to the portals to hold them and protect the rest of Kelay and Cenril, he'd split his forces to the portals that he could reach. He was holding this one, and it seemed to be drawing a great deal of ire. The other, in the death cult temple, had the third construct sitting in it. The tight, enclosed quarters of the temple made it much, much harder to break through, since the machine and numerous wooden barriers made it hell to break through. This day was one prepared for by Ranok, really, once he'd stepped in to examine the rip in Vailkrin himself. Stockpiles of weapons, food, and medicines were in easy reach. Members from the now defunct Fold were called to arms. Simply because Rilla had abandoned the clan once more did not make them all shirk their duty. The ones that remained were dedicated to the cause, Ranok, or both. A smattering of militia from Kelay, and a few guards from Cenril that could be bought rounded out the numbers. These humand and elven forces were spread out in a half circle from the portal, with wooden barricades errected and trenches dug. The Machina were up on the front lines, the heaviest hitters. The signs of battle were on the machines. Bright metal cuts etched into the armored plate, gore and mud flecked on their feet and clear visors that protected the pilots, and the odd flickering of runes that were damaged for one reason or another. Those runes glowed pale blues, reds, and greens, depending on whether they were energy delivery, contraction, or expansion, respectively. Armored covers had been ripped off a few, and a pile of leather was being brought in to give them what limited protection could be offered. Ranok in particular was performing maintence on his machine, the smoke between lips as he pried a bit of some flesh from between sliding 'muscles' to improve operation. The rest of the soldiers were taking a food break, catching what sleep they could, or simply relaxing. The killzone, for that empty space that denoted the area in between the portal and the first lines, was torn with blood, arrows sunken into the churned earth, and a great amount of strange ichor. From the first lines radiated more half circles, lines of defense to fall back on should the first fall. The wounded were present, the groans of men dying and the smell of blood in the air. Healers were tending to who could be, but the magic was saved for the most dire of circumstances. It was limited, and Ranok didn't know how much longer this fighting was going to carry on.

Kamalia had been walking to the area of the portal, but when the black robed woman saw the crowding of what seems to be a warzone, she pauses in her steps. Her strawberry colored eyes flashing over the wounded and dead, as she twists a section of her red hemmed sleeve. She couldn't stand to see such pain. She carried upon her waist a belt with small vials of different medicines, powders, herbs, and a vial of ink on one side. The other having more defensive items, such as poisons made of plants. Those were the only things she carried on her person, for medicine, aside from her journal. The rest of her things lay deep within the Vailkrin forest. There were be no getting them, quickly, it would seem. Cautiously, Kama'Lia moves forward towards those that are camping, a shy look about her as she moves forward. Quickly, the lycan woman goes through a list of the vials upon her belt, reminding herself of each liquid, and herb. Making sure to remember what each does, so that she could perhaps make herself of service. She hadn't been home for a few days, as she'd been wandering nomadically between Kelay, to the base of Frostmaw, gathering plants and things for medicine. Kama'Lia was always pretty uninformed about the happenings about places, but the young hermit woman never realized she was this uninformed.

Madigan came from quite a few hours away. Once she'd stepped over the bridge of Cenril, the force of something big and dangerous nearby smacked her hard enough to knock her off her balance. With her ties to the earth, it didn't take her very long to come upon the commotion. She's not her usual self when she approached the barricade. The deeply tanned skin Madigan usually wore was no longer present. Instead, Madigan has manifested herself in her tree skin, a thick, natural shield to blunt force. Her ears, naturally long and pointed, stretch out past her white, ponytailed dreadlocks, the tips of them serving as frighteningly jagged spikes anyone should take care to avoid getting impaled on. She casts her gaze around the field, taking note of all the blood between the barricade and the portal. A question passes her moss green eyes as she wonders whose blood lay on the ground, the just side or the invaders. The dryads heaves a sigh, her egyptian collar rising and falling with her breath as she clenches her fist in her hands, allowing the sharp points of her tiny limb-like fingers to poke into her tree skin, though she doesn't feel it for obvious reasons. Her eyes search around her again as she observes all the tools laid out around her, the vulnerable, the capable, the structures, the mechanical oddities, and finally Ranok. She could have easily missed him, but it didn't matter too much if she did see him or not because she doesn't call herself to his attention. She simply stays put and waits to find some kind of use for herself. Although small and relatively young-looking, Madigan was not altogether unfamiliar with this kind of gathering. Her people did it often when the neighboring tribes began warring with each other and wanted to keep the humans away from their village. It's just a matter of waiting until something happens, and Madigan is very good at the waiting game.

Iintahquohae ;; With the rain of monsters apparently at a standstill for an undetermined amount of time, Iintahquohae thought she might venture out toward the portal with Kirien to see how things were. She walked hurriedly -well, as hurriedly as you can with a broken leg- alongside him, with the assistance of her makeshift crutch underneath her left armpit to take the weight off of the broken limb, while the other tightly grasped the less pointy end of the large barb Kirien gave her a few evenings previous. Bits of flesh and fresh blood clung to the barb. At the vaguely familiar sight of the Doorknockers, she felt just a bit at ease, but didn't imagine those things were particularly careful when they were wrecking whatever might be in their path. This lead Inks to avoid getting near them and to quietly stand at a distance from the portal. Her eyes drifted to it occasionally, but mostly they flew from that partially stitched rift in the sky and over her shoulder. That thing they dealt with on their way here looked like it was dead before they headed this way. Her fingers crossed for a moment. She cast a glance at the terramancer and offered a small smile, "You doing okay?"

Kirien :: An eagle soars on silent wings high above the desolation of the killzone, its intermittent shadow subtly heralding the arrival of a certain individual. From behind the curtains of acrid smoke curling about the ground melts the vague figure of a man whose exposed chest, arms, and face are a brilliant mesh of angular golden lines that illuminate particles drifting in the air and seem to pulse to some unheard song, alive with elemental magic. A man who quite clearly is not one of the monstrosities the gathered forces are meant to be staving off. Kirien is a heavier hitter than the Machina. Maybe that's why he's off in front of the monolithic constructs themselves, wandering deep in the killzone. In fact he's not there to defend Ranok or his men, or anyone really - not yet. Curiosity more than anything has brought the empath out here to investigate the blockades Ranok has in place, and the morale of his soldiers and sellswords. Thus, he's headed toward the camp rather than away from it in search of any aberration that dared stray too close. Striding across the bloodsoaked, charred open ground beyond the defences, nose scrunched, boots as slick with blood as they are with black, oozing ichor, Kirien makes his way toward the portal. Inks, walking at his side, will probably notice the way the genasi's amiable mood seems to darken with every step closer they take to the camp, and how adopts the serious demeanour more fitting to this situation; the product of the toxic mix of horrid emotion emanating from here. "Yeah," he murmurs back to her along with a slight nudge with the elbow, the glowing designs upon his body fading as he nears Ranok and the hulking shadows of the Machina. "Your...," he says to the man then trails off before he's even truly started, if only to squint quizzically at the thing he operates, "...machine," he amends, sounding as if he's correcting some internal statement, "es damaged." Hands lift and fingers splay against the Machina's own gore-covered talons, and Kirien's expression is one of contemplation and furrowed brows. "Should probably patch that up."

Ralic was standing outside of Kelay tavern, a drunk human 's throat in his hand, the tiger's luminescent yellow eyes glared into the male's own blue ones as he struggled for ai, Ralic asking lightly of the male, "Learn sum'tin yet bare-skin?" Ralic was bored, and it showed in how he didn't let this man pass out in his own filth, but this is what happens when he can't find a fight, and a drunk starts on. " Sod it" he muttered as the male passed out in his claw-hand, then releasing the male, letting the drunk crumple from the fall. Then he turned to enter the bar once more, when he smelt something on the wind; blood, feces, oil. "A Battle!" Roared the tiger as he checked what he had on him as he took off ; tightly fitting leather armor, one iron mace on his belt, and then three feet wide hoplite shield on his back. The blue tiger was prepared, thus the run became a dash braids flying back behind him as sprinted with the inherited grace of a feline. His paws propelled him forward, almost skipping in his excitement towards the scent in his nose, then he heard it now , the crackling fires and the men's voices by their camps, the general roar of an army. Then he saw it stopping as he did so, yellow eyes winded as he observed the Giant-armor-weapon-things, he just laughed lightly remarking, "bare-skins." As he then ran towards the front as he would refused to be anywhere but. Solders eyeing the large 7 foot tall tiger as he sprinted threw the ranks, past some pretty odd fellows; an obvious bark-skin, a odd robed figure, then a strange figure with a cripple following behind . But he didn't care he stepped into the gore and leaned on the barrier eyeing the portal as if it was an enemy, because judging by the gore that stained his blue fur and the barricades it produced foes like a body produces maggots.

Ranok grits his jaw. It took a lot of effort not to put out the cigarette right into Kirien's forehead. "Hy hadn't noticed." Said much in the way that one would when informing Sherlock as to the lack of a certain fecal material being on hand. Of course the damn things were damaged. They weren't finished. He'd just managed to finish putting the old ones back together. Remton's acid rain and battle cost him the previous constructs. Various systems were half implemented, had bugs, or didn't work at all. Sitting inside the things was a hell, the heat having few places to go. The visors tended to steam up. Turning them was a nightmare. They were big, they were destructive, but they weren't subtle. Not yet. That was for the mark two series...when he managed to get time to build them. If ever. Instead of taking out his anger on Kirien, he instead removes the cigarette from between his lips, taps the ash down from his perch. Some might have gotten onto the empath if he stuck around the legs of the machine. "Vere iz Kasyr? His time iz up. Dese portals vill be blown as soon as Hy get de ordnance." Oh, he hadn't been joking about his statement. Twenty four hours had passed, and the stream of enemies through the portal hadn't exactly slackened. Oh, sure, there was respite now, but it was hell. Holding the line wasn't Ranok's preference. End the threat before it becomes one. That failing, blow it the hell up. It's worked pretty well in his lifetime. Viciously at first, but then with the caring hand of a man who'd realized he was taking his fury out onto his child, he reaches into the back area of the Machina. A panel opened, and the heart of the machine momentarily exposed. Each limb was independently powered by stones that glowed with magical energy, taken from the mountains and various mines at great expense, but there was a centralized core that stabilzed the whole array. A flick of the finger, the stones glow and fade. A trio of familiar looking likes burns gently into existence. Draeta opened an eye to the world for a moment, so to speak, <They will be needing replacement soon. Their charges are reaching critical levels.> "Yah, yah..." came the response from Ranok, Kirien forgotten. From his perch atop the machine, a seven foot tall man atop a fifteen foot thing of metal, he could see a fair bit of the field. Ralic's foolish dash through the lines made everyone edgy. Shouts as men reaches to stop, people looking up, crossbows clicking and arrows put to the string. Hopefully Ralic didn't strike any soldiers down, unless he wanted some new holes into his pelt. Such were the ways of angering a collection of soldiers already bloodied and sweated from battle. A growl from Ranok. Really, he didn't need this. Just as he was moving to signal someone to take care of the feline, a call from the line behind. Something was poking through the portal. Ranok's head whips around, a hand discarding the half finished cigarette. Johnny was doing the same thing, sans tossing a perfectly good cigarette. The other pilot hops down into his machine, closing up the visor. With the ripple of motion, runic light, and the groan of metal, the Machina readies. Arms go up, stripped down ballista on one metal arm clicking in a gigantic bolt and the other limb clicking a slab of metal in that one might charitably call a sword. Suddenly, a grim smile on Ranok's face. He waves to the soldiers to let Ralic through. He wanted a frontline fight, sure, let him. In the back, tired rent-a-cops tried to herd away Madigan and Kamalia, since neither had the look of people that could fight about them. As soon as Kamalia revealed she was a healer, though, she'd be herded right on through and shown to the hospital tent. The air of misery hung about that area as it did all dying. Men begged for water, their mothers, their gods. Blood soaked bandages were stripped and thrown into a pot that was boiling on a fierce fire, not even washed a second time. And, when the healer's skills failed, a body covered with a blanket and moved to its brothers. The fighting was fierce for the men on the front. Claws that carried acid, venoms, biles, and toxicants were lashed to flesh. The crazed cultists threw firebombs, shot arrows, slung stones. And when the pushes were bad, sword and hand held weapons were brought to bear. Anything that could be offered from Madigan or Kamalia would be welcome, even if it was only the comfort of a kind face as they passed. On the front lines, weapons were readied, and even Ranok had dropped into his Machina. A brainwashed vampire thrall was pushing out of the portal, but he wasn't alone. As many as could be readied, and a fair number of the thralls bloodied, sickly, or missing limbs from previous meatshield exercises. There was no order sounded, but the air filled with arrows from crossbows and longbows. The machina's conserved their bolts, the things a little too heavy hitting to waste on mere peons. Of course, simply wasing lives wasn't the point. The thralls served as shields, and some even carried wooden furniture or walls for extra protection. They pushed through the storm of pain. In the back came the real threat. Vampires had found some damn seige equipment and were loading them with any abomination that they could lay hands on. Things with too many eyes, limbs, claws, or anything you could name were loaded and then flung deep into the lines, sailing through the air. The response was what you'd expect. Pandemonium broke out among the backlines as bowmen were forced to engage in hand to hand without expectation. Johnny's machina flexes and leaps, swatting a dog thing out of the air with its blade, causing an explosion of gore to shower down. Ranok was firing his ballista, which skewered several meatshields together. The catapaults flung their loads again and again, and the thralls and cultists poured out, swiftly covering the killing floor to meet the lines.

Kamalia paused, in surprise, as the blue tiger dashed by her. Her glancing beginning anew as she notices others coming along towards this area. With a gentle tug, via her black glove covered digits, she pulls the hood further over her face and continues to walk on. Her eyes following the tiger, and the others who had gone further ahead. She was walking at a cautious and slow pace so that she could dodge anything that she did not wish for her bare feet to step in. Gently, she bites her lower lip as her wolf-like ears listen beneath her hood. She would come upon a male with a few simple flesh wounds, lying back, just as she was about to continue forward. She was just about to ask him if he'd like some help when some random strangers came to try and push her back, the female quickly muttering "I was to try and heal that man.." The men clearly heard, as she was quite suddenly pulled off to the hospital tent. Her eyes widening at the sight. She'd seemed to whisper something to herself, but not sound was there. Quickly… Perhaps instinctually, she went to work on assisting men. The smaller wounds would be covered with things like yarrow and willow bark, mixed with water, then bandaged over so they'd hold their place. But any bigger wounds would require her magical healing, or even a mixture. Whatever she could do, she would do her best to help. A more serious appearance about her, within this atmosphere, whereas out there she would be nothing but a shy and scared statue. Whenever one of the patients would struggle or seem worried or scared, Kama's kind and gentle smile would turn to them and she'd give encouraging words to them about how they'd be fine, or that everything was going to be alright. It seems as though she may have had been in similar situations before, though not this severe. She never even seems to hold any look of worry upon her features, so as to not frighten her patients of sorts. She paid no heed to the sounds of fighting outside, only concentrating on her work at hand. She knew several procedures, but she wouldn't speed along through the patients at a breakneck pace, just to get them fixed up. She worked fast, but with care taught to her by her parents when they were about.

Madigan hisses viciously at the men who try to escort her away, some of them unsheathing their weapons to her as she reveals her surprising canines. She glares at them until they back away and leave her alone, and then her attention is quickly taken by the whistling of many arrows slicing through air and the expected pattering of arrows hitting and missing their intended targets. Too many targets, she thinks as she looks around at the field a little dumbly and then she realizes she's making herself a liability just standing there. Biting her lip, she glances behind her at the men with crossbows and decides to use a projectile weapon of her own. It's quickly pulled out of her bag - a foot-and-a-half-long blowgun - and easily, she stuffs it with something and presses the other side with her lips before aiming for a quick moment and blowing. The thin needle, dipped in snake's venom, pierces right through a cultist's neck. Her arm quickly shoots up to grab her throat, unintentionally forcing the needle deeper into her. The pain is sudden and excruciating as the cultist collapses to the floor. The needle had lodged itself into her aorta and she herself had made the wound worse. She'll be dead in a few minutes, so Madigan wastes no time on her other than to smirk in satisfaction as she inserts another needle and takes aim, shoots. Some hideous creature's head flings back at the force of impact, the needle piercing through its skull. Whether it collapses and dies, the dryad doesn't bother to check as she moves onto her next victim. She has a few of these needles to exhaust before she has to switch her methods, but something to hinder them would benefit them all, just the same. From her satchel, she pulls out a tiny little bag, its contents wrapped in a very thin, easily broken piece of cloth, so Madigan handles it very carefully. Pulling her arm back, she swings her arm forward as hard as she can, pitching the bag right in the middle of the group of cultists. The little bag shatters unnoticeably, a little puff of black air rising. As soon as the spores settle, a black fungus culture starts to grow at their feet and as soon as any of them step forward or shift in the slightest, the caps of this particular mushroom opens and shoots up a black powder that causes intensely frightening deliriums. Some of them would collapse on the spot from the shock to their bodies and feeble psyches. Those that collapsed would be out for a while, but they'll rise again eventually. The ones who didn't immediately collapse start to scream maniacally as their realities are altered with nightmarish hallucinations. Madigan imagines what they're experiencing is much worse than things found in Vailkrin's forest, but her imagination cannot and will not try to understand what exactly the cultists are perceiving. She shifts her attention back to the abominations and shoots another needle, popping an eye on a multi-eyed creature. Her face scrunches in disgust as black liquid explodes out of it, though there's no time for hesitation, so she moves onto loading the next needle.

Kirien scowls. He's not in the mood for Ranok's cynicism nor his willingness to just blow s*** up, if his response to the smith's words is anything to go by. Hopping up onto the Machina's massive arm by way of forcing the beast into a crouch, its motionless metal frame tugged by a harshly-spoken syllable and a curling of fingers, the genasi speaks to Ranok not as the seemingly-naive being he normally portrays, but as something a few degrees more commanding, and almost regal. Almost, because he's still shirtless, covered-in-dirt Kirien. "You're not the one to make that decision. You will not damage -any- of the portals until Kasyr es here to specifically tell you to do so, d'accord? I don't care what's going on - you've held them off for long enough, et tu can hold them off a little longer until he arrives. Even with damaged machines." Though he dislikes the idea of leaving the man alone for long enough to decide he -can- make that decision and damn everyone else, he slides back off the Machina with a pointedly hardened look toward its pilot, before his focus turns to Inks. "I'm going back. To find Kasyr or...something, maybe. Try et keep him from doing anything idiotic. Man seems to think he runs the place." Patting her arm, Kirien starts off across the killzone once again just as another wave of enemies begin to push through - undeterred by their presence nor the chaos erupting behind him as weapons are fired and men ready themselves, he simply continues to advance, headed back toward Vailkrin's city. His pace picks up until he's running headlong at the mass of thralls and other unsavoury beings; arms are thrown wide and brought in front of him in a series of powerful, dance-like motions, the golden crackle of terramantic magic sizzling the air as Kirien roars a single word, its every syllable sparking on his tongue. And it's with explosive force that the earth reacts to his call, looming up behind the man, now glowing with golden lines again, in a great, rolling wave of loose dirt and pebbles. It crashes into those initial ranks with the force of a raging tsunami that Kirien worsens by transforming the cresting 'wave' into molten rock, boiling globs of magma surging behind him. He leaps through the portal after drowning a good few nasties on the way in hot earth, scruffling up his hair quickly to snuff out a stray flame. The lava cools unnaturally fast once he severs his connection to it, focused on the run ahead.

Dami had thrown in the towel early. As opposed to leaving three days from this morning, she figured it was probably best to leave early.. lest she finally snap and take down -everything- with her; cultist, flesh-fiends, and Vailkrin alike. Not even that was easy. Faced with an amassing hoard of mixed abominations, cultists, and soldiers.. Dami found herself hacking her way to the poral ala Dynasty Warriors style. On the down side, there was no peace and quiet on the other side like she wanted. The plus.. she'd be thinning out the ranks somewhat for the defending opposition outside.

Iintahquohae smiled once more at Kirien once she felt his elbow nudge her, and the amused smile grows a bit more at his conversation with the strange man and his equally strange machines. She wasn't particularly fond of them or Ranok, really. Inks sometimes held immature grudges with people that tried to pick her up and carry her away from things. The seamstress gives the terramancer a slight nod before he departs, then shifted her gaze at Ranok. She carefully hobbles forward with the assistance of her crutch, unflinching when yet again, those monstrosities are being hurtled through the air. It's safe to say she's lost some of what fear she had of them after various experiences with the things for nearly a week, so when a smaller version of one of the headless chicken-creatures she encountered on her first night in Vailkrin comes sailing toward her head, Inky has no problem spearing it with the barb Kirien gifted her. Her reflexes have improved a bit as well, apparently. While trying to wrestle the twitching thing off of the barb, she glances at Ranok. "You heard him. I'd suggest you wait," Inks said. There really wasn't much she could do to stop them, but one might notice her eyeing up the Doorknockers in a manner that couldn't be described as fond. Perhaps there was a way to stop them if he didn't listen.

Ralic grinned as he felt the men react behind him as he dashed, hearing them shifting , and startling. a good sign of their awareness, abilities, and experience. Good men to have at his back, and at his side. The tiger at the end of his dash, took a second to let his heart rate slow once more even as he heard the dull roar of men preparing next to him, letting his eyes open almost lazily just as something poked through the reflective wall this startled the men around him, the battle was here. The feline's left claw-hand reached up to grab his shield as the thralls stepped through it. Waiting for the cue for the archers, none came, but the arrows still flew , a wall of death landing upon the meat wall reducing it in number and felling a decent number. Ralic growled as he saw the real threat, siege weapons that launched horrid globs of living, killing flesh threw the air in huge arching paths to the men in the back, Ralic growled as he heard the cries of surprise and death from where he stood. Ralic looped a paw around his mace now, pulling it up out of his belt to grip loosely at his side, while he lifted his own shield to shoulder height he eyeing 3 men to his right commanding them, " Keep dem shields up, n' make a circle Iron-skins." They not knowing where or what this feline was capable of, gave each other a look then the feline himself before obeying him. Ralic turned to two on his right adding, " Ya hear meh, circle up!" And as they. Then Ralic watched a black cloud of something formed sending cultists to the ground screaming and fighting off delusions of some sort or other and the tiger smiled grimly, more like bearing his teeth then anything. His hard eyes then were drawn to the other side of the field watching a wave of molten rock sizzling men and the odd one from before strolling in it's wake. Ralic felt like he had competition, thus he eyed a siege engine yelling to his new men once more, " Move yer tails iron-skins we's got work to do." He putting his shield up and charging with his group bashing their shields to the thralls bodies Ralic breaking from his own wall for a second letting his mace break and crack heads in large sweeps. His iron-skins followed his action each using the few seconds of the thralls' being dazed to dispatch a good number, then before any thralls could recover they reformed the wall as Ralic pounded his shield in a unspoken command. They fought for one bloody foot at a time as they slowly made a swath towards one of the siege weapons.

Ranok fights himself. The ponderous motions of his Machina seemed to be almost graceful at a macro level. Arm goes up, burning brightly with red and green as the leather cover is torn away. A scrabbling thing seemed to have done the damage. Tentacles armed in barbs were slamming against the enchanted glass that served as a viewpoint that Ranok could see through. Such were its motions that chips were starting to fleck off. The thing seemed almost tailor made to this purpose, something that he didn't really want to consider. Organized waves were bad, but when the entity was starting to customize creatures to take you down, it was sensible to worry. Releasing the controls of the Machina, a hand reaches forward. Draeta's lights flare and there is the sound of electricity crackling through the machine as its surface was charged. The thing on him jerks and falls, smouldering to the ground. A stomp of a foot was all that was needed to ensure its demise. Predictably, the battlefield had turned into hell. And yet, no less then two people had seen fit to tell him not to do what was necessary, "De rest uf de lunds iz more important den Vailkrin, hyu schtupeed fool! If it's a sacrifice to be made, it vill be made!" He wasn't going to sit still and haggle logistics out with the seamstress. Vailkrin was a dead city twice over in his eyes. One of darkness and vampires. And the people who fled after the attacks. Sacrificing two portals was more then a worthy price to pay to protect Kelay, Cenril, and by extension, the rest of the lands. Allowing no more conversation, he jerks the controls forward. The machina roars as power surges into its runes and it moves forward to meet the foes. Kirien's wave of terramancy had quite neatly absorbed and rolled up the meatshields. Wood, cloth, and flesh alike burned as a horrible stench filled the air from the results. The catapults were being pulled back, but Dami's hitting from the rear complicated matters greatly. The siege engines were somewhat stranded as a result, making them ripe for picking. Wood splinters fly as the melee weapon was brought to bear, thunks as projectiles pound into the machina. Some lodge into the sliding pipes, but most break by the sheer force of the metal, runes flaring as the extra energy was poured to make it happen. Unfortunately, what Ranok had not realized that he was the target. Breaking the lines was important, but it was his organization, leadership, resources, and other talents that made the defense hold as it had. This meant that peons were being brought to bear with a special addition. Too late, the sizzling as bodies split with contained energies. Too late, as a chunk of siege engine was thrown through the portal to stall the next wave. Too late. Ranok had time to utter, "Motherf-" and the explosion engulfs his machine. Blood, dirt, solidified stone, metal, and wood aflame or not are thrown through the air hard. Forces on both sides are hit, men in the rear lines going down as they clutch projectiles that had suddenly shafted them through torsos, limbs, faces. It wasn't deadly to be hit, at least for them, but the casualties was something that could be ill afforded. Being so close to the portal, the backlash of the explosion pours through them, engulfing crazed, thrall, and vampire cultists alike. The aftermath became apparent as the smoke clears and the debris settles. The machina, glass canopy completely ripped free in the explosion, buried in the mud tens of meters away. The arm that bore the brunt of the explosion melted, damaged, and twists. The thing had fallen over, a leg twisting in the mud likewise and snapping from the force as the metal reached sheer point. Runes explode in a flash of all three colors as power surges across them and dies. The remaining limb of the machina, its digits dully grasping at nothing again and again, lay on the dirt. Smoke curled from the ruins of the machine, and all was still. Ranok wasn't hopping up from the explosion, that much was clear. A keening wail was emenating from the ruins of the machina, some system clamoring for attention it wasn't going to get. Much worse, the lines of defense rippled. Their leader, in his toughest invention, had just gone down and yet hadn't shown if he was alive or dead. A palpable pause takes hold over the battlefield, for all that could afford it. And then, men were getting up. Charging the line, straining to get to the ruins, the crator. Johnny was swinging his blade, the too-cool-for-school demeanor the man exhibted utterly shattered. Men called, shouting. Get to the machine. Get to the boss. Get to Ranok.

Kamalia moves smoothly over to another man, he was groaning and struggling, but didn't look as though he had more than a few flesh wounds… Until she noticed that there was only one limb, of his, that wasn't struggling, and just lay flat where he was. As she put pressure upon his leg she could slightly hint at the layout of his bone, until there comes a spot that seems to be inflamed and puffy in the center of his calf, another amount of pressure given to that spot and making him clench his fists and teeth as he cringed in pain. Kama'Lia looked about for some sort of pain reliever, and if she could find any she'd give it to him. If not, she would simply grab whatever sterile thing she could, to pop into his mouth so that he could bite down upon it. Carefully, she pulls his pants leg up above his knee, and then feels for which way the bone was broken it. Feeling to be a fairly clean break, the lycan woman simply takes her forearms and lines them up with his leg, then presses with an appropriate amount of strength until the bone snaps back into place, causing the male to arch his back and bite down upon the object in his mouth in pain. Quickly, Kama searches around the tent until she finds something to work as a splint, a bandage to hold it in place. It was just about when Kama'Lia was going to see to the next patient, when the sound of the battle outside finally pierced her wolfy ears. The woman ducking at the sound, as though a rock was just tossed at her skull. She turned towards the sound of the machine's explosion, and the shouting, wondering what had just happened, but soon her attention is brought back to the patients at hand when she hears one of them moaning for water. Which she would soon get for him. Still though… She was curious about the occurrences outside the tent.

Kasyr has, by this point, gotten an earful from Kirien. Enough of one that he's no longer engaged in an alternating pattern of killing otherwordly creatures, than sweeping them out of the town square with the rest of the trash. No, Kiriens got that job now, if the Kensai has anything to say about it. Which leaves the Revenant free to go and fetch a package as he makes his way towards the Portal.

Madigan was taken by surprise when a wave of rock and rubble smashed into the flow of invaders and then turned into molten rock. Her mouth had literally dropped open, but then she grinned perceptibly when she caught sight of Kirien. She hadn't seen him before, but she had surely been relieved to see him then... until he disappeared. That moment of disappointment did cost her, too. One of the monstrosities that'd been flung at the crowd had landed nearby and seriously wounded a man. Madigan had instinctively forced the creature's bloody insides outward, causing the thing to explode in place. A stomach-churning pop as it did so and then a shower of rain fell on her and the nearby soldiers. "What the f-" was all she heard from one of them before the voice was cut off by a sudden explosion. She's flung back a few feet, her body scraping across the ground as the impact rolls her over a few times. Any bits of flaming debris that lands near and on her is responded to with a rapidly-pulsing fire ward, her personal warning signal that fire is nearby. The phoenix motif, tattooed in troblin's blood and appears as a carving on her tree skin, spreads its wings against her skin, causing her to groan in discomfort as she tries to regain some semblance of equilibrium to get away from the fire she's still too disoriented to see. The phoenix turns its head as it parts its beak, and suddenly, the animated carving transforms into a flaming phoenix as the fire on the burning debris around her gets suddenly whiffed out and absorbed by the fire ward. The pulsing of the carving-tattoo abruptly stops and Madigan is none-the-wiser about what just happened other than an abrupt silencing of her fire ward. Even without her balance, she tries to frantically get away from the fire she believes herself to be in danger of, but her sight finally focuses and she realizes there is no directly threatening fire by her. A sigh and a shake of the head as Madigan scans the destruction around her. Soldiers were groaning, some were crying, others were shouting for attention. She slowly gets up, stiff as a board, and starts humming quietly to mildly heal herself and those nearby.

Dami continued to cleave her way through the masses, only to step out onto the other side where it was just as chaotic. "Oh for fu-" Ranok's machine going down was loud.. "ck sake! Why?!" Dami shouldered the halberd and threw her arms up, stomped.. kicked.. and generally threw a tantrum. It was when she heard the seamstress' voice in the chaotic fray, that she'd stop and gather her senses, eventually forcing her way through the fight. When along side the woman, Dami called out over the clash of steel and kept the surrounding men safe- and above all else, Ink's. "This fight has gone on long enough.. City can burn for all I care, you in?" Whether she was or not, Dami pinched two fingers together and let out a shrill whistle anyways, hoping her friend was able to come through the portal too.

Iintahquohae didn't appreciate Ranok's attitude, and promptly turned away from him and his machines to begin trudging back toward the main portion of the city. She wanted to sit this one out. As more things were catapulted through the air toward she and the other's general direction, the seamstress tried shielding her head with her free arm until a voice caused her head to turn and peek over her shoulder. When she eventually reaches Inks, the seamstress gives a quick nod. A change of scenery would be wonderful.

Dami held her arm out blindly while looking to the portal. She'd have been lying if she said she wasn't nervous.. the poor wyvern's strength and health was at an all time low to begin with, but calling it for one last fight was pushing it. Never the less, it pulled through for her like it always did and came bursting through the other side with a terrifying roar. Dami kept her sense alert, and her hand ready.. should some of Ranok's artillary think it another product of the rift's madness. A second whistle was issued, and when the wyvern's attention was caught, it swooped in low and fast with both legs out- the injured one deffinately. Ink's would have to forgive Dami at a later time, but there was no time for subtle exits; grabbing the woman around the waist, she'd use her other hand to snatch the extended claw. Like that, the two-- albeit a little rough --were plucked up and into the air like a 50 cent claw machine, carried eastward. Facing Kasyr when next they met with an excusable reason as to why she defected from the fight was going to be hard.

Ralic growled in frustration at the progress his group was making, but they were now past the thralls, but still far from his goal, he felt hot gore around his feet even as he tasted the fear and death in the air . But still he roared at his men to keep up his pace as they fought as one threw now vampires' speed , strength, and unnatural pets. Then Ralic saw a flash of light from behind him, he turning just in time to see the remnants of the explosion, he would have liked to have paid more attention but he knew he had hungry weapons held by blood fiends aimed at him, so he turned yelling to his iron-skins, who looked dazed and shaken by the leader, their true leader going down in the blast. Ralic growled out loudly to bring them back to themselves, " Hold yoh boards, You fools , we 'ave no time for grief." He wrapping one upon his helmet with his knuckles, they didn't even hear him, one already ran for the crater. Ralic growled and kicked one to get him moving, he yelling, " Take da big sling!" now his four men reacted moving as one once more but now they moved quicker as they now fought for Ranok, and not their survival anymore. Ralic himself looked like death, his blue and white fur now matted and covered in blood and ichor alike, his mace having flesh hanging from it's ridged head, while his shield was dented and beat, as even among his shield wall he took the brunt of the battle for his men, his mace swinging quickly smashing heads, faces, knees, necks and the occasional crotch. Ralic smiled threw the gore upon his face now as he realized something among his blood lust, the sodding machine was looming over him now, they were close.

Ranok || The men of the line weren't the only ones that were struggling to get to the machine. The true objectives of this rush were to cripple the machinas. Destroy the heavy hitters, cripple moral. Regroup, then strike and break the lines. The portal's surface rippled like a pool of water, things pouring out from it. They'd recovered from the effects of the blast and were making a balls to the wall attempt to get to the remains of a machine. That explosion had destablized the portal, however, making the array wobble like jello. Perhaps it'd collapse, perhaps it wouldn't. The race was on. The wreckage shifts slightly, a metal spar shifting out of the way. Ranok was alive, but in a bad way. Few would be privvy to the specifics of his mobility, but Draeta had assumed near complete control of itself. Functioning somewhat like the machine that the pair were crawling out of, the intelligence used Ranok's body as a skeleton to push off of. Blazes electric blue light poured off those limbs as it assumes its most powerful stance. Its creator's life was in dire danger, the most primal of its directives in danger of failure. Woven ghroundium oozing like a thing alive, it covers Ranok's flesh. What little of it was burned, cut, or bloodied. Blood seeped out of his ears and nose. Moments before it grabbed it, his arm was dangling by a scrap of flesh just before the elbow. The armor pulled the arm into place and resealed. The wound wasn't healed, but whatever damage to the body it enwrapped was deemed acceptable by this point. Seeing the hordes pushing in, and its allies moving in, safety was only moments away. Perhaps the last vestiges of the smith stirred at that moment, an order uttered to fulfill before the evacuation. A hand reaches down, electricity wreathing the limb. Those three lights blazed as powerfully as any beacon above Ranok's head. Hand connects with the controls of the ruined machine, and the power surges. The remaining arm jerks to life to sweep in between the wreck and the enemy horde. Releasing the controls, the undamaged arm is pushed to the slab of metal from the machina. Lightning arcs between the sword, Ranok's body, and the metal behind both. A groan, a snap of metal, and the sword was hurled incredibly away from the wreckage, skipping and turning madly like a demented thresher's blade. Needless to say, the results of what were hit weren't exactly pretty. Magnetism and limits removed had combined to turn the machina into a final gesture of defiance and weaponry. And bought himself time. Ranok and his armor move, now, towards Ralic and the rest of his troops, seeking the safety of both.

Kasyr ||Wood and metal creaked in protest as more cultists strove to reload the siege weaponry they had 'happened upon'. At the back of this particular procession rests a group of vampiric overseers, the likes of which happen to be members of the former House Kikei- that damnable shattered house of psionic backstabbers. One of their lot in particular seems to hold some degree of standing- lax gestures and unspoken words seeming to guide these current events like some macabre director. Even now, he was preparing the final salvo, so that he might send his subordinates to try and disable the final Doorknocker. To see if they might not be able to use their combined telekinetic might to send it crashing into the midst of it's allied foces and - A flash of lightning hurtles down through the otherwise clear evening sky, shredding into the very midst of the vampiric 'Gentleman'. Really. At this point, the rest of that particular cultist/vampiric lieutenant guy's thoughts aren't all that important. . . especially since his brain matter is now decorating the surrounding area. Kasyr , currently wielding a steel sword of an unpleasent ebon tint, has apparently come crashing down from the sky in what seems to be a blink of an eye, and carved the poor bastard straight down the middle with such violence, that he seems to have crumpled inwards. Normally, it's about this point that the Revenant would normally be subjected to stupid psionic malarky. But then, the Kensai's come prepared. Even now, that vile blade he's holding, the Sword Of Discord, is steaming black energy- growing far darker than it ought to be. A caliginous threat which seeps into the ground that the blade is currently embedded in, before spreading out in a circular field. "Hate to Interr-" And then everything exploded. Rather literally, given that the Revenant has just finished detonating the ground he had imbued with dark energy- turning the terrain surrounding the siege engines into a tumultous discord of dark energy; pillars of the stuff rending upwards from the earth. This violence continues for a few long moments, contruct and creature alike finding themselves shorn asunder by caustic energies, kinetic force, and bits of debris- until it abruptly stops. A cultist that's somehow survived the main violence is abruptly crushed by a large portion of a siege engine falling on him. "Except that I don't. Get out of my city."

Ralic grinned seeing what looked like to him a true warrior standing above his wreckage, and that what his iron skins needed to see as he herd them whooping with joy at seeing him standing at all. But there was no delusions about his status but he was alive. Ralic quickly made the distance, he ignoring the lighting that arched around the man, and threw him, or his blade arching like a scythe over grains of wheat he only hearing the screams of the creatures it hit. Ralic dropped his shield as he went, seeing as the man was as large as himself and had full armor on, of that greenish heavy stuff too. This was going to be one hell of a load. The tiger stopped only for a moment to issue orders to the men near him telling them to hold off ones they could and start clearing to the medical tents for him. Then the world shook, and everything on the enemies side seemed to just, not be there, that's what happened, but it did not explain the violence of the action or the power displayed. Its humble the tiger even as he fought off ringing in his ear and the dizziness from the concussive force, almost sending him to his knees. Once he recovered slightly the feline charged to the inured man flopping him over his shoulder , as gently as he could cringing as he felt the weight upon him, inhaling once, he dashed as fast as he could with the giant of a human over his shoulders to the tents letting him down lightly as he could upon a stretcher.

Madigan :: The surge of force that comes crashing through the battlefield knocks Madigan back harder than the initial blast had, slamming her into something very hard from behind. She doesn't get to wonder what exactly she smacked into before hearing things in her body splinter and then passing out completely, however. And it doesn't look like she'll be coming to for a while. Madigan has suddenly become useless to the fight.

Ranok is now in the medical tent, courtesy of Ralic. His wounds are many. His armor is not the heavy, head to toe plate of a knight. Instead, a bastard child between mobility and protection. His vitals covered, things that he'd die fairly quickly without. Hard zones prone to being hit or the need for defense. Everything else was ghroundium weave, an analog to chainmail. The explosion had rocked him, causing significant damage. His large frame and the armored interior of the machina served to save his life. Even so, burns covered parts of his body where metal failed. His duster was tatters, the worst that's ever happened to it. His eardrums were blown out and would need to be regrown. There were numerous internal sites for bleeding, though most would be bruises. And his arm...nearly severed, only a little bit of tissue kept it attached to his body. All this was dumped onto the medical tent, the armor relinquishing its grip on his body automatically but slowly, while the healers tended. Kamalia had integrated herself fairly well in her short stay. The fires of battle and the hectic activity of saving a life before it extinguished tended to leave very little margin for screwing around. Other men were filtering in, a crowd outside the tent. After the machinas had withdrawn and Ranok's life secured, the enemies at the portal withdrew. No use throwing resources after bad, after all.

Kamalia looked over Ranok for short periods as she, and likely other healers, moved to tend to his great wounds. Rags with water, as cold as one could hope to get them within here, placed upon all the burns they could hope to reach. Kama wasn't certain about his arm, though. It seems to be doubtful of the possibility of it being reattached.. But, maybe it would be worth a shot. Kama'Lia takes a deep breath and centers herself. The other healers perhaps would notice that Kama's would have gone to rinse off the massive wound of each section of his arm, if allowed, before quickly stitching it in place, and then adding a bandage snuggly around it. The idea was kind of gross, but she didn't really want someone else to loose a limb. If she could, she would place both hands on either side of where his arm was destroyed, and send what healing magic she could into his arm. Her eyes shut as she silently prayed to the gods that it would work without much for side effects. She tried to mostly concentrate her weak healing magic around his arm, hoping that it would cause tissue and nerves to maybe reconnect in his arm. Though the magic would also likely dissipate through the rest of his body. Once she was tired from that, she would take a break by helping clean and tend to his other wounds. She had never once seen anything as bad as what happened to Ranok before… Then again, she's never even seen any form of a deadly explosion before.. But, regardless, she needed to work. Despite that there was a lot to be done here.

Kasyr , after taking the necessary amount of time to pull himself out of the crater he created, spends a few more moments dawdling- specifically, to murder the ever-living hell out of those individuals that might have survived the Kasyr-induced cataclysm. He only makes his way towards Ranok's 'encampment' after he's certain that there's nothing living (or unliving) in the immediate vicinity. Sheathing his sword, the Revenant simply asks for directions- in an attempt to seek out Dami, the Seamstress (What was she doing at the heart of every disaster?), and Ranok. Really, he'll start heading off in the direction of whichever one is a combination of closest, and willing to see him.

Ranok would survive, given time. A tough man, tempered by years of hardship. While a field hospital was hardly the most superior of medical places, his status ensured that his life was preserved. The cycle of healers, each skilled in their craft, taking their turn, Kama'Lia among them. He would carry the scars for the rest of his life, but at least he had one. For his arm, there was little to be done. A wound of such a massive type, so many tissues damaged, ripped free in heavy trauma...it took the most skilled of healers to regenerate, and as well as the medics here could stitch, as well as they could stop a man's intestines from spilling out, some things were outside the realm. Ranok was too unconscious to really be upset, though he'd actually prepared for this day. If nothing else, the machines he'd brought to the fight hinted at a certain set of skills. The loss of an arm was a minor setback at best. For now, Ranok rests, his armor parted from his body, but very much watchful. It prowls like a beast, a thing of sudden motion and stillness. Tendrils of black served as hand and foot, three lights blazed as eyes, and any attempts at removal resulted in a surprisingly polite, but firm, voice denying the request.

Kamalia sighs gently as the arm just seems to stay lifeless… It was worth a shot, after all. It was a good thing that her parents had taught her how to heal with nonmagical means as well, otherwise she probably wouldn't be as useful whenever her magic vanished. On any small wounds, she applies whatever willow bark and yarrow would be left on her person. The willow bark could generally sterilize wounds when mixed with water, and it helps with healing it up. The yarrow, a grassy flowering plant, could be used for many things as well as being used to treating wounds. Thus Kama has the tendency to carry both on her person whenever she can. She would continue to work with the other healers as well as she could. If Kasyr entered the tent in search of Ranok, Kama'Lia would perhaps not notice him. Too engulfed in worrying about her work. As for how she looks, she was pretty plain and kept most of her head covered with a hood most of the time. So her wolf ears would usually be covered, as well as he tail covered by her robes. After rinsing off her hands, she quickly pulls out a journal of medical notes and flips through it to see if there was anything else she could do for the injuries Ranok had sustained.

Kasyr 's presence is an ephemeral thing, the revenant effectively locating Ranok, if only to discern that he -was- in fact still alive, but currently quite unconscious. It's for this reason that the Kensai's stay is brief- spending just long enough in the make-shift camp to help put things in order, and aid in staving off anything that gets redirected towards it, before simply departing. Apparently, he still intends on catching up with Dami and Inky.