RP:Attack On Chartsend Part II: The Naga From The Bog-a

Part of the The End's Not Near Arc

Part of the Put Up Your Dukes Arc

Summary: Allies and heroes unite to protect the town of Chartsend from the vicious Naga Queen (who is New In Town). Jaize throws her might against the ingenious traps, tricks, and skills of those gathered outside the seaside town, effectively reminding the woman 'not to let the door hit her on the way out'. Jaize escapes the skirmish at the mention of an attack on Alithrya after being betrayed by Vestra. Reginae rushes after in a plum of smoke. A battle field of ash and spoil remains just in time for Wilhelm, former figurehead of Chartsend, to return with his own army a little too late. Repair efforts for the mind, the body, and the city itself are now underway.

Entrance to Chartsend

The sun rises in east, as it always does, casting it’s comforting light on the small cabins and farmhouses that pave the way to Chartsend. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide is undisturbed, even on this chilly winter morning. Temperate winds gust lazily through the reeds and evergreens, the frozen branches of inland trees chattering like teeth. The landscape is calm, serene even, as a band of naga forces spreads out silently on the distant shore. The glow of day break doesn’t seem to penetrate their inky cloaks or gleam off their gold or silver weaponry. As if a magical cloaking fog, or from some other plane, the warriors cast an muted shiver through those denizens nearby. Even the dullest of intuitions would feel the uneasy groan of the earth and sea. Jaize is poised and pristine at the head of the soundless plague, curled atop her flawless length of ivory scales. Atop her head is the crown presented to Reginae at the Naga Coronation. The symbol of her position was the only thing that caught light as she hisses in low, urgent tones to Vestra who stood alongside her at the forefront of the pack. Her azurite gaze was aimed mercilessly on Chartsend, barely a breath away. She’ll waste little time discussing the details with her first in command. “Break the barrier and scout ahead…” Jaize turns to Vestra in ful and lifts her chin in the direction of the sleepy seaside town ahead. No trace of doubt exists in her features. With all of the mousy naga’s reassurances, why would there be any path but victory?

Pilar had been dreading this day, and when Vestra sent them word of the time and date, she’d been both relieved and terrified. She and Yozenra had gone to every home to warn them of impending danger. Every fisherman and boatswain and basically anyone that still owned a ship had left the harbor early that morning, laden with evacuees. Some had stayed to defend their town. Some had stayed because there’s always some idiot that stays when disaster is on the horizon. Nevertheless, the people were safe, and that had been Pilar’s main worry. Now, now they just had to fight. She and Yozenra, decked out in their armor, stood side-by-side behind Chartsend's walls as the militia got into formation. A moat--really a ditch filled with water--had been dug before Chartsend’s gates. Or rather, where the gates had been. The “moat” had a few nasty surprises waiting for the attacking naga, courtesy of Kreekitaka. Pilar was grateful for his help, and Lionel’s too, of course. She looked to Yozenra, both glad the warrior was present, and wishing her wife was somewhere safe.

Vestra stands at the side of Jaize. Forgoing the usual gaudy attire and replacing such commonplace items aside in favor of that cascading mithril scaled robes. Almond brown hues scrutinize the city she has bought time for beneath the visage of a fanged snakes helmet - open faced but demoralizing to say the least. That charred alder staff is grasped within lithe finger tips is planted firmly on the ground. That fake persona she had always donned has fallen in face of battle. She hoped that Chartsend had prepared. Jaizes command is issued, and her advisor obliges with a nod of confirmation. "Understood," Vestra voices while slithering forth to break the ranks. She would approach Chartsend cautiously, fearing for the traps which might spring upon her. She does look like the enemy, that much is true, but once gathering outside of the city by herself, she stands, waiting. Looking for Pilar. Scanning for Yozenra while standing far enough back to not receive attack from their militia. She does look the part of emissary sent to speak. They needed to know hell was about to break free, and Jaize herself led it.

Lionel had cleaved through only one half of the thick load of oaken bark when word came that battle with the naga was imminent. The scout who brought him the news drew the cautious attention of the whole war camp when Lionel paused Hellfire’s rush mid-swing. Deep within the verdant Southern Sage, men and women of Frostmaw and the Warrior’s Guild drew themselves up from their perches against towering trees to watch their eccentric commander’s face darken with his dimming mood. A heavy moment passed, punctuated by the chill of wintry wind. It made the human folk to shudder, even as the Frost Giants seemed all the hardier. “She’s really going through with this, then,” Lionel said in hushed whisper. “Grey,” he called, louder now, “finish chopping. Eagle, I want this perimeter fenced by nightfall. Esche, ready my Tikifhlee and take the command.” Esche, his shaven-headed elven ally and a companion through thick and thin, grabbed hold of his faded green robes to keep the snow off of them and approached Lionel at a hurried pace. “You -must- bring armed forces to this engagement,” he pleaded, and not for the first time. “Chartsend is weary from the battle with Kahran. Now, this fresh conflict looms; is it not destined to be called the Second Battle of Chartsend? Does that not tell you we cannot let the people suffer so? Lionel, please.” Lionel sighed, exasperated. He didn’t want to say it again any more than Esche wished to hear it again. “I cannot commit Frostmaw to this, nor can we afford to send them -- or the denizens of the guild -- away from Kahran’s many fronts. Like it or not, Esche, he’s calling the shots right now, and we’re playing this frakked-up field already too scattered as-is. No. Kree and I will handle this.” The elf stared, dismayed. “Let us hope Pilar rallied a great number of additional participants to the cause, then.” It was all Lionel could do to snort as he began packing for his journey. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, man.” Lionel had all but hopped aboard his gorgeous catlike steed when Esche rounded on him once more, a desperate look in his emerald eyes. “Take me with you, at least. Leave command to Kara Thrace. She’s quite good, you know. I… wish to help with the evacuation. Please, Lionel.” There was something about that haunted look that froze Lionel in ways no cold gust could achieve.

Now Lionel stands at the ready, Hellfire strapped to his back. Smaller than the stories have claimed, spry and lithe like a rogue, Catal’s Last Prince might have even blended in fully with the militia troops on either side were it not for the thin red crimson silk garb he wears today -- all the better boon to his natural and magically-bolstered agility. He will stand out, then, like a 1.85-meter rose in a field of muted beiges and stark whites. And dinosaur knights. Lionel snickers to see the company Kreekitaka’s brought for the ride, and his cloudy, moody thoughts subside for just a moment’s passing to ponder the surprising net positives of what the history books have labeled ‘Sauriangate’. That chipper idea dislodges itself from Lionel’s mind as he turns to see the last of the evacuation boats depart for safer shores. Esche had worked tirelessly to assist therein -- Esche, whose look pierced Lionel’s sensibility. That elf’s obsession with helping others might just rival his. Lionel shakes his head, easing a gnawing tension in his neck. “Steady,” he says for his own sake as much as anyone else’s nearby. He takes a breath of crisp air and says it again. “Steady.”

Kreekitaka had just barely managed to set everything up in time. His Knights had taken a bit of convincing to accept Muzo’s potion, but it and the tea made from Daisy’s had been more than enough. They and their creatures were ready, with Kreekitaka himself at the lead atop his carcharodontosaurus, flanked by four other theropod-riders, two on each side. Behind the predators was a row of stegosaurus-riders--the creatures’ hides augmented with spiked armor and the spines on their tails sharpened to razor points and capped with steel. The plates on their backs were perfect cover for the pair of spear-throwers which rode there, making each individual dinosaur a walking fortress from which all manner of death could be hurled. And behind those were a group of scorpion-riders, tails armed with catapults. The skies above were covered, as well--waiting in the trees was a small squad of avians, each carrying a collection of those grenades which burst when primed, flinging needles laced with paralytic venom in all directions. In addition, they had been armed with torches and lantern oil for spreading over their foes. Sticking close to the avians were a collection of pixies gathered from Rainbow’s tribe, each specializing in a different field of magic. Their job was to defend the avians by deflecting attacks, and to disrupt formations by hurling spells seemingly from nowhere above the battlefield. The moats had been filled with sea scorpions and even a pliosaur, more of those needle-bombs had been planted on the ground to burst under the tread of a careless naga’s tail. Kreekitaka had been very determined to defeat this attack, and as such he had brought all the resources he could muster. His Knights were deployed between the moat and the city wall, the minefield on the outside of the moat. Should his barriers be broken, he would order the charge--but for now, it was time to issue Jaize a challenge directly, the moment he saw the naga enter his field of view. He tapped his dinosaur and it issued forth a thunderous roar which echoed for miles around--only this time, it was joined by the roars of his fellow theropod-riders. The sound shook the earth with its volume. Come on, Jaize. You can’t break through this wall.

Callum certainly felt out of place, amongst those gathered here in defense of the port town. Why did Callum care whether or not Chartsend might fall? The simple answer is: he didn’t. Since Valrae’s burning, quitting his job in Larket, and Meri disappearance, he didn’t give a damn about anything at all. And yet, here he was regardless. It was a means to an end, however. A way to keep his mind busy, a reason to spend his mana either killing or healing--it didn’t matter which at this point. And so, here he stood, near to Lionel, and yet still off on his own, waiting for what was probably going to be the end--knowing the numbers of the naga he’d seen under Jaize’s rule the last time he was in Alithrya, he could only assume their imminent demise.

Kanna: If years of vagrancy had taught the interloper anything, it was how to stowaway. High from the perch of Schezerade, a certain bardess had seen the insurmountable amount of Frostmaw troops marching down through Xalious Village and through the meadow. She really had not been expecting to see anything on her way for a teeny-tiny midnight snack, but the sight was exciting enough to get her changed and sprinting down the city to catch up. Where there were troops, there was an event, which meant something she could record and retell in song! Having opted for neutral-colored clothes under a hooded cloak, Kanna had snuck herself between two canons being rolled on a platform to give herself a free ride to the destination. Now she sat perched at the lowermost branches of a tree that overlooked the empty town as dawn broke. Her shamisen was her instrument of choice today, not wanting to risk her heirloom zither in a dangerous place. She looked out at the strange figures approaching the shore and made sure to jot it down in a small notebook in her lap, illuminated by a tiny lantern hanging from a branch. Unless one was looking from the east, the faint light it gave outside the cover of the leaves simply blended into the sky.

Reginae, for her part in the battle, was standing near the entrance. A male rogue lazily leaning back against a haphazard crate with black boots. Hazel eyes scanned the horizon, vision shredded with light as he looked out over...nothing. No army. No boots crunchy frosted grass in a uniform march. He had to see it to believe: Jaize, in the flesh. Vestra moves into his field of vision but he delays reply. She wouldn’t recognize him. His eyes fall back, searching the crowd gathered here for Pilar. She’d been leading the efforts in town while it seemed the naga’s new ally, Kreekitaka, was more than pulling his weight with the battle planned he’d outlined. Possibly with some help from that Carmon Sandiogo man, clad in blinding crimson. All he needed was a wide brimmed hat to fit the portrait perfectly.

Jaize turned to watch Vestra go. She sensed something in the mousy Ha-Naga thought her own particular brand of magic did not allow her to decipher it. A snark, under her breath. Perhaps it was just nerves. The Queen wrote it off as such, casting a longing gaze at the city ahead. Ah...in just a few minutes time, she’d be snuggly through their moderate defenses. Perched atop a spire of victory and affirmation. The nagas in Alithrya would bow to her will and all that her glossy eyes touched would be hers to - Kreekitaka’s dino-roar cuts through her internal monologue of victory. Her lips curl into a snarl. Blast it all, Vestra. She must have set off a trap, triggered the enemies! A moment’s hesitation as she considers the manifesto...Vestra hadn’t mentioned Dinosaurs. Nerves gathered, the Queen lurches forward with a roar of her own. It breaks the fog barrier, revealing the endless army at her disposal. The ebony cloaked nagas rushed forward to meet the dinoriders and all heck broke loose before anyone got a chance to catch their breath. The naga mages hurled various curses towards the avian’s and pixies overhead. Warriors, armed with thick plate mail and heavy war hammers made steady progress towards the fortressed beasts, approaching the outline of the ‘moat’. Jaize herself hung back, pulled up on her tail to survey the scene from the highest point of observation.

Pilar gulped audibly once the nagas were revealed. Oh gods above, why? “Steady!” Yozenra called to the Chartsend militia, “Steady!” She didn't want them setting off their own traps. Speaking of, there was one now. The first mine detonated, throwing needles into the soft underbelly of the passing naga. Another went off shortly thereafter. “Archers!” Yozenra called. A dozen people, armed with bows, stepped up. From their quivers they pulled what looked like regular arrows, but they had been enchanted to pierce armor. An expensive enchantment, courtesy of the Mage's Guild and Vestra's generous gift. Careful not to aim too high and risk hitting their avian comrades, the archers took careful aim. They had not numbers on their side, here. They had to be sure to hit.

Vestra can feel the ground quake - such thoughts bring a droll smirk to those delicate features. The roar of beasts and the like; Chartsend has indeed prepared for them and now she must act her part out further. A plot to hinder and destroy the army Jaize has gathered this day. Pilar had spent that gold well and for her part, she has done everything she could save for this last thing. Vestra's gaze discovers what's needed and takes back off towards Jaize and her 'comrades'. Without further ado, she returns to her position within the ranks. "They have gathered allies." This is a note she had previously discussed with Jaize. "And it seems they stand ready for us." Vestra adds no further weight to her words. No further weight for her Queen and only waits for the command to slaughter. "We will smash them my Queen." Vestra gives a bow, once again deep and humbled before her Master. Vestra would soon reveal herself as a treacherous snake.

Lionel studies the fog like some great tome to be picked apart and analyzed. Somewhere in that shroud, vicious warriors lurk; he is certain of it, not only from experience but from the warning band of steady pressure coursing through his blood courtesy of the strange pulses of the sword upon his back. With so many of them crowded so tightly together, the concentration is enough for those red pulses on Hellfire’s steel to light up the scabbard; it’s a signal flare of sorts, an alarm that Lionel had made sure to discuss not only with his fellow Catalian, Callum, but with Chartsend’s mlitia as well. “They’re out there now,” he warns. “And I’m little good to you back here.” Esche tilts his shaven head in a polite cant. The elf knows what to do: stay with the town’s valiant few and defend for all his magic’s worth. How many missions have these two taken together? How many missions have they taken with Kreekitaka at their side, for that matter? The men understand one-another eminently. Lionel rises from his perch against the gate, swiveling his slender form to assess the status of the people he is about to leave behind. In the final seconds before Jaize’s naga tear through that fog, beyond count and bluntly bloodthirsty, he locks azure eyes on Pilar and flourishes a terrible attempt at a bow. “We’ve got this.” Three simple words spoken in curt, succinct assurance. Hellfire’s pulse intensifies into a nigh-blinding glow; Kreekitaka’s saurian force screeches beyond the moat. The earth shakes and the battle begins.

Lionel slams his golden-tipped shoes into Chartsend’s dirt, getting a feel for the soil. He closes his eyes and relaxes every muscle in his body, feeling like a leaf on the proverbial wind. When his eyes reopen, the blue has gone blue-red, the dirt has gone up in a slim streak of controlled flame, and the Catalian wraps his dual grips upon Hellfire’s hilt, swinging it forward as it billows into a moss-green flame. Lionel is off, swift beyond measure, across the way and over the bend, over the moat like thin air. Roaring beneath his impossible feet, the sounds of sloshing teeth and crashing waves; he ignores it, well aware of his uyeer partner’s plans, and musters a grim smirk of raw defiance. Ahead, the collective forces of Jaize, usurper. To defeat them, Lionel will need to rely upon his allies to lead this charge whilst he lets himself earn his darker monikers. The first few swings are slower; they test armor, find its weak points, ignite snakeflesh into cinders. What follows is faster, and faster, and faster still, until Lionel is a blaze, and Chartsend’s outskirts are his demolition field.

“Listen up, ladies!” shouted Lavender Thunderwhale as the avians took flight with the pixies right behind. “We’re here to smell flowers and kick naga tail, and I for one am all out of flowers!” The cryomancer pointed a finger and shouted a command word, whipping up a shield of ice to block a curse and then shattering it into dozens of frosty swords to rain down on their attackers. “I want covering fire on all sides and as much wide-spread chaos as you can muster! Stick close to your feathers!” The avians circled higher, starting to deploy their grenades first, flinging toxic needles down all over the oncoming naga waves. One pixie caught sight of Jaize and signaled to Lavender, “I have a shot!” but the elder sister shook her head. “If you miss, we won’t get another, and the plan depends on her being alive!”

Kreekitaka was, meanwhile, issuing a command of his own. The stegosaur-riders were all taking aim, but first came the scorpions and their tail-catapults. With a SNAP, large clusters flew from their tails and landed amongst the approaching naga. Unlike the avians, who were armed with paralytic needle grenades, however, each of these clusters were comprised almost entirely of hornet’s nests taken from the wildlands to the south. Each wasp was almost three inches long, and they sallied forth from their broken hives by the hundreds, sliding into the cracks between armor and injecting a venom that did nothing but bring pain—vicious, burning pain that would spread rapidly through the body from the site of the sting. Getting the hornets safely contained in their clusters had been a nightmare, but now it was liable to be extremely worth it. The pliosaur burst upwards from the moat as the naga tried to cross over it, grabbing a soldier or two in its jaws like some kind of amazing homage to the best scene in Jurassic World. But the best moment came when Kreekitaka himself thundered forward with his lance in hand, followed by the charge of his Dinosaur Knights. If the ground had quivered due to the noise of his roar, it was now positively quaking as the massive beasts charged forward. Kree smacked his jawblade against his beast’s flank, charging it with energy, and as the two forces collided he aimed it forward, braced himself, and let loose a shockwave which likely blasted apart the front lines as if a bomb had gone off. His lance was put to good work, the knights behind him following suit—and above it all, he had started to monologue again. “I am masTAH!er of yanDAH! an’ sea! You HHHTHink your armies of syugs can face HHHTHis champion? I yaugh aTAH! your paHHHTHeTAH!ic excuses for warriors! When HHHTHey wriTAH! songs of HHHTHis DAH!ay, HHHTHey are going TAH!oo say you were a bunch of weakyings compareDAH! TAH!oo me an’ mine! BehohDAH! HHHTHe true power of my DAH!inosaur KnighTAH!s!”

Callum :: ‘We’ve got this.’ Once the naga army was revealed, Callum knew that was a lie. A smirk of Cal’s own formed, bitterly, as lightning crackled to life between his hands. Balls of electricity quickly formed and was lobbed towards the back of the army. It landed in the water, electrifying the moat in spots, Callum doing his best to keep it from harming his allies, but being untrained like he is, well… there was probably bound to be a few people in the water that weren’t naga that might take a few jolts. Sorry, guys. Hazards of war and all, you know. Kreekitaka’s monologue hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Callum could only eyeroll at him, “How about you quit your frakkin’ talking and focus on the killing, yeah? Save your speeches for someone who gives a damn.” Spoilers: Callum did not give a damn. More lightning in the form of streaks and arcs are gifted to the naga, in hopes of frying them in their armor. Once the attempt at thinning the melee ranks, Callum shifted his attention towards the snake mages. Bending the water to his will, great waves ebbed and flowed, some circling around the naga like small cyclones, others attempting to knock them over. It wouldn’t drown them, of course, as the naga were water creatures, but it’d certainly kill their focus and delay them from throwing more magic at the avians and pixies.

Reginae is not prepared for the fast pace at which the battle kicks off. Kreekitaka doesn’t waste any time. She feels a twinge of gratitude and perhaps even a miniature crush for his warrior like prowess. Aramoth above, get your head on straight! Nothing like a giant crab man on a dinosaur to distract you from the cheers of other riders and...the surprisingly quiet deaths of the naga forces. The slick tendrils of sea creatures coil around their legs and pull them into the water pooled beneath their feet. All you can hear over the dull hum of boots to the earth is a snap, crunch and the water begins to cloud with murky grains with the consistency of soil. The rogue male kicks off the crate, twirling both daggers in hand and sets off, through the hoard of riders. He dodgers arrows meant for the enemy, pushing dull naga mages into their path. Even the worse of shots will find a target if she has anything to say about it. The glint of dawn glides off his daggers, one clasped in each hand. The human’s knuckles are white with impatience, his brow furrowed in focus. A single bell chimes through his mind. The name of Reginae’s sister. Jaize. Jaize. Jaize...in three fourths time, deafening all other sounds or lack thereof as she weaves ahead, dodging the defense and offense. Jaize, it seems, isn’t visible to the clashing forces. She’s cast her own defenses; a shield of powerful undetectable magic that shields her from sight or sense. Vestra is ignored. Whatever the woman does now is her own responsibility.

The army moves forward, unwavering in the face of so many obstacles. Just as many naga fall as advance as they cut a steady path forward. The mine comically blows nagas into the air, where they disintegrate into an earthen colored ash. Jaize, meanwhile, regards Vestra as she would a mouse on the battlefield. She’s waiting for the naga to scurry away, but it appears she isn’t. Strange. Perhaps Vestra is going to fight? Jaize scuffs, leaving her thoughts therein and placing bets against that outcome. Little Vestra? Who is constantly pushing up her glasses and tripping on her tail? What use was she on the battlefield? The moat alights with electricity, dropping the nagas closest to the water’s edge. Hefty mages, with mana leaking from their fingertips, aim their low calls to a singular point over the city. Their tongues spill articulate words of arcane weight as more and more of her countless hordes fall to all they encounter. A red hot ball of magic hangs in the air, lined up with the rising sun to disguise it’s intention. The mages continue to whisper, Jaize’s heavy stare shaking their nerves and rushing their tongues. A thin band makes it close enough to encounter the moat, and as Reginae saw before rushing forward, the monsters therein and doing their work but finding no blood to satiate their lust. She rolls her eyes at this monologue, her own voice audibly cast out over the frey while the naga herself is hidden entirely from sight. “If I wanted foolish, backwards opinions...I’d have asked for them. Surrender now - lest you meet the true wrath of my warriors.”

As Lionel and Kreekitaka surged forward, Yozenra gave the command. “Charge!” The militia, small as it was, followed her order to the letter. Spears and swords and pitchforks and hammers, they were armed with anything sharp or heavy they could get their mitts on. Pilar and Yozenra stayed close to each other, unwilling to leave the other unprotected. Yozenra took point while Pilar hung back, weaving her illusions. Soldiers vanished from sight, leaving the naga to fight invisible enemies. Flames burst from the ground at random intervals, blocking their advance. The two headed deeper into the battlefield, Pilar's eyes scanning for anyone who'd need assistance, and Yozenra's eyes scanning for anyone who might disrupt Pilar's spellcasting. But it didn't take long for them to see that their enemies weren't flesh and blood. Yozenra skewered an enemy with her trident, only for them to turn to a pile of dirt. “What...?”

Vestra , poor little Vestra, the squeaky mouse does indeed follow Jaize into battle. She stays with her Master waiting the moment for battle. Ready to 'die' for Jaize and all of her efforts. Vestra had planned all that she could for a final message. One last rally and begins to weave a spell of her own, those few mages which have gathered around know what she is attempting and soon the skies darken and dim. They will open this place to the thunderous roars from above them all. The presence looming overhead growing grim at such workings, but she and the others do not stop. The incoming charge of her real allies does not stop her magical workings, nay for instead this must be completed!

Kreekitaka snapped his head up at Jaize’s insults. She didn’t like his words, huh? Too bad, because that meant it was time for even more of them. First, however, to show her precisely how wrong she was. “Yionoh!” he roared from atop his creature. “You an’ me! HHHTHe manTAH!ises of HaHHHTH! Seven seconDAH!s!” Hopefully that’d give the man enough time to get into position while Kree charged up his jawblade for another blast. He waved his lance upward to get the attention of the avians, then executed a quick series of gestures. The aerial forces stopped their bombardment of grenades for a few moments and began to spread oil on the breeze, all over the battlefield. The pixie pyromancer giggled and rubbed her hands together, sparks flying as she gleefully anticipated the uyeer’s next maneuver. The moment his jawblade was charged, and hopefully as soon as Lionel was in position, he shouted, “NOW!” and unleashed a huge shockwave across the field, intended to pick up and carry Lionel’s flames as far as they could go and ignite the oil that had been spread wide. The pyromancer up above breathed in and shouted a word of power which turned the fire a lovely shade of purple—and also increased its temperature by a factor of three and caused it to leap even faster across the battlefield, spreading wildly and targeting the casters most of all. The water from Callum’s assault had brought the oil that landed on the dirt to rise to the surface, spreading everywhere, and the hydromancer pixie did her best to keep it from leaving the battlefield and send it back towards the naga. Meanwhile, of course, Kree: “Is HHHTHis enough of an answer for you, Jaize?! Are your warriors capabo of sTAH!anDAH!ing in HHHTHis fire?! No? Ha HA! Mine are! Burn, you insufferabo worm!”

Lavender, up above, started noticing the naga that were turning to dirt when killed, and got a very interesting idea. “Spring!” she yelled, turning her gaze to the team terramancer, “I think they might be dirt on the inside! Try to flatten ‘em!” Spring rolled up his sleeves, clenched his fists, and shouted a command word of his own, intended to take what dirt was inside a group of naga and compact it into a single stone. The experiment might not work—they might be under stronger control—but on the off-chance they were just dirt golems, Spring was about to have a field day.

Lionel is as much evading Kreekitaka’s needle grenades as the naga desperate to slice him to ribbons, and his every skillful sidestep is as mindful of hornets as claws and blades. His bright infernal streak tails it every which way, announcing his presence, but his body contorts at exotic angles; to one of the naga, he’ll allow himself to fall backwards almost to the ground, only to feign his collapse and then swing Hellfire one-handedly deep into his foe’s gut. But even as he lifts himself back up, narrowly avoiding a naga’s deathly slash, Lionel’s lips twist into an irritated grin; a grenade almost paralyzes him at point-blank range. It takes the nearby snake instead, but then a fresh batch of hornets is deployed and he’s at the center; they know where to go, but it’s not enough to make a man feel any better about his life’s choices. “This is fine,” Lionel says, grabbing a naga’s neck and squeezing before plunging Hellfire’s hot steel into its belly. A hornet buzzes and lands on his nose. “This is fine,” he repeats, and the hornet -- mercifully -- buzzes off. As nearby naga fall to Callum’s electric spells, Lionel lofts a brow despite his battle lust to see them turned to ash. “This is fine.” But when he looks back in wonder that the very naga he himself has slain are ash, he can only blink and repeat his new chant. “This is fine.” There is nothing ‘fine’ about charging nimbly through a rampaging horde of snake people armed with only a sword, but for that particular delusion, Lionel will not deign to speak. He -does- speak when the skies crack thunder and blacken; however, he has at least traded in his tired go-to observation for something else, something he once heard far, far away. “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.” Comically, a nearby enemy naga nods. Man and snake share an awkward beat. In this commonwealth of trepidation, perhaps they will not have to fight, after all?

“Yionoh!” The attempt on his name kicks him back into the here and now, causing him to glance rapidly this way and that until he’s located his boon uyeer companion. The water has carried the oil, and the oil has spread. Lionel’s unlikely naga acquaintance snarls and recoils. Lionel bites his lip. “Well, this is awkward.” All around them, death, destruction. Yet here at the epicenter, a sigh. And once that sigh is let go, Lionel leaps into the air like some kind of javelineer, swirling Hellfire in a full arc as its heated bursts discharge in vibrant, throbbing ebbs. The fire spreads, thick and green, then purple from the shockwave he’s been supplied. A boom sounds the ignition, so loud some of Chartsend’s windows shatter on ceremony. There’s a lot of fresh ashy dirt to catch Lionel’s fall.

Callum ’s water cyclones coiled up around mage and warrior naga alike, crushing them like ship destroyed under waves in the middle of a storm. But… they turned to dirt? What the hell was this? The dirt and water become mud and the mud becomes just another unfortunate bit of difficult terrain for those that stand for Chartsend. Callum’s magic shifted back to that of air, streaks of electricity sent flying into that fiery shockwave, aiding further into felling the strange, dirt naga. His attention fell to the ground, making sure to keep away from the oil and the muck that his own magic brought to the shore. And that’s when he saw it: the shadow looming over head as the magic ball was brought to eclipse the sun and hide itself within its blinding light. Callum looked up, squinting at it--though not quite looking at it directly because he’d like to not stare at the sun and burn holes into his eyeballs--and flung watery orbs at what seemed to be a glowing hot ball of magic. Was it fire? Something more sinister? Cal didn’t frakking know, but he knew it was not something he wanted directly above him right now.

Reginae continues to make her way further through the line. Hazel eyes shift to azurite as she nears the spot she’d last seen the ivory scaled traitor. She left her whole city to rot for the coveted title. Kree and Lionel’s tag team attack lights up the air. Lavender flames lick the overcast sky, painting the grey clouds with their influence. Over the madness, Jaize cackles. Her voice still amplified above the various sounds of battle that literally explode out across the scene, shredding through waves of naga like thin parchment. “Any fool can light a fire -” The flames trampled another wave of her army, dissolved into nothing with their radiancy. The attack bounces off the Naga Queen’s barrier. Within, beads of sweat streak down her pale but perfect face. Her mana isn’t limitless, members of her army begin to drop to their knees on the battlefield without being attacked. They become fodder for the laziest archers or dizziest of riders. In a burst of light, Jaize’s barrier breaks and the naga’s snarl is turned up at Kreekitaka’s boisterous remarks. Her lips part, preparing to jettison a come back with magic she doesn’t have, when the male rogue catches sight of her and parkcores off the fortress side of one of Kree’s riders to land beside Vestra. The two appear to exchange glances, or maybe it’s all in Regi’s head. Jaize looks down at the male, fallen into the dirt to avoid the wave of flame that passes. Held up on his knee, hazel eyes shift to azurite and Jaize looks down to catch the change. The elder of the two sisters squints at the rogue. “What….” The naga army has now built a solid layer of ash and soil on the battlefield. This is swept into the purple flames, the thrust of spears, the hum of arrows. The very lightening that threatens overhead deposits ash like lazy snowfall from above. Callum’s cyclones become black with sludge. But still they keep coming. An endless supply of fodder. Where are they coming from?! Wind and flame blasts mounted deposits away for naga soldiers that crawl across their fallen comrades, spawned anew. The male in the dirt doesn’t devert her gaze, and thought she hasn’t seen Vestra in quite some time, she howls her name on the wind in the hopes that she has something up her puffy adorable sleeves. The ball of energy that’s been forming overhead, untouched by defenses to this point radiates. A new sun to dawn on her new kingdom! Callum’s water dims the glow but evaporates in the next instance, giving the orb a moment or two of visibility to those around it. Jaize’s lips part again, an earth shattering call to arms. “MAGES NOW!” With no other preface, the mages lift their arms in the air and mutter their words….the ball of flaming magic descends onto those below. All are regarded as foe; naga or otherwise. All well outside Jaize’s range. She’s safe, on the far end of the battle field, surrounded by mages that maintain their barriers while her mana appears depleted. Her laughter roars above all.

There was no time to question why all these naga were turning to dust. Their weapons were still deadly, their attacks relentless. Pilar looked to the sky, that ominous cloud hanging there, and swallowed the lump in her throat. She hadn't expected to face such awesome magic. If only those damned mages from the guild had come to help. In the chaos of battle, lightning and wind and flames surrounding them, Pilar and Yozenra stayed close together. “Do you think... this is it?” Pilar asked quietly. “I don't know,” Yozenra said, eyes lifting to the sky briefly. “If it is, I'm glad to have spent my last moments with you.” Pilar and Yozenra clasped hands and watched death descend from above.

Vestra had been plotting the demise of Jaize on her own. She is completely oblivious to other plots and schemes and finds this to be the best moment for her to end the rule of Jaize. She doesn't care if she is caught, nor does she hinder herself upon such thoughts. Her eyes do seem to catch the gaze of this rogue intruder, but she doesn't care. He doesn't matter. But poor innocent and defenseless Vestra does have a plot twist! Pilar would know, her only friend outside of her homelands. She would understand. She only hoped that letter would reach her tomorrow. If only Reginae had lived, none of this would have happened. She is so sorry. All of her planning leads to this final moment. The darkened restless skies above. The howl of thunderstorms and arcing lighting which now streaks across the skies; This moment is upon her too soon. Lithe fingertips reach into the bag tied to her waist and pull forth enchanted pellets of Mithril; which had been worked over with the greatest of care. Slaved over for this one attack upon ruthless Jaize. That Charred alder staff begins to swirl over her head, summoning the very essence of all her mana which pools around Vestras form in near aura. The pellets are tossed into the very air around Jaize - not at her. The puzzling bit is that they were designed to be harmless on their own. Oddly enough only built to amplify the spell which now spills from Vestras staff in the form of lighting! "Down with Jaize!" Her blonde tresses whip about her frame in violent contortion. That spell suddenly hisses through the very air towards the metal objects - to hit and bounce from one to the next in a veritable barrage of blasts to come from every direction! But at such a cost, that once the spell has charged through the air, Vestra inhales sharply, leaning heavily on her staff which gives out under the weight and the spy collapses; revealing herself for what she has always been - a snake of Reginae.

When people call you the Hero of Hellfire, there are certain expectations in life. For one, you’ve probably got some deep-rooted issues to work out. Lionel, soaring overhead with a sword black as night wreathed in emerald flame spinning like a cyclone in every direction across a hell-soaked field as the sun is blackened and unexpected flames rain down from the heavens, takes a few well-needed seconds to reflect that he does, indeed, have a few kinks in the old mental cord. By the time he’s sliding through ash, seeing foe naga rise from that ash like volcanic survivors bent on his end for bringing that volcano in the first place, Lionel has thought about how he got here: he cannot help but help others. He’s thought about why: he’s a hopeless case and the world might just need a few of those forever. He’s thought about the who: Chartsend’s people, its citizens, the innocent lives he’ll not let down. Esche, out there in the field casting spell upon spell, even now deflecting Jaize’s own attack with all his flowing manna. He’s thought about the where; that part’s self-explanatory. And now he’ll think about the what. He’s the Hero of Hellfire. He has issues. He’s about to be covered in titular fire, not of his own volition. Luck was never his friend, only a wanton lover who leaves on a whim and hurts on a whim. There’s only one way a ‘Hero of Hellfire’ knows how to fight. Only one thing left to do. “To frak with it, you damned giraffes.” He clears his throat as the first flames fall, blazing his scarlet silk like a witch on a pyre. “KreekitakUH,” he does his best impression of the uyeer, because when you’re about to blow up, what else do you have left but bad attempts at accents well over your paygrade? “The thingUH. AgainUH. Ratta-tat-TUH.” Lionel’s running on fumes. This will not be pleasant. He kicks the head of a risen naga just as it claws into his thigh, bleeding him, and then he kicks into the eyes of another exactly as it slashes a bad cut to his right arm. He lets go of Hellfire with that arm, relying fully on his left, and blasts every last bit of the sword’s magic back into the open to detonate straight over the mithril pellets. He’ll shatter the orb or die trying.

Kreekitaka finally cast his attention upwards, staring at the flames coming down at them. He'd been so busy commanding the utter devastation of the battlefield that he'd neglected that ball of magic up there. He rippled his paddles, momentarily dumbfounded. How as he supposed to get his people out of this--oh! Lionel was offering a way out, and it was to combine their efforts again. Excellent. He slammed a potion to help regain some stamina and started charging his jawblade up again. As the weapon collected energy from the momentum of it's swings rather than Kree's reserve of mana, he still had plenty to give and the thundering shockwave hurled the flames towards it. The pixie pyromancer saw this as well and amplified their blast further, while Lavender gasped and summoned her fellow cryomancers to her aid. The three of them shouted together, summoning a pocket of supercooled air and water into the center of Jaize's magical assault. Hopefully the combination of Lionel and Kree's blast wave and the cryogenic assault would be enough to rescue the army. Kreekitaka raised his voice above the din: "See how your queen rejecTAH!s you! See how she HHHTHrows your yives away, Naga!"

Callum :: See? This was the end that Callum was talking about. For once, however, he’s glad that it’s not an attack right next to his home. He liked that house. It was a nice house. It probably won’t get used again however, that poor three story townhouse in the woods in Larket. Oi. His huge garden, and everything in his greenhouse was going to die, likewise for the much smaller home he still attached himself to in Sage Forest. What the frak. Well, at least he’d die and his remains would lay here and sink into the earth, fodder for the plants he so loved dearly. It may not be a pleasant death, but at least he’d still manage to do -something- even after he was gone. Lionel was being Lionel of course and Callum sought to continue to aid him with the orb. Clouds quickly formed overhead and much like during Valrae’s execution, the heavens opened up and out poured the rain. The water sought to drown the orb, to wash away the naga that still persisted. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked, striking the orb here and there and everywhere it could manage. If it could not be cooled, then it would be overloaded with power. Electricity and water poured from Callum’s fingertips as well, all sent straight towards the ball of magic.

Jaize cackling turns to a banshee shriek that might immobilize anyone nearby. Vestra’s lighting barrage licks against the side of the mages barrier like a glass plasma ball. The crown atop her head becomes charged, despite the barrier. The superheated metal begins to melt her humanoid flesh and singe her stark white hair. The rogue pushes himself up off his elbows to catch Vestra before she hits the dirt. Her eyes lift overhead at the orb as it drifts lazily down. Carmon throws himself against the orb in some insane last ditch effort to save those still on the ground. His allies reply in rapid succession - Lionel’s charge tints the flame a brighter violet. The Cryomancers magic flash freezes the exterior, depleting the oxygen that fed the flames. The frozen orb begins to crack in splintering rivets, only to be immediately drowned in Callum’s storm. Electricity fused with water, and shook the magic to it’s core. Here, the ball disperses, blinking out of existence - Ice, flame and lighting all. Rain washes the battlefield into putrid, muddy terrain. Jaize is still screaming, her voice piercing and lethal as the symbol of her rank fuses with her skin. Vestra is put down delicately while the male stands to address the howling Naga. “Alithrya is under attack. You’ve lost. All these naga, all this magic. A “defenseless” town defeated you with ease. Now you’ve two choices; Try to salvage your feeble control on the city or keep pushing back in a losing fight. Either way…You’ve lost.” As Kree had so delicately put it, with that gleam in his eyes. The mages standing alongside Jaize, step beside her as the whites of her eyes run red with blood and rage. All the nagas on the field collapse, save a small detail that’s pressed itself close to the Queen. Two straggling soldier’s scoop up Vestra, hauling her into the formation while her spell begins to die. The metal objects clatter to the ground, the sound muted by the cries and commands of those still alive. “This isn’t over…” Jaize hisses, as a shimmering translucent wall of water bubbles around them. Immediately after the bubble completes itself, the shadows within vanish. The male growls, pulling a vial from his belt and uncorking it. He shots one last look over his shoulder. Hopefully, Pilar..Kreekitaka...Yozenra, Callum and Lionel can forgive her for what she has to do. “I’ll make it up to you…” He whispers, draining the vial and disappearing in a plum of crimson smoke.

Pilar watched as Callum and Lionel and Kreekitaka and Vestra unleashed all of their might and magic. And here she'd been, hardly any help at all against the horde, against the ball of death. Yozenra, seeming to sense how she felt, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They watched as Jaize screamed and cursed and burned. Beyond them, there suddenly appeared another army! And heading it, on horseback, was the former Patron of Chartsend, Wilhelm Ilivaris! “Usurper Queen! If you think you can take my city, you're sorely mis--” and poof, the nagas were gone. “... taken.” Pilar and Yozenra looked at each other, bewildered, then began to pick their way through the battlefield towards Wilhelm. Wilhelm and his army met them about halfway. “Well... sorry we're late,” he said. “Looks like you all did a good job on your own, though. Good job, indeed. You shall all be rewarded for your efforts.” “Um... yeah, thanks,” Yozenra said. Pilar nudged her, then asked Wilhelm, “Sir, where have you been? Who are these people? How did you know--?” “In time, my good woman, in time. For now, we have a battlefield to clean up, a city to restore, and—is that a moat?”

Vestra has only moments to chuckle softly to herself. The end is nigh for poor little Vestra, but not for Jaize. The spies plan to help Pilar save Chartsend has worked. Jaize has been turned into the biggest failure. It was beautiful. That melted crown sat affixed perfectly, and she had more coming. Pools of tears begin to well in Vestra's eyes. This is really it? It's all over for me? That charred alder staff is dropped. She's not dead, she finally realizes. I didn't have the strength after all… Despite her emotions, and the magic she had cast here this day - Vestra knows she has done something good. Though such thoughts fade quickly as those guards drag her off without mercy, away from the fields to be dealt with at Jaizes leisure. For all she knows, this is goodbye. A spy and snake caught within her own plans.

Lionel fell gracefully the first time he did that trick. The second time is a full-blown collapse. His back hits soot and his shirt remains aflame. Hellfire, spent, is snuffed out like a candle and the world goes dark all around him. There's energy enough left for one trite, mandatory action. Flicking at his shirtsleeves, he tries the silken shirt off of his person, leaving his chest bare in a field of flash-fried deaf people. "There are worse vacations," the Hero of Hellfire muses, struggling to picture any.

Kreekitaka nudged his dinosaur to follow up their victory with another triumphant roar. The Knights had proven their efficacy, and his strategy had sown such madness across the battlefield that Jaize had been forced to resort to attempting to annihilate -everything- just to get that victory she had so wanted. And yet, here they were, standing over the ashes of their enemies, having burned the world around himself and come out of the fire almost unsinged. The naga queen was done for, and very soon he’d march on her city and conquer it along with his allies. “Any idiot can light a fire” indeed. Reinforcements arrived far too late, and the uyeer turned his steed and rode up to the man on horseback, towering over him and saluting with his lance. “A moaTAH!, yes. Reinforcing HHHTHe barrier woulDAH! have TAH!aken far TAH!oo yong an’ been TAH!oo expensive, so we mayDAH! new ones. I speak as one of HHHTHem. I am KreekiTAH!ka, HHHTHese are my DAH!inosaur KnighTAH!s, an’ I have saveDAH! HHHTHis ciTAH!ee. Again.” Gee, Kree, way to take credit for something that was totally a group effort. The avians descended from their flight above the battle, and Lavender flew to Lionel's collapsed form to sprinkle some snowflakes on him to assess his situation. Another cryomancer flies to Vestra, and the third as well as the hydromancer move to examine any wounded uyeer.

Callum :: With the super scary ball of death and destruction snuffed out and the naga all gone, Callum’s only left to say one thing: “For frak’s sake.” Callum’s magic was nearly spent and he was exhausted as hell, but regardless, he still started to tend towards the injured. Salves made of various herbs--some for burns, some to be used as an antiseptic--were pulled from the satchel at his side and applied to wherever it was needed, a thin film of water set over that to seal the wounds shut. He even tended to Lionel, that guy that he’d been simultaneously afraid of and hated since Callum’s arrival in Lithrydel, on that fateful day on the Sunderia on Cenril’s shore. Oi. What a wonderfully frakked up day it’s been.