RP:Countdown

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: Just moments after the royal wedding of Macon and Josleen and the catastrophic earthquake which cuts it tragically short, the creature known as Corruption, with Jarith as its host, launches a malicious attack on Fort Larket. In the throne room, battle wages on between Corruption's puppets and the heroes who would stand against it. Already weakened structurally, significant portions of the fort come crumbling down, giving Sabrina mere minutes to rescue as many trapped souls as possible. It all comes blazing to a thrilling finale as Krice, Lionel, Lita, Valen, and Mythayus take down Corruption and everyone escapes with seconds to spare... well, almost everyone.

Larket: Throne Room

Raphaline has been helping and pulling all the way until she is once more among those who came from Frostmaw. Happy to see that both Hildegarde and Lionel are safe despite all the rubble, she cannot help but reach out to the knight commander and brace a hand against his right arm and squeezes it lightly. “Yes, and you too. What was that?” Now that she has her own bearings, her gaze searches for anything that might indicate there was magic or something else devious involved. Nothing. Turning to regard both squire and knight she inquires, “What are we to do now?” The healers of Larket have moved in to aid many of the people so she looks to those she knows, looking for any sort of injury. First to Lionel she asks, “You aren’t hurt are you?” She turns to Rorin as well, asking the same question.

Lionel cranks his left shoulder and it feels like it’s cranking right on back. Both shoulders are ripped through -- red uniform, white undershirt, and skin. If asked, right this second, what it was that fell upon Lionel, he would not be able to recall. In moments of complete anarchy, survivalism ranks supreme. “This looks pretty bad,” he admits uncharacteristically as he eyes the wounds. It was enough blunt force, whatever the cause, to have hurt so much it’s circled around and started dulling itself. Rorin has lowered his barrier, and his armor has half-burst. He’s exhausted, and lightheaded, and despite himself he collapses beside Hildegarde. She catches him, her lone eye surveying his fatigue, and she reaches for a jug of water from the medical supplies, bringing it to his lips. “Swallow it,” she commands. Her tone is every bit the queen’s tone, crown or no crown. And so he does. “Lionel,” she continues. “Be healed of that.” She gestures to his injuries, resting Rorin down beside Raphaline. She steps off, speaking with Frostmawian soldiers and nationals and giving assurances. “I don’t know what that was,” Lionel finally answers the bard. “But we will find out.” He looks around, not seeing Macon or Josleen. Everything is too frakking suspicious in the wake of such tragedy. “Let’s do what we can for the most heavily wounded and then start clearing out. There could be more where that quake came from.” He’s very blatantly trying to take Raphaline’s attention off his own hurt.

Lita followed Sabrina for a spell, helping where she could, which didn't seem like much, mostly ushering people towards the door once they were deemed well enough to move. Assuming there weren't any major aftershocks that would follow that earthquake, there was no sense people lingering to breath in lungfuls of dust. She stood to glance around, taking in the sight of Lionel and Raphaline before turning again to watch Sabrina moving through the people still present. She glanced across the floor. There were people still pinned beneath that fallen chandelier. But if they were dead now, was it still correct to call them people? Or had they simply been people, once. Why did it matter? Her head was throbbing still and she was trying to ignore it. She was relieved to find Mythayus at least on his feet and she closed the distance between them, reached out to touch his arm for his attention and nodded towards that chandelier. "Help me." she said, her voice somber. It wasn't a question and she didn't wait for a response as she moved to stand near those crumpled bodies to lift the chandelier off of them. Even dead it wouldn't be right to leave them there. If the building came down, how long would it take to dig them out? How long would it take before those families would be allowed to grieve, to mourn? There wasn't much else she could do for the living, she'd let the healers handle that. This- she could do this.

Krice 's right hand was splattered with intermingled blood and dust over his knuckles, and the sleeves of his jacket, shirt, and his skin were sliced through where a stone slab had fallen along his left arm from shoulder to mid-bicep. He still used both limbs without too much visible effort, however, cradling Rohk--Sabrina's hell hound--by the head and guiding him over debris and -out- of the chaos. People were trying to clear out through that exit but some were scared of the beast, mottled and half-rotting as it was. He disappeared from Lita's view, a brief glance given to the injured Lionel and active Raphaline before he moved the hound away from the survivors. Rohk listened, respectful of Krice, knowing the warrior to be trustworthy. " Stay," said the warrior to the hound, who paced impatiently but didn't get in the way of anyone else. Krice ventured back inside to assist with other people, helping the weak and injured over the rubble to exit the building. He sent a consistent stream of citizens into Raphaline's capable hands, along with the hands of surrounding Larketian healers. Krice took a moment to himself thereafter, reaching across his chest to grip the elbow of his injured left arm. It was beginning to sting.

Raphaline doesn't need much prompting to follow suit and try to help the members of Frostmaw out. But as the Larket healers have taken over, she turns to regard the knight commander and says, "You first." She moves to the side of him that has been injured and gingerly lays a hand across the shoulder. "This won't hurt," she informs him as she hums a soft note and allows a bit of magic to flow from her fingers. The skin will slowly begin to knit together as refocuses on the knight, "Anywhere else?"

Lionel shakes his head. “No... ah, at least I don’t think so, anyway.” He quickly checks his person, confirming the belief. When Raphaline has committed to her magics, and when he’s wandered around a bit in abject shock, he exhales at long last. Everything is half in ruins in this great city which was very recently their blood enemy, which he had continued to believe would strike with renewed purpose in the months to come. But now… it’s a heavy cloud in his mind and precious little of it makes any sense. “Would Macon bring calamity down upon his own people?” He barely even registers that he’s stated it out loud. “Oh gods. Larket… we have to scout the entire city. There could be people trapped everywhere.” He bites his lip, clenches a fist, and nods to himself knowingly. “I’m summoning some of Frostmaw’s relief personnel. We have to act fast if we wish to save as many as we possibly can. When Vailkrin fell, we didn’t have the option. Now, it appears we do.” He’s speaking a thousand leagues a minute, his tongue rolling into the next syllable with a determined frenzy. “You…” He glances to Raphaline, now, examining her. “Are you alright?”

Lionel calls the banners. First-response teams from Frostmaw are flown via military wyvern, but the journey still spans many hours. It’s all he can do to throw himself into the recovery process, keeping tabs on the queen all-the-while. Let it not be said that Frostmaw’s Knight-Commander turns away from Larket in its time of greatest need. No civilians, not even Macon’s own Kingsguard, truly understand what they’ve fallen under with Macon’s kingship, nor does that even matter right now. What matters is maximum lives saved. Raphaline, too, works toward that end until the point of complete exhaustion, because it’s simply what is done in perilous times. Soon, Lionel hears word that Alvina was indeed taken safely from the scene, and his troubled heart is mildly eased. But so many questions burn. Questions in need of answers. For Frostmaw, for Larket, for Lithrydel, the darkness Lionel has feared may finally be here.

Mythayus would to the touch on his arm. He was clearing debris away and off-of people. He’d to where she was nodding, “Of Course.” After all is was what he was doing anyways. He’d carefully walk over to the chandelier. He find a place to where he’d be able to get a good grip. Mythayus carefully placed his hands in strategic spot to give him the best lift. He’d offer, Lita a sad smile, “Why do wedding bring nothing but sorrow, and death?” His voice almost had a defeated tone to it. “Ready when you are.” He prepare himself to start lifting at her say so.

Valen stopped what he was doing before moving slowly over to where Krice was with Lita. Looks given to both, but purpose in his gaze. "Krice." He said, noticing him holding his arm. "Before I even ask you -anything- let me see your arm. I can bind it with shadows if need be but for gods sakes man let me see that elbow." It was not said condescending, nor unfriendly, just massive amounts of concern that a friend would show. "also, while you do that. The roof. Would your suggestion be that it is too unstable to try and patch? As in move beams back into place, or move stones back to where they should be?" For all he knew, both questions only had mere minutes before more disaster struck.

Valen told Mythayus, "I meant about the wedding crap! That defeated tone does not help me in the slightest and...and...and Im sorry, for everything I did. For being selfish, for not caring, for everything that I did wrong. I'm not strong enough, not when it come sto being alone and to see -you- alone...I just cant. We can talk more later, help those that need help, but for gods sake Mythayus...Dont show me anything but your strength right now..."

Lita had forgotten about Mythayus' wedding. While she hadn't been there for the entire ceremony- she'd left early, apparently thankfully- she'd heard what had happened. They'd never discussed it. But when he raised that question about weddings, she assumed that's what he meant. She didn't answer. Her own wedding had been small, a handful of people on a beach on an island with no name. There'd been a sunset, whiskey, good music. She'd been happy then but even so things had ended with sorrow and death. She had no answer for him. She exhaled slowly as she crouched next to those dead bodies, for a moment wondering who they might have been. She nodded at Mythayus, "Okay now." And as soon as he lifted the chandelier enough she'd reach beneath it, pushing away debris and ignoring the glass and crystal shattered around, hooking her hands beneath arms and legs to pull free the bodies of those fallen. One, two, four in total, dragging them free of the chandelier, working as quickly as possible if only for the sake of Mythayus' arms. He was strong but everyone had their limits. The last body wouldn't budge, an arm trapped beneath a slab of stone. She ducked under the edge of the chandelier and moved around the body towards the stone. "Almost, almost." She assured Mythayus as she balanced her weight on her right knee and pressed her shoulder against the stone. With more effort than it should have taken and a grunt, the stone gave way, a crunch sound heard as it rolled over the body's arm. Lita felt her stomach churn at that sound as she stood to move back under the chandelier again, pulling that body out after. "Okay." she said to Mythayus, feeling all at once exhausted and defeated. She sat down on the ground, lifted her right hand and wiped the back of her hand across her temple. That cut was still bleeding. No wonder her head still hurt. "Thanks." She'd murmur, looking up at Mythayus.

Sabrina was appreciative of all those who stayed to help, though she could not thank them personally just yet she kept it in her mind to personally convey this at another time. She felt for Lita, adjusting to the fact she had taken to the recently departed, or what was left of them, and figuring the normally easy going woman must’ve had already moved to remorse. Sabrina’s concerned remained with the living, relieved when she did come across those who were simply pinned down and not in immediate need for the dwindling energies she possessed. She wasn’t much for lifting though, and soon found herself by Lita and Mythayus to pull bodies beneath the seats. After Lita had pried what they thought was the last body from its gory end a section of the chandelier broke loose from the rest, crashing its jagged edges and pinning her arm to a victim, still alive, who had enclosed it in her grasp. In truth, the scene held so many details that the bloodied woman was completely overlooked. She is making adverse movements now, that deathly grip digging into her appendage as she screams at her to let go. Her movements, coupled with the woman’s, began a hack-saw motion at the broken shards that laid claim to her. “Let go!” her eyes move to Lita in desperation. It hurt, and it had been some time since she felt any real pain but the panic that rose in her had no choice but to convey. The woman’s grip grew tighter, her pupils dilated near full and his other bloody nub tried to manipulate a secondary grasp. What could not be seen was the rise in his heart rate triggered by the fear of the one he held.

Krice squeezed his elbow, though his pain originated in the shaved injury above it, from mid-bicep to shoulder. His once-pristine tuxedo sported stone-dust and a tattered left side, sleeves a mess overhanging raw flesh that bled freely, but not profusely. He flexed the fingers of that hand, testing the muscular structure in his injured arm - before a familiar voice drew his attention. He glanced over a shoulder at Valen and noted his concern for his injured arm. Consequently, the warrior lowered his hand from the opposite elbow and stepped past the male vampire, just one stride, to glance up at the ceiling of the damaged throne room. Macon and Josleen were gone, but at least Larket's -truly- finest were still here to help their citizens and guests. He answered Valen's question about the structural integrity of the ceiling, first. " Some parts still remain standing." For instance the pillar he'd protected Lita against. Perhaps she was its good luck charm, keeping the structure upright. A shake of the head followed. " Aftershocks usually follow earthquakes and it's just a matter of time before one hits. We should all get out of here as soon as possible." Lita's descent to the ground caught Krice's eye and he moved toward her, stepping around and over debris to bridge the distance between them, though not without speaking to Valen. " If you want to help me, put those binding shadows over Lita's injury." He nodded to the woman toward whom he strode, but soon he broke into a sprint as Sabrina became pinned beneath a broken edge of the chandelier. He sensed the panic in her voice, and the rise in her heartrate, and he rushed to grip her shoulder to keep her still as his other hand slapped closed around the rim of the chandelier. He breathed her name, a moment of panic striking him before he shouted at both the healer and the other victim, " Stop moving--stop moving!"

Mythayus lifted the chandelier up as soon as she said okay. The chandelier was heavier than he had expected but nothing he couldn’t handle. He watched her pull each of the bodies. He too couldn’t help but wonder who they may have been. He could feel the chandelier slipping as Lita dove under trying to free the last body. He’d grit his teeth and lift the chandelier even higher. “Hurry-up, my dear. It’s slipping.” He’d force himself to hold the chandelier steady. Though he couldn’t lie he was very happy when lite came out from under the chandelier. With her clearance and okay he’d gently, yet quickly set the chandelier down. He’d survey the room looking at all the damage and all the hurt, dying , and dead people all around. He let out a sigh. Then look down to Lita. “Are you alright” He’d motion towards her cut.

Valen gave out a sigh of resignation at Krice's assertation that, with an aftershock, the structural integrity was a bust. Something gnawed at him though, this could not have been a normal earthquake. The timing had been too precise, too perfect. At the mention of putting the shadows on Lita, he would of course resign himself to do that, though at the sound of Sabrina's cry a sharp gaze would be given before he saw Mythayus lifted the chandalier, hoping that that would be enough to free the most wonderful healer he had ever met. Staggering with a purpose now he would make his way over to Lita. "Hello there Deary." he would say before continuing to glance to see if Sabrina was alright, along with that soul. "At the risk of me seeming to be uncaring, I have every faith that Mythayus will be able to help them as well as your...well, your date, who has requested that I give you some aid. If you would not mind making clear the wound?" He was no doctor, no healer, but if she did as he bade, with small flourishing movements...and a bloodstain appearing on the chest of his dress, shadows would move to bind and hold in place the wound that plagued her, not healing, but stopping the bleeding at the least. They would feel cool, but not cold, and would not be too tight but tight enough. Great care was being taken for the comfort of what seemed to be, at least to him, the Warrior's interest...and deep friend of his ex. If he was still aware, Krice may notice that Valen's power seemed to be...waning. Not running out, but weakening alltogether the more he used it.

Lita would have told Mythayus she was fine, just a headache, nothing compared to what some others had gone through. That cut on her right temple was still bleeding. Not a lot and not as badly, but steady. She wiped her palm beneath it, smeared dirt and dust and blood across her skin before wiping her hand across the front of her dress. She was grateful for Mythayus' help and she was about to stand again as that section of chandelier broke off and shattered down against the healer's arm. Lita reacted on autopilot, scrambling across the floor towards the injured woman, pressing her left knee against the victim's shoulder to keep her still. She leaned her weight against her. There was little change the woman would survive at all and if she did, a broken shoulder was better than a shattered sternum from a panicked Sabrina trying to free herself. Clearly yelling hadn't helped. Force was not debatable. She was grateful to look up and find Krice there, probably Mythayus nearby to help as well. "Lift it!" she yelled, trying to sound less panic-stricken and more authoratative than she actually felt. But at least her voice might carry enough past the commotion of the moment for them to take action. Once the chandelier moved enough she'd reach for the healer's arm in her right hand, that victim's in her left, prying them apart. She was not nice about it. She might have lifted an apologetic look to Valen. He'd been trying to help, she knew, but she was fine, really, just a headache. And she didn't like magic so much anyway. But maybe he could help Sabrina. No point in them gettin' a healer killed too. Not that this had been their fault. She swiveled her attention back to Krice after a moment, still holding that chandelier and she leaned her weight off her knee and the woman beneath. She scooped her hands down beneath the victim's shoulders, pulling her out from under where that chandelier would land once they let it go again. Lita could already tell she likely wouldn't live. The healers here were too weak, the woman's wounds too extensive. She sat on her knees, the woman's head cradled in her lap and she reached for her hand, squeezing gently, her free hand brushing hair and grime from the girl's face.

Sabrina looked up at Krice. This was beyond fear, this was something else. He knew of her entrapment months back and the look in her eyes said she was in that box all over again. Her reaction was nothing short of the kind she had to him laying hands on her a few weeks prior. He centered her though, her mouth coming to close and a stillness, despite the fresh flowing wound she sustained and continued to sustain deepening in her forearm, was coming over her. They provided enough leverage that her arm slips free with Lita’s unsympathetic force and she pulls it to her form. Immediately her attention goes to the woman who’s eyes are wide but all other indicators prove she had passed with a look of horror on her face. As Lita cradled her, all efforts to console were meaningless. The Elfess’s hands go to her face. There was an audible disbelief over what she was seeing. The would-be survivor was dead, her eyes still fixed in front of her in a permeant expression of a plea for her help. For the first time in many years the Healer broke into tears, turning her vision from what was -her- victim, and burying her face into Krice’s chest. She didn’t need to say she didn’t mean to, there were precautions for a reason.

Krice didn't sense Valen's magic waning - partly because Lita was busy helping with the women trapped under the chandelier, and partly because, because of -that-, Valen wouldn't get a chance to use his shadow healing. Once the female vampire pulled Sabrina free, Krice would release the injured healer's shoulder and focus all his strength on pushing the shards of the chandelier clear of everyone, including the deceased woman who had fallen with Sabrina. Presumably with Mythayus' help, the silver-haired enigma gave a shove that tossed the shattered light-fixture away from the group at a low arc, clanking heavily to the cracked floor nearby. He reached forward, pressing his right hand lightly over the deceased woman's eyes to close them before he quickly turned his attention to Sabrina and Lita. He touched the latter first, his hand finding her cheek in a gentle caress that was brief for the sake of the situation, before he reached out for Sabrina's arm once more. He was leaning over both of them, his posture supported on the strength of his right knee, and it was with focus and attentiveness in his expression that he registered the full tattered extent of her injured arm. It had been shredded by the glass and lay in a useless pile of its own blood and flesh, mangled - a mess. Given his position so close to the women, he noticed the piece of glass protruding from Lita's temple and he looked up sharply, breathing her name. His voice was quiet but he couldn't hide the panic within it: " Lita -- you're... the glass... Someone, damn it..." He looked up, his eyes seeking Mythayus, and then Valen, and then returning to Lita's before he gazed down at the severely injured Sabrina. With the healer's head against his chest, he reached around to cradle the back of her head in his left hand, before he reached between them to press his -right- hand lightly over her still-intact shoulder. " Sabrina, you need to heal yourself." He kept his voice low, but given their proximity, most everyone surrounding the injured healer would be able to hear him. " Take my energy. I can handle it, I promise. You need to do something or you're gonna lose that arm." He had noted the fear in her eyes and it was with forced calm to his tone that he sought her understanding, and her attention now. He moved his right hand, seeking her face or her throat or even another part of uncovered skin, hoping she would hear and agree to his suggestion.

Jarith hadn’t come out of the good of his heart, nor even some warning or exclamation had drawn him. Not traditionally anyway, no, the former knight arrived with a sickly pallor to his features. The traditionally smirking appearance cast aside for an almost manic smile, friendliness gone, the strange being would be notedly without the ring that had bound previously the corruption which had been trying to break free. The inky black tendrils had called to the corruption inside him, Valen’s efforts to aid calling out the ailments in his new friend like a bright light to a insect in the night. The vampire was a beacon, even with waning powers. Those eyes that were traditionally three shades of azure had turned a brilliant and luminous gold, framed by features turned ashen white, with tendrils of black veins cut across the flesh. The blade is missing, and instead the creature known as Corruption plane-walks to the stage of the attack before appearing as a wraith. Inside the beast, lurks the father and knight, but to the outside world Jarith is as he was upon a return, the Corruption. The wastelands of the former party expel magic and much like Valen’s the powers call also, drawing the knight slowly through debris and rubble. A shriek here, an outcry of agony there. The monster appears over the bodies of several poor victims, but the aid is false as his touch consumes the body beneath it, soothing, Jarith’s voice is a menagerie of three mixed as one, and none are his own. Raspy and desolate, the tones sing a muted, horrible lullaby as the magic absorbs the power of the fallen he seeks and then tears all but their bones from the placement, even the spilled blood is absorbed. If any notice the arrival, they might see the evil and yet, in the chaos some simply assume he’s here to give aid, many younger healers and aids even sweep past him. “Just listen to these words we speak. The devils want us dead, and the dark angels wants your soul, but we will never ever let them have you. We will never let you go.” These dark actions carry him nearer the gathering, just yards from the fallen chandelier in fact over another, groaning victim. His fingertips, black with the stain of Corruption lower, “Shh… shh…easy.” A corrupted voice, teasing aid and yet threatening worse.”

Mythayus would of course come to Lita’s aid and left up the Chandelier. “You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.” He’d growl at her. He couldn’t help it she was like a little to him. Once the healer was free from under the chandelier, he’d look for something that could be at the very least be used to temporarily be used to protect the wound and stop the bleeding. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop her from helping the poor people maimed by the destruction the earthquake caused. He’d eventually find some cloth and pull Lita over to him. “I’m going to fix this. So hold still.” He very carefully and gently examines the glass lodged in Lita’s temple. “It’s not a headache brat. You have a piece of glass stuck here. So hold still.” He’d examine the wound and make sure that if he did remove it, it wouldn’t cause more damage. After deciding that it infact wouldn’t. He’d carefully and in a swift, careful motion remove it. He wasn’t giving Lita a choice in the matter. He just as quickly as he remved the glass would quickly wrap it up to protect it from debris. “Don’t worry I got it.” He’d call to ease Krice. “She’ll be fine. His attention was then drawn to Jarith. He remembered him and something about corruption. He honestly wasn’t paying attention he wanted to leave that night and felt very out of place. Which wasn’t uncommon for the knight. “If you’re not here to help you had better leave.” He’d simply state. He wasn’t in any mood to deal with this crap.

Valen may have a chance to demonstrate his abilities limits yet as he looked above at the ceiling. He would assume that they had fifteen minutes or less before the rest of it, or most, would come crumbling down around them. It was then that the seriousness of Sabrina's injuries were made real and clear to him, and he rushed to come over and assist yet when he saw Krice look over at Lita, and then it was seen that she had GLASS sticking from her temple, all decorum went out the window as he moved over to her, gently, and said. "I hat eto alarm you deary but that glass is going to need to come out, or you need to feed and -force- it out as your body heals. Either way, you cant keep it there." His voice was calm, assuring, but the fact that he was most likely two hundred years her elder, assuming his math was correct, there would also be what could only be described as age-old wisdom, not commanding, and not demanding, but a very wise sounding suggestion. He was not meaning to ignore the severity of Sabrina's plight, but shrapnel in the temple of someones head just screamed to be a worse idea. It was then that Valen would notice Jarith's arrival, his own magic while similar, vastly different to this being's own as he had witnessed before, and while so very true that his shadows were waning..Something else was growing, something much more dangerous to wield than anything most likely anyone had ever seen. All that aside, apart from everything he had just witnessed, the very new visage of this man who had been so nice to him, so kind in the breif moments, now the Vampire would stand in his weakened state. Not even daring to care just how much that blood on his magnificent but worn-by-now dress's chest would grow, a shadow would portal in front of him..wincing in anger but out from it would step two twins, Brunettes, Male, Hazel eyes, and a very cold aura about them. Turning around as he would notice that his conviction was correct. the ring was gone, and that manic smile spoke everything. The trio would move to be as close to being in the way between -it-...and Sabrina, and everyone else. "Mythayus is right. I know what you are, I know who you are most likely to be. I'm giving you one chance to put your ring back on, or else I will have to kindly ask you to leave." he would say, and while in the dress he may not be able to be taken seriously but those twins, male and female of about seventeen to nineteen years of age certainly could be. The female spoke "Unlees you vant to veel vinter's chill..." The male would finish "Zen ve suggest you do as he sayz." Crossing their arms, Valen would follow suit. "I believe you remember Sasha and Moira..."

Lita was vaguely aware of Krice's touch against her cheek. She blinked at it but didn't lift her gaze, her eyes glued to the woman in front of her. She swallowed hard as Krice reached out to close the woman's eyes and slowly, almost reluctantly, she let go of the girl's hand, fingers trembling. Sabrina's arm looked like one of Chio's chew toys and Lita felt that sick churning in her stomach again before she looked away. She had a fairly strong constitution she was just so overwhelmed. She furrowed her brow at Krice in confusion as he mentioned something about glass. What in the world? She winced slightly as the motion pulled at that wound though. She was distracted by the healer throwing herself at Krice. Enough so that she shook her head a little, found her composure. Sliding her hands beneath the woman's shoulders in her lap, she lifted her body and stood at the same time, moving the body away from Sabrina. No need for the healer to have to keep looking at her like that. Some things just happened. Not everyone could be saved. She wiped the back of her hand across her brow as she heard Mythayus calling out to her. "It's fine," she complained, even as she turned to face him. But she knew from past experience that he wouldn't leave it alone so she'd shut up and let him examine the wound. Oh. So that was what Krice had meant about glass. Her head still hurt but the pounding in her skull lessened, a wince on her lips as Mythayus extracted that glass from the wound and then covered it. She'd murmur a thanks, feeling in a daze as her attention drifted to the sound of that lullaby in the distance. It seemed so familiar. Dark eyes narrowed at the figure of shadow, not quite sure what to make of it- him? Valen was moving between the shadow-thing and the rest of their assembly, apparently he was more familiar with the thing. Lita wondered vaguely if this was the same thing she'd seen the week prior in Frostmaw's tavern. It gave her the same chills and despite better efforts, her shoulders shuddered. The magic stuff, she had no idea what to make of all of it. She had never been a fan, didn't trust most things she couldn't explain to her very-much-still-human-down-to-earth-brain. So she stood, frozen in place, unable to look away.

Sabrina refused to look at Krice. This act went against everything she stood for. Her eyes had glazed over in a stark white hue, indicating she had put a cap on the flow in either direction. “I can’t” More like she wouldn’t, but she already had been, in the confusion of it all. Sometimes the draw was involuntary, and in her emotional state the Warrior would have offered up his own life force as ransom for the direct contact he made. Her heart was still racing, and the hound who was too big to be near enough to do anything, stood off to the side of them, his tails taking his elfess by the waist and pulling her free from her best-friend’s embrace. It was a method of caring that the beast rarely showed with witnesses present to report on it. Obviously, if anyone uttered a word about his softer side, they would have to die. She is taken up and held snug against his obsidian form. He remembered the last time she did this, and after all her work in preventing it he had no doubt she would be even more hard on herself following the event. Some healers had gone back to work, others still stared at her, furthering the shame. With everything going on all around them there were still people that may have missed the whole incident, but not those gathered here. There is an unspoken exchange between the beast and the Healer, a nod affirming what ever it was he meant to tell her, and she steps away from these few to operate off sight of the woman she just killed. There were mild outbursts of tears and sobbing, the backs of her wrists wiping thick black sections of bloodied dirt across her cheeks, and what energy she did glean from Krice was pure enough that her arm looked several weeks on the mend. The cuts were not gaping, but the gnarled scars became more prominent as the minutes progressed. She was unaware of Jarith’s presence at all, the energy in this room faded and shifted on levels she could not keep track of. Rohk turned his massive head directly at him though, stepping in his path and releasing a low growl that the entity should not approach his elfess lest he be stripped of those stolen life strands in a single breath. Of all those gathered here the Elfess was most susceptible to that kind of thievery; her life and the hound’s entwined, leaving her a relatively open conduit.Such was the way she functioned as a servant of the people; taking where she could, and then giving back where it was needed. She becomes distracted by the two figures standing with Ro, speaking in poor tongues and they three warning the newcomer about advancing in her direction. “Is he injured?” She couldn’t fathom what they were, what they all might have in common or not. She is wiping her hands with a scrap of cloth when she comes about, stepping through the barrier of people meant to keep her from Jarith. He didn’t appear to be injured, he didn’t even appear to be sane. Had she not been mentally destroyed right now she might even come to notice he didn’t appear to have an ounce of good will.

Krice was relieved to see Lita receive the help she needed, glancing between Valen and Mythayus - until Sabrina began to draw energy from him to repair her mottled, gibletted arm. The warrior clenched his teeth behind closed lips and maintained the contact between himself and the injured healer, watching as her arm drew on his strength to mend itself. The appearance of another creature wasn't something that Krice -saw- so much as -sensed-, its magical strength drawing his focus just as it did the attention of the others. He hadn't known about Valen's ability to call upon two strangers to assist in battle, so it was with bemusement that he regarded the twins, but again, Sabrina snagged his attention. The muscles and flesh of his injured left arm began to seep blood anew as the healer took of his life force, replenishing her injured arm as he had requested. Thankfully Chio saw fit to draw her away from him and he slumped onto his hands, an exhausted grunt parting his lips. He swallowed, struggled to maintain consciousness, and lifted his gaze to seek out Lita. " Get out of here," he growled hoarsely toward her, his left hand seeking the hilt of his katana to draw it free. The brandishing was clumsy and the curved steel clamoured to the floor, but Krice held fast to the weapon and pushed to his feet, knees trembling under his weight. Along with Chio, Valen, and the creepy Anglo-Twins, the warrior turned toward the shadow creature looming over the injured survivors nearby.

Jarith ’s head slowly lifted from the task at hand, the motion may have freed the lips of his victim. A scream lifted and was promptly silenced as an almost afterthought and roll of those golden eyes. The evil creature attempted to speak again, then Valen spoke and was joined by twins from a shadowy portal, one that was closed forcibly by the Corruption before they spoke and he appraised them in a bored tone. “ And whom pray tell, are you three? The bookends and a femme-fatale? Amusing… but I do like the taste of your power, little bite.” He spoke in that eerie trio of voices again and yet at the mention of the ring, the dark being tilted his head to the side. “ The ring…. Oh, you naughty thing, did you help him entrap us?” There was another, and another who greeted him in kind and Corruption pushed to his feed leaving only bones of the fallen as he took that full height once again. Mythayus had spoken first and like the rest was an unknown to the alternate entity that had taken hold of Jarith’s form. The hound was a spark of interest followed by the being tied to it, Corruption could see it, only to be disappointed by the rise and weapon drawn by a weakened Krice. Dark fingertips delved into the pouch and then tossed the silver band and it’s smashed precious stones to Valen’s feet. “ He will have little need of it, now.” To Lita, a counter of the warrior is offered. “ No… Please stay.” The final of two stones remaining from the Fallen Knights appears, it would seem Corruption has accumulated latent magic enough to call forth Gluttony and Pride. Pride is the form of a woman, strangely, dressed in fine armor her face is corrupted, and the coloring of the robes once a fine gold have a sickly yellow tinge as she stands to the left of Jarith. Gluttony is a small boy, pudgy in the face and yet the appearance of the child is off, wrong, defiled even as he eyes each of the group with something akin to hunger. Corruption speaks and in unison the two ‘knights’ voices mimic. “ We have come only for the food, and this feast is plentiful, Leave us, join us, or fall under us. Like the Knight, like so many others.” It spoke of Jarith as a fallen, but among the present, who knew that? The Corruption didn’t elaborate, or care too.

Mythayus let out a sigh. He was worried about the daze Lita, the weaken Krice, the waning Valen, the hurt Sabrina, the twins, and all the other Larketians. He wondered on a day such as this he didn’t bring his sword. He drew in a deep breath and walked towards the corrupted man. “You don’t scare me. Your nothing compared to what I have already faced.” He stood -up straight and continued to walk towards the corrupted creature, as he walked a bolt of lightning would start to form in the shape of a sword in his hands. His our voice doubling as well, his smooth sweet human voice was starting to line with a more growly deep voice. “Now I’ll say it again. Leave or I WILL put you down like the rabid dog you are.”

Valen would give a look back to Lita to make sure she was alright, and saw her frozen in place. Was it fear? Was it something else? A reassuring smile would be given to her "Go, Lita....Get to safety. We have this, Krice will be fine, I promise." He knew he didnt have to worry about the warrior, he could handle himself, the main concern was Sabrina as she walked out in front of them and with a rather annoyed look he would blatantly say "No, he's not hurt. Well I mean yes he is but not the kind that can be healed right now." "Go..Mizz. Ve can handle zis." The gentle voice of the male, Sasha. Valen had to admit, out of all his students, these two were perhaps his powerhouse at the academy, and for good reason. They were nigh on prodigy's in the art of ice, snow, frost etc, and perhaps just a bit extra. Valen's attention was drawn to Krice, and he may just ammend his earlier thought process. He looked in rough shape though he knew that it was futile to say otherwise, so he would focus his attention back to Corruption. The mention that he was a femme fatalle may have brought a blush to his face if it wasnt for the sense of danger, but for now he viewed it as a teasing remark by this being who had stolen his friend's body. The broken ring tossed at them, a look of panic now washing over his face. The twins, bless their souls, were unimpressed. The three would watch as Corruptions two would be shone, and Valen only grew paler, though was steadfast as Mythayus said his piece. Perhaps a bit of a bad choice of words, not the ones he would have said certainly, but the sentiment was the same. "We are stone, and we do not break. You want to eat? Be more than happy to take you to an eatery and buy you all the food you want. But these people here? No. Sorry. Nada." With that, he would give off a wince as he pulled out a spellbook. Isolde, was her name, and she had an eye were the clasp keeping it closed was. "I seriously hated to have to use this...But I am well versed in the dark forces of the vernacular, not just shadows. Some might call it black speech, others might just call it nonsense. But the power contained in this tome, is more than enough to at the least hold you in that location..." Was he bluffing? Was he an idiot? There was only one way to find out, as the books bindings prevented any sort of energies from escaping to be detected. Either way, the twins were itching for a fight, and now so was Valen. "Can ve Ice him now?" Would be from Sasha, as she added "Ve dont have much time. Ze ceiling vill cave in exactly...zeven minutes."

Lita rarely listened to Krice on a good day, never mind whatever the hell this day had become. Broken. Except she couldn't fix this one. It wasn't hers to fix. She looked to the warrior as he called out to her but she couldn't leave. Not only was she not about to walk away from him, but how was she supposed to leave any of them? And what of the survivors and healers that thing was somehow drawing energy from!? People were being quickly shuffled from the great hall as those able enough noticed what was going on and tried to help. But those trying were growing few and far between as they served as witness to what that Thing was capable of. When it spoke to her she cringed, feeling a sudden rush of ice in her veins that she couldn't quite shake. She watched Sabrina and then Mythayus approach the thing and she was definitely regretting the decision to come to this wedding now. To drag Krice here as well. So much for starting over without apologies. She had no idea where people getting -other people- from but apparently it was a popular sport today and that second set of acolytes from the Thing got a once-over with dark eyes, nose wrinkling at whatever they were. Lita had a feeling Valen and that Thing were about to square off in some epic battle of magical prowess, leaving them all to be swept in the wake. Lita might not have had a weapon but she wasn't defenseless, wasn't useless. She wasn't about to go anywhere.

Sabrina couldn’t quite place why everyone was soon-edge. With so much that had gone on, something worse was unimaginable. Now, with Krice brandishing a weapon she instantly regrets the current condition of her own arm, full well knowing it was Krice that made it possible, and thus her fault he was in a weakened state. The Elfess didn’t like the Jarith as a whole; others reaction to him, his reaction to others. She had lead a life of risk taking, her inability to die conventionally might have given her a false sense of security when it came to things she didn’t understand, beings like Jarith. When she takes a step forward to boldly challenge his presence the hellbeast wraps his tails about her once more, and pulls back hard enough to launch her into a pile of rubble behind him. That stupid girl was going to get herself killed someday. Permanently. It might have taken a moment for her to account for what just happened, propping herself up on her elbows and only now getting a better guess that somehow Rohk knew of this thing, no doubt from his experience in the seven hells. Her healers were in a hurry to leave, clearing out a good chunk of the survivors that remained and were somewhat mobile. She looks up in time to see Mythayus brandishing a weapon as well and scrambles to her feet. “There are wounded here, you all need to leave.” She stares in the eyes of the Corrupted. “All of you.” It was difficult to sound authortive at a mere fifteen hands and weighing in at maybe 100 lbs even, soaking wet, with a voice soft and soothing such as her own. But dammit if she wasn’t trying. As the twins speak her attention is drawn to the ceiling… how could they possibly…Valen looked on a mission, Krice was still there. She couldn’t leave him in this condition, not at a fault that was her own. Lita seemed to harbor the same intuition that Sabrina had, there was no way Krice was to be left in this place, though her study of social intercourse suggested they did not have the same reasons as to why. She was stewing, just beneath the surface, the woman still laying there moved to an afterthought as minted gems darken once more. Emotions ran her, no matter how much people assumed she just didn’t have any. The blackened orbs took seconds to transition to match that of the hellhound; looking through people and not at them, no sense of focus or humanity left to maintain the portrayal of innocence. She’d just as soon steal the very life from the air if she thought for a moment it would bring the Corrupted to his knees.

Krice struggled for a minute or two to remain on his feet, another quiet grunt speaking to the effort it took for him not to collapse in a drained heap. But then, slowly, he straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders. An invisible aura of divine energy surrounded the warrior, fueling his recovery. He reached up with his empty right hand, fingers pinching at the knot of his tie. He loosened it from side to side before pulling the loop over his head, drawing with it most of that silver hair into a long cascade over one shoulder. Gluttony and Pride were summoned by Jarith in this time, and the warrior paid them no mind. He tossed the tie to the ground and lifted a revitalized gaze onto Jarith only, the 'Big Bad' his point of focus. Seven minutes... Seven minutes before the ceiling caved in and everyone was -talking-? Similarly to Lita's reaction when Jarith spoke to her, the warrior felt a chill run through him though not of anger or disgust: his was the icy bite of feral animosity. Past Valen and the twins he ran, a gust of wind following in his naturally swift wake. Past Mythayus and his lightning sword the warrior sprinted, running straight at Jarith despite the two critters he had summoned. They were undoubtedly in the way but he didn't seem to care. As that holy power emanated from him, glowless and otherwise undetectable, the silver-haired enigma stepped toward the fat child, Gluttony, a burst of speed stealing his figure from the eyes of non-supernatural onlookers. He moved as fast as a vampire, perhaps more so, and with equal efficacy and skill, feet falling upon rubble and cracked flooring in swift pursuit of Jarith. He pivoted around Gluttony to angle himself at Jarith's left side, drawing his katana up in a tight arc toward the shadowy creature's waist for a diagonal upward arc seeking all organs - or whatever the hell was inside of it - from hip bone to clavicle. If he couldn't cut the Corruption, he could at least provide time for others to magically wound it, and others still - a la Sabrina already doing so - to aid in the evacuation of what few survivors remained.

Mythayus would look on in astonishment as Krice ran by hin in full attack. What in the world was this man thinking. A fight could injure or kill the survivor they were trying to save, but now it was to late for words. He’d sneer at Pride as she walked towards him and the hellhound. “So it looks like I have no choice but to put you down now. LITA! Start getting people out of here!” His eyes would glance back at Lita, then back to pride. He’d give a warrior’s grin and charge at the woman slashing at her with the sword made of lightning. Even if the sword were to miss tongues of electricity would still make themselves known. That was the great part about electricity, it traveled. Once his hard slash downward was complete he’d quickly shift his weight and momentum into an upward slash. Clearly trying to destroy any form of internal organ. “Leave NOW!” He’d growl.

Valen would sense, and she that Lita was not going anywhere. Bleading hearts of the world unit, he would think to himself in his head. Was -no one- going to listen to reason this eve? His dress was soaked in blood, the front part anyways, and he bemoaned the fact that blood was so hard to get out from silk these days. Seriously, you would think at least one person, even this thing in front of him, could appreciate that fact but noooo. It had to all be about food and sustenance. Shame that. Sabrina's words, well, seemed to have come just a bit too late much to his own dissapointment as already Krice was on the offensive. Finally! Corruption now, talking about Valen's book was working just as if he had been chanting 'Rufio' from the writer's favorite movie. It earned his attention, and it earned it quick. Eyes would darken, hair would start to flow, and his bloodstained dress would start to billow. "You think you found an ally in darkness. Do you comprehend the powers you were gifted with, the same power I was born into. Where do you think the shadows all go to hide from the precious light? Just who do you think stands against them? What you possess is a mere fraction of their might. The same might I stand unyielding against each and every night. You are nothing compared to them, you are nothing compared to me. You claim to know fear, I shall show you true terror." He had just been about to open up a can of Isolde whoop butt, and here the warrior was stealing the show, though he most certainly found no enjoyment in this time and place now. As he watched Krice, it was simply an honor to see him in battle like this. Flipping through the pages finally a brilliant light would emanate from the pages, flooding the room. So long as no one looked directly into it for that brief second, their eyes would not be blinded. Seeing that he could no longer use the binding effect on Corruption, as Krice was too close to it now, he would focus on Gluttony. "Moira, Sasha. With me." Shutting the book, perhaps saving it for another day, the two twin students would take point beside him. In unison the two would stare at Gluttony where he was at from afar, and say "Vinter now, of Future's past. Shall ve die, or shall ve cast. Woven through our veins do lie, ice und blood, to pierce thine eye." With that incantation, a powerful gale would flow from their outstretched hands and send the coldest winters chill towards whatever the hell Gluttony was, and go to blind his eyes with frost if not outright damage the child. Valen now was looking towards Corruption, his threat of shadows certainly not going unfounded. So he wanted to play? Tapping into his own life blood, he would slit his wrists as shadow mixed with blood, forming whips that were held from his wrist, as fire ignited the weapons just as they had dueing the bridge battle. "HEY!" Valen's voice would shout to it, such a commanding presence wrapped in a dress. "You wana eat? EAT THIS!" And with a jerk back, and a jerk forward the shadow-blood mix would aim right for the blue on the being's shoulder.

Lita wouldn't listen to Krice about leaving so she wasn't about to listen to Mythayus. As much as she loved the men in her life- friends and otherwise, let's be clear here- she really wished they would shut the hell up. Except for Valen, he could keep chanting if it meant keeping that Thing busy. Krice was rushing forwards and Mythayus was, too, both hacking away at attempts to take out their targets. From the corner of her eyes she caught sight of those glowing gems embedded in the Thing. Whatever they were they were somehow separate from all the Darkness, a part of it but not the same, perhaps a remnant from the something that had been before. If there had been a before. She stalked past the remains of that busted chandelier to find a larger piece of crystal, still intact, long and sharp enough to be wielded as a weapon. Circumstances seemed dire enough. She'd always been better with a dagger. The boots, however, would have to go. She could barely walk in those things, nevermind trying to run in them. Barefoot once more she leveled dark eyes at the Thing. She'd wanted one dance. Just one. Just one possible little look into what normal could have been. Just one day where everything didn't end up broken and buried. She could feel that anger boiling through her veins, simmering just beneath her skin and her fingers tightened around that crystal in her hand as she set her jaw and sprinted towards the Thing, avoiding Mythayus as he kept that strange armor clad female- did they have genders?- busy. She'd have to hope Krice would be paying enough attention not to stab her as she slid as close to that Thing as she could get, aiming that sharpened piece of crystal to bury it into that glowing golden stone in its left hip, hoping it might be distracted enough not to kill her.

Sabrina watched on during the course of Krice’s attack, no way could she move that fast but her eyes could move fast enough. She takes another step forward before catching the glimmer of a pair of eyes staring at her. “Damn.” A boy huddled in the mess is unmoving, clutching to a dead arm of what had to be his mother. The Healer kneels. “She is gone, you have to go.” It was somewhat cold, but she takes him by the arm and yanks him up with a grunt, pulling him to her form where he wraps his legs around her middle with his other arm still outstretched to his dearly departed. Lita was well within that path to carry the boy to safety. “You’ll distract him.” She says, full knowing the range of Krice’s skills as much as she knew that they two would be his only weakness. And she was off, no arguing that point now. It was a brisk passing, the child plucked from the wreckage screaming in her arms. The hound is a bit of an ox, the massive beasty standing high enough that his chin would graze the top of the Elfess’ head. His threat, Pride, earning a bow of a challenge accepted. The hound’s head is lowered, risen hackles vibrating and in the noise of it all the distinct clicking drowned in it all. Small sparks ignite at his heels as thin rivets of flame rise between the cracks of obsidian scales. The glimmer of his encasement is all but swallowed in a single huff and a full charge that matched Mythayus’ attack crushes rubble beneath him. He led with his teeth, the vicious maw open to advertise several rows of jagged glass-like structures meant for pulling apart large sections of flesh- but the real attack is those razored tails that come about after a full skid, targeting the Javelin by twisting around it and tugging back in a smooth cross-hatched motion aimed at breaking the weapon in half. If Pride were to defend against her first contact she would disarm herself by the second. Valen’s speech allowed enough time to bring the child to the open half of the once immaculate doors and handed off to a pair of hands that presented themselves from the collection of folks already outside. “Get everyone back, its coming down.” She was counting, four minutes remaining was more than enough to scour around for more. She is moving along the walls, keeping her eyes focused on so many things at once and she slides under a healthy chunk of stone to pry another victim from the wreckage with little care for further damage. Once free she takes a few seconds with eyes closed to make sense of the weakening signs of life still around her, there weren’t many but she could finally differentiate between those in heated battle and those fighting for their lives. Her position would be lost to most; tracking her in this chaos, even in an enclosed space, would have been difficult as she ducked and darted into every nook and cranny that called to her.

Krice paid little attention to anyone else in the damaged room. As Jarith's tendrils took the brunt of the blow, he could easily sense the sorrow and anguish of the souls intertwined with it and he withdrew his sword, the curved steel cutting through the oddly-fleshed limb. He took a step back, his mental prowess enabling him to shut out the cries of the dead. He squinted in the blinding light of Valen's open book and almost lost his already-injured left arm -entirely- as a result; he managed to avoid the claw-shaped tendril that slashed at him as Jarith rose, though it clipped the remains of his sleeves and forced his jacket and shirt to hang by its collar around his neck, and its right side still intact. Blood sprayed out from the wound, lacerations arcing over the meat of his shoulder, but he seemed impervious to the pain it caused. Recovering from the impact in almost the same moment it happened, Krice lunged for the glow that emanated from Jarith's hip, tracing its magical strength via not only his own ability to sense the arcane, but by the fact that it was just -there-, visible and important-looking. His strike was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Lita, his companion to the wedding prior to all this mess, and he grunted with the effort it took to pull his sword back away from her, that left arm injured almost beyond recognition. He didn't pull the woman from the circumference of battle but rushed to step between her and Corruption the moment her crystal made its mark--or didn't--taking in full the brunt of its retaliation in her stead."

Lionel rests his tired back against what was once a towering stone house. Now it is a single-pillar ruin, a testament to the unknown force which wrought havoc upon Larket in what would have been her time of greatest triumph. He slumps down, almost uncontrollably, his legs hitting the ground. What remains of the water in his canteen is harshly gulped and he wipes the moisture from his lip and sucks his thumb for it. Lionel has lost count of how many civilians he and Raphaline have saved out here tonight in the several-kilometer radius near to the castle, but it’s hardly worth bragging over; he’s also lost count of how many civilians they have failed. Finally, he has a moment alone, and it’s all the Catalian can do to close his eyes and nearly fall asleep. A terrible crashing sound snaps those eyes back open again and he’s on his feet in half a heartbeat, drawn to the very scene of the ill-fated wedding. “Oh,” he mouths, watching the roof buckle and cave from his prime vantage point. “Frak,” he finishes the thought, and he slams one dusty boot into the pillar behind him while his left arm goes to Hellfire’s hilt. In a fluid motion, the legendary weapon is drawn from its glistening newly-minted sheath, and a scarlet flame billows into existence at its very tip before coating the steel entirely. The ground beneath Frostmaw’s Knight-Commander abruptly bursts into a more orange-tinted heat, and the sprint he commences is beyond current measure -- save perhaps for frequent ally Krice. Lionel blazes through the dead of night, corpses traipsed over by feet too fast for the naked eye. In his wake, a short jet of fast-fading fire. Through the entryway he cruises; time is of the essence and there could still be people trapped inside. He’d grossly miscalculated the remaining structural integrity, and he’ll pay for that mistake however he must if it means lives are spared. But something is awry. As he comes closer, familiar voices shout and scream, and hauntingly reminiscent sounds emanate. An old enemy, perhaps, but Lionel cannot presently place the identity. Suddenly grateful for that twenty-six seconds of rest he’d just gotten, the Hero of Hellfire rounds a corner and bursts into view, his terrific speed halted to a full stop with little by way of visible deceleration. His azure gaze widens, his muscles all tense in unison, and he shakes his head at this raw unfolding mayhem. Pride. Gluttony. -Corruption.- Quickly, Lionel flicks about to survey a few of the faces of the actively-involved -- Krice. Good. Valen. Good. ...The woman from the card game. The heck? For all the battlefield pandemonium, however, Lionel is capable of analyzing a myriad of actions in a short period of time, and so he registers Lita’s intent and he smirks. He straight-up smirks. He’s busted his way back into ground zero, and only a few more minutes remain until they’re all a lot thinner, and he’s just smirking. “Clever girl,” he whispers into the red-hot air, and it ought to be noted that the air is red-hot because once again the ground beside his feet is on fire. In a calculated swiftness made sharply for the northeast, far from the survivors an unrecognized healer is aiding, Lionel and his infernal trail carve a path toward Krice and Corruption. Even as he approaches their common foe, he lifts Hellfire high in both strong grips, as far up as he can muster, its weight bringing muscles to shaking, and he swings down -hard- with the flame-coated blade at precise angle to seek a smash into Gluttony’s stone on Corruption’s right arm…

Jarith || Pride danced backwards from the attacks, light-footed despite the rubble ensconsing her as Mythayus attacked. The lightening was something the odd being recognized and the trails grew dangerously close but did not quite reach. The downwards slash countered with a stab towards the dragon’s midsection with the almost hazy javelin, a device of corruption, it has a semi-solid style, different from the being wielding it. The upwards return of his lightning blade will connect not with her body but the strange and inky black of its haft, which sparks and then seems to start absorbing the elemental magic even as wild trails threaten and even strike the body of the ‘knight’ Bringing an inhuman cackle, rather than a scream. The attack of Rohk is timed with near perfection, but to who’s advantage is unclear as the beast’s teeth sink into flesh that tears and like a fouls slime coats and begins to gum and spread along his maw. The weakness of his creations were not the beings, they were the constructs, beings of corrupted magic made to flow in charged environments like this, but they had an apparent and obvious Achille’s heel; the stones in their master’s flesh. These stones however have become the Target of not just one, but all. Gluttony’s fight with the twins seems all but lost, this abyssal snowfall rising up and attacking the blue-clothed child whom in strange fashion suddenly has a mouth too wide. It inhale’s the spell, body billowing out like some balloon before much to likely Valen and the twin’s own displeasure the creature spews it back. No ice and wind, but a hell-fire much like what Lionel’s own blade would cause, the infernal blast would aim at the trio, not solely the duo, and if allowed singe them to a crisp, blood-shadow whips and all. Lita is become the wildcard however, and the woman’s strike finds the flesh above the hip, rather than the stone plunging into the skin and bringing with it crimson and a scream. No magical presence is without its strength and Lionel’s presence could not be hidden, the heat might cloak him, but Hellfire’s a power sings to the beast controlling Jarith. The right arm, useless as Gluttony fights, is loath to help, and rather than strike at Lionel, the left hand turns into a fist. |C|

Jarith .|| No pleasure is upon the being’s face, Corruption is not pleased, as Lionel has beyond tipped the scales from favor. The fist punches at Lita, and yet connects with Krice’s uncanny-speeding form, the tendrils of corruption however like a coiling, churning lump of flesh would drop much like a giant’s own bound fist at the female, the delay between wielder and magic being charming that way. The burn of flesh is tainted by the bite of steel through bone, stone and organ. Lionel’s strike would not miss, distracted as he was, Corruption’s back is too exposed, and the leather, metal and furred armor would hold up only partially to Hellfire’s bite. The Corrupted knight’s head seeks to fins the wielder, golden eyes affixing upon blue, a loathing, spittle filled statement. “You always steal them…pyro.” Gluttony, screams and like the corrupted magic the boy is, erupts in a strangely azure blast. Serendipity, as it his however, for that very explosion of magic would crumble the nearer structure of the castle away, rather than upon the fighting ensemble. Corruption screeches, and as sudden as it the sound dies, Jarith’s body begins towards Krice, a half-step, eyes of gold flicker to tri-ringed blue, the inky pallor remains. A lung is punctured by Lionel’s effort, blood bubbled up from Jarith’s lips, he coughs a little, the dimpled half-smile shows, aimed not at Krice, but at Valen. “ Tried..” He lost consciousness then, the Knight fighting Rohk and Mythayus would unlike her partner falter, body shuddering before the magic became an unwoven coil of slowly stilling flesh and blood, the missing bodies of victims. Jarith meant, he’d tried to come help, not that those intentions had not damned him or failed, and skewered into place as he was, the former knight and warlord remained there, with Corruption’s magic slowly folding upon itself. The golden stone remained in his hip, but the glow also began to fade, a hint that for the time being, Corruption had lost hold of the male.|E|

Mythayus would wince as the hazy javelin would make contact with his midsection. He didn’t try to dodge it. As she move in to strike him, he’d bring up his lightning sword to send it through her. He was thankful for Rohk being with him. After the two made contact, he’d stumble backwards and cough up some blood. He was confused when the female knight start shuddering, then unwove. His blue hue looked around searching for the woman thinking that this was some sort of trick. He paid little to no concern over anything else going on around him. His left hand held his sword of lightning up and ready to defend, whilst his right held tightly on the gash to his torso.

Valen would fight like a mad flurry with those whips of dancing flames, if he had had the time. Moira's shout alerted Valen to the now inferno racing towards them, and he had to think quickly. Maneuvering in the way of the blast, Valen's blood whips would start to spin wildly, in all directions, creating a sort of fast moving barrier as the fire roared and seared over them. He held his students tight, protected them as the whips moved on their own until he finally heard Gluttony's death cry. The fire had burned his tendrils away, as well as the blood in them leaving yet again...Valen weak and thirsty. It was then that he noticed the look given to him by Jarith, yes, that had to be Jarith as he doubt the creature would try at all to offer any form of explanation. Panic teared at his heart and immediately he would should "NO ONE TOUCH HIM!" Making -certain- that no one would try to hurt that man before his promise of helping to finally -rid- the world of Corruption, was completed. Sprinting away from his two students, who in turn followed, he would kneel at his side and take a hand in his own two. Moira and Sasha would now take up a -defensive- stance, ready to fight one and all who tried to come and slay what they thought was a beast. "I'm going to get you to the academy Jarith...you just hang on. Youl be safe there, youl see. Hey...You tried, I know." A tear started to come down from his eyes, as he gave off a slight chuckle "Tell me more...about your people. You stay with me, and tell me more about being a Snow Nomad or whatever it's called." Once more, using the remainder of his magic as he had the day of that large battle, he would tap into the shadows for the last time before getting some blood, and open up a Shadow Portal underneath them, ready to drop them into their intended destination, though there were a few things needed settling first. That sword needed to be pulled from him, for one. Holding Jarith's head in his hand, cradling it with perhaps one of the most delicate touches one could ever have, he would continue saying "It's not your fault sweet one...It's not your fault. You wernt in control, it will be okay. My promise will be kept and we will purge you of this...Trust in me." Looking around he would look, pleading now at everyone to not try to cause any more further damage. "The roof is going to collapse...Please...Let me help him. You all can even come, it leads to the Academy. If you want to come with me and help...just stand on the portal, quickly, just let me try..." He had lost too many, he wa snot going to loose this one. -Never- this one.

Lita was disappointed in herself, to say the least, when she realized she'd missed her mark, but not entirely surprised. She'd done some kind of damage, the Thing's scream was proof of that and the realization that it could bleed, her hands splashed with the crimson which had spilled from that wound. She stumbled to a stop a few yards behind him amidst the rumble, scrambling to turn on one knee only to see Lionel had returned and the bright flash of steel and fire. She averted her gaze and almost missed the fact that Krice had moved between herself and that Thing. Black tendrils reached out, the magic of smoke and darkness and she had no idea what might happen if they befell the warrior. A cold moment of panic seemed through her veins and she only knew that Krice needed to -move- so from behind him she rushed at him, sprinting again, muscles aching and lungs burning, trying to close that distance fast enough. It was in no way subtle or ladylike or polite as she'd reach for him, left arm angled for his waist, throwing her body against him to shove him out of the way, just as likely to knock his shoulder out of socket or land on top of him as she was to save him. But the action was instinctive, impulsive. If you knew you couldn't stop something you didn't stand in front of it, you got the hell out of the way. Except she knew he wouldn't get out of the way, not if he was trying to protect her. So, immovable object, meet clever wild card.

Sabrina ’s attention was drawn to the moment of Krice and Lita. She drew in a breath, as if holding it would hold time as well. The immediate danger is averted and she continues on her search. There was one left, incased in layers of debris where she could only see an outstretched hand and a bit of forehead. She kneels down, poking her head towards the crack and promising “I’m going to get you out.” She had one good arm left, the other failing to heal in full after such a short period to do it in. Even at full strength it wouldn’t have been enough. She wedges her body between the sections of propped ceiling, utilizing her legs and what little upper body strength she had left to leverage the weight. The sections were far too heavy, not even shifting under her manipulations. She looks in the hole again. Two! There were two in there. She is desperate, searching for something, anything. A piece of wood is found and she wrenches it between the pieces once more, bearing her full weight on the end and still. Nothing. The couple in there were crying, the man begging her to leave them. He had heard it all, he knew what was coming. “I’m not leaving you.” And it would seem it was final. If she couldn’t get through from the top she would have to find a way underneath. She is circling the pile, murmuring something about one minute-fifty-nine in her native tongue. A chair is what she finds, solid, but still a chair, garnishing the weight of the tripod cell built up around the couple. She takes to the ground, on her side, and begins kicking at the piece of furniture in hopes to break it down and loosen the wedge that formed such a stellar trap. She is near frantic, time was running out if Moira’s calculation even came close to what would soon be a bitter end for all of them. Each kick is given with all her desperate might. “One minute 48” kick “47” kick “46…” she stopped counting, she stopped kicking. Her body wrenches back, slamming against the ground as she grasps at her chest. She can’t breathe. Solid black eyes find Rohk, his maw covered in some slimy mess and the mixture pulling his mouth closed, encasing his flared nostrils as he tries to shake it off. She is struggling and cannot make a sound. Whatever madness took over the hound had ill results on his charge. The hellbeast is thrashing about, bucking like a rodeo stallion and likely ramming into enemy and ally alike. Even as the entity disintegrated Rohk was in search of the Elfess, laying under the edge of the fortress she could not bring down and unconscious. Apparently the hellbeast can go without air far longer than Sabrina. With no sound and no sight of her, his panic goes to all those surrounding him in the fallout, a hellish whimper unbecoming of a being such as he stretches out between those gathered. And the cracks of the ceiling begin to give way, just as foreseen by Moire.

Krice wasn't even supposed to be moving at this stage, his energies having been drawn from him by the injured Sabrina--though she didn't take it all--to heal her mince-meat arm. Whatever divine intervention had kept him on his feet up to this point braced him through the impact of shadowy magic tendrils against his cheek and his right side, which he in turn braced--to keep Lita safe. Most of Jarith's final attack against them had hit the warrior but he felt an arm slide around his waist from behind and he was pulled clear of the remnants, that bundled punch grazing his right side, and potentially hitting the woman behind him. Somewhere in the edges of his vision he caught sight of familiar magical flames, but as he slid his katana upward, using the last vestiges of strength in that tattered arm to cut at the retreating tendrils. As he was pulled clear, he grunted and lowered his right hand down over Lita's arm against his abdomen, keeping her pinned to him as they both stumbled out of the creature's reach. For whatever reason, the warrior seemed unaffected by his extensive injuries and stood strong before his vampiric companion, that katana held aloft, ready for another strike. He focused only on Jarith and fleetingly on peripheral players, his consciousness fueled by the singular purpose of ensuring that the Corruption was no longer a threat. Never mind that the castle was about to collapse.

Lionel cocks a brow and hops back gracefully as Corruption gets his little verbal jab. “Yeah, well, go frak yourself,” he answers simply, a further burst of flame soaring up like a wall against tendrils and falling stone. Hellfire is swung in a hasty horizontal trajectory, not for slaying but for repositioning its wielder. Lionel seizes the momentum of his swung sword to withdraw from Jarith’s falling body, and he runs -- this time without the pyrotechnics -- toward a whimpering hellhound whose noises guide his way. Valen’s words are heard, and his dark portal is opening, and there’s less than a minute now before everything is flattened and the rise of Larket comes to its decisive collapse. But the hellhound’s pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Catal’s last prince extends Hellfire, pointing its very tip toward Sabrina without yet realizing her location. Muffled cries startle the man -- the couple Sabrina had tried to save. “Huh,” he comments idly, leaping out of the way of a massive beat of wood and metal. Flames lick across steel and Lionel bend at the knee, then madly dashes, left and right, to and fro, forward and backward, blasting red magic at the topmost layer of debris to carve a hole for the trapped guests to escape through. “Go to the vampire,” he snaps at them, immediately realizing how odd a phrase this would be under most conditions. They don’t seem to mind, though, shocked as they are, and they dive toward Valen’s portal in good time. Lionel, however, isn’t finished. Aye, he’s never truly finished. He snaps his right index finger and Hellfire’s flames disappear, leaving behind a sword whose blade he uses to cut through the mess and locate the unconscious healer. Sheathing the sword, he’ll scoop her up. He doesn’t recognize her, but it doesn’t matter. Twenty-five seconds. It’s now or never, people. Lionel coughs up smoke from the ashes of the furniture he’s carved through, vaulting into Valen’s sphere of influence and looking around. He gives his friend an incredulous stare. “Don’t everyone wait on my account,” he grumbles, and the throne room shatters all around them.

Jarith was unconscious, and as Lionel ripped Hellfire from his blade, the fallen and corrupted knight fell forwards into the very arms Valen had outstretched. Blood, precious tissue, and bone shone in the wound and crimson soon would bathe the pair. The falling structures would not help matters and the crowding space would ensure everyone made their way to the academy. Jarith’s heart would falter a beat in those seconds, a crystal still stuck upon his hip, just shy of the stone embedded in the flesh.

Mythayus stood but only just barely. The sword in his left hand faded, as the blood below the man grew. His right hand was covered in his blood as he still tried to apply pressure. His body began to sake. He tried to make it to the portal. He took one step and clasped. He tried to push himself to his feet, but failed. The sword completely faded, as he lost his fight with consciousness. His body went limp, colliding with the ground once more.

Lita was not at all used to being magically wounded and those tendrils she'd meant to avoid cascaded around the warrior as she'd launched at him to curl around her left shoulder and arm. But he was safe. She was alive. She'd take the win. She was not as quick to her feet as he was, dazed for a moment amongst the mess of rubble they'd landed in. Everything hurt. When she finally made it to her feet she was glad to see Lionel pulling the Healer from under a bunch of rocks. She never would have made that in time. She barely reached Krice in time. "We have to go." she managed as she reached for Krice's arm. It wasn't a question, she'd just blindly tug him after her, running for the portal. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Mythayus, not far from the portal but unmoving. She detoured, made a beeline, hooked her right arm under his left shoulder and hefted him to his feet as best she could, mostly dragging him towards that portal. He was a lot bigger than she was and she was frickin' exhausted.

Krice ran with Lita in one hand, his katana in the other, moving deftly over the uneven terrain of the cracked stone floor. An aftershock dislodged what little structural integrity had survived the initial earthquake and it all began to crumble around them, but he pressed on toward Valen's magical portal, following the retreating group. Only now was he fully aware of Lionel's presence and his holy-focused eyes aligned with the former commander's in time to see him retrieve Sabrina from the rubble. Her arm looked better but she needed medical aid and rest, that much was blatantly clear. When Lita diverted from the path ahead, Krice felt a pang of panic that she wouldn't reach the portal before the earthquake and aftershocks completed the fort's demolition. He moved in her wake, sheathing his sword as he arrived at Myth's side to assist the woman with her injured friend. He called to her, " I got him," and shouldered his weight with relative ease despite his injuries, insisting that she run ahead and prepare to retrieve him at the portal. He was only three metres away when a large chunk of stone fell off to his right, narrowly missing the retreating trio. The silver-haired enigma would help Lita escort Mythayus into the magical portal with an unceremonious shove, and he'd make -sure- she was on the safe side of the doorway before, with a look of apology, he ran in the opposite direction, seeking the crumbling exit of the dying fort. Stone and rubble fell around him, obscuring view of the running warrior from the perspective of the portal.

Valen would The rescuee's arrive, and then a Lionel with a Sabrina, and his words are all to clear as the castle starts to crumble into dust around them. Moira and Sasha move, onto the portal surface now, and the Vampire would look down with a deep sorrow in his eyes. "I'm sorry Jarith, what I do now, I do for my promise...and for you." A panicked look would be given as he saw the Dragon fall and nearly left the circle before realizing that would be a fatal mistake, for all already on board. "Myth.." he would say, a tear in his eyes before burying his head quickly in the wound, well just the face really, he would start to drink as much blood as he could without aggravating the male's condition. Once Lita, with Mythayus, had made it onto the platform as well, he would command the portal to fold up around them just as a large piece of cieling came crashing down atop of them...worried more than anything now about two people. Goren, and Krice. Why did that warrior always have to act so stupid!! There was no time left...no time, but the shadows had done their work and brought them all safely to the Academy's foyer. Valen would waste -no- time, using the renewed energy that Jarith's blood had afforded, even if only just from the smallish amount he had taken, to wrap the most grievous wounds in shadow, tight, but not too tight, just enough to stop the blood flow. Propriety demand that the male be placed in another bed, but with the Academy...his precious academy in perhaps only slightly a more stable condition, his own bed would have to do while he took the couch that night.

Goren flickered his eyes open after finally awakening from the events, rubbing his head as he pushed the chandelier on his body, looking at the panic and destruction as he watched everyone leave, his foot still pinned beneath rubble as he slowly stood up and rubbed his head, his foggy vision blurred as the rockdust fell from the roof, the undead looking over at the vampire that had been left behind, shaking his head as he smashed the chain against his own leg, screaming in pain as the bone broke and the leg went limp, finally pulling it free of the rubble as he stumbled towards the other, large chunks of ceiling falling around the two as he tried to dodge as best he could, though a large chunk, swinging towards him like a wrecking ball, suspended by the think chain that used to anchor the chandelier to the ceiling, leaving the undead standing in shock before muttering a brief, "Mother fu-" the rest was cut off, his form being buried in rubble, some date Valen was.