RP:Lasacartra attacks The Fold
LOCATION: The Fold Clan Compound.
As you step off of the forest trail and toward the fortified wall and gate that restricts access to the Fold compound, your senses are flooded with a heightened awareness of your surroundings. You become alert to the watchful observation of sentries at their posts in the archery towers on each end of the wall, and of the defensive stance of the Minotaur towering at the gate. Any knowledgeable in runeology will notice the unique pendant around the Minotaur's neck, a tiny pebble laden heavily in crimson symbols- If he wanted, the guard could quite easily burn you to a crisp with a simple lazy flick of his great axe- Only when you have proven to this mammoth guard that you mean no harm, are you permitted to enter the sanctum that is the Fold compound. It is a place where you can sense order in the air; a place that somehow makes you want to be a better person. Intrigued, you allow your gaze to wander. The compound is made up of three separate buildings hewn of wood and stone, laid in an arching horseshoe shape around the natural forest enclave in which you now stand. Behind and surrounding these buildings, the forest is lush and dense, providing the perfect natural, and enchanted, defensive barrier. To the south on your right, you see the residential barracks for clan officers and what appears to be a prisoner cell block of some sort. To the north on your left, your gaze finds what seems to be a training facility. It is from this building that the sounds of combat emerge. Not wanting to get caught trespassing, you hurry ahead into the building directly before you on the eastern flank of the clearing, the clan Headquarters.
Lasacartra :: Here it is, here she comes, and she is not alone. The sorceress seems to glide across the ground as she makes her way into the compound, a glossy-eyed and distracted looking Minotaur having been kind to admit the humanoid within, after a little... Persuasion. In her wake, a dozen shambling greenskin bodies, rotting flesh and muscle clinging to their strong-boned frames. Terrifying, they look, utterly unstoppable... If they were just a tad taller, each having been acquired from a Kregus graveyard they are all, typically, the bodies of goblins. With a single exception. The ground shudders with each crashing footfall of the hulking construct that continually swats the goblins in line, massive hands clenched into fists large enough to crush any man to dust. This final monster; an Ogre, though just as dead as the rest of Lasacartra's accomplices. There is fire in the dragoness' eyes, bony fingers clasped tightly around the handle of the skull-topped scepter she carried with her, dark brows furrowed in fury. Firm, purposeful strides carry her in direction of the Council Chambers, and her approach would continue unhindered until she was challenged directly.
Rhocielle emerged from the barracks at the sound of a dragon's shout. Slated eyes narrowed, at the welcome recieved within the compound. Paw lowered to ceremoniously grip at the hilt of his blade, the other reached behind his cape to lightly take hold of the enchanted wooden staff of the lochaber ax. It was always this way, lately, he mused. Hardly a full day's rest before something else happened upon the clan. Keeping the rotting cohorts of the dragoness in his periphera view, he made a straight beeline towards the Council Chambers. Timed perfectly in swift but steady strides of his digigrade legs, it was his wolfen and armored body that obstructed the heavy doors that would lead into one of the Fold's inner sanctums. Granite orbs rolled atop his muzzle until they would fall upon Lasacartra, and at last his maws would open to speak. Ever defiant even in the grisly sight of such walking corpses behind the female, he said with subtle indignation to his husky drawl, "May I help you...?"
The feminine but oddly penetrating cry reverberated through the compound, drawing a soft groan of frustration from the elvin female at her position deep in chambers where she was busy working- when was she ever not, of late? She had yet to meet this apparently discontent female in person-so distracted had she been by the weighty personal matters that had occupied her latest days- but it could only be one; the apparent mysterious female that Kumori had reported making claims to the compound’s lands. She was not inclined to give the female a moment’s thought..but there might be the rarest of possibilities that she might have some legitimate claim to the place that had become their home. Thus, would she need to be addressed. Arien slipped the scribble filled parchments into a more secure location and made her way through hallways and down the carved stone staircase, intending to head into the clearing beyond, only to find herself halted by the advance and positioning of her warder at the foot of the same. Emerald gaze narrowed upon the sight of apparent undead horde traipsing in the wake of the female, who must have some kind of magical ability if she had easily bypassed their gate guard. Would the woman seek to start an engagement on territory in which she was likely outnumbered? The elf lifted a pale palm in subtle gesture, and atop the enclosing wall, archers fell into position, notching arrows, in some instances enchanted with holy magics, into their bows-all pointed with precision accuracy at the undead creatures that accompanied the sorceress. The elf’s voice rippled out into the forest air, immediately after that of her guardian. “ Indeed, madam.. why are you here? And in such a manner..it does not bespeak a willingness for negotiation on your part..on any matter, if such is needed.”
Athyaron had been waiting in one of the towers,taking his shift as an archer for the day when he heard footsteps. Carefully, the ranger peers his head from the closest opening only to see an intruder, as well as Arien walking hurriedly toward the sorceress. Upon Arien's signal, he, along with the rest of the archers notch an arrow into their bows and direct them at the intruding party. "Fire no arrows until Lady Arien gives the signal to do so..." whispers the elf towards the closest archer, who would pass the message on to the rest. Slowly the ranger breathes in and out as his elemental bow charges his current arrow first with the power of lightning. Small bolts of electricity circle about the arrow and travel downward towards the tip continuously as the ranger, along with the rest of the archers patiently await the next signal.
Lasacartra flings her left hand to the side, halting the advance of her, ah... 'companions'. The troupe of Gobbos is not without archers itself, and now upon telepathic an indignant telepathic bark from the sorceress this handful of individuals, let's say about six or seven, knock their projectiles into place on crooked bows and raise their aim up to the elf archers atop the walls. "Predictable!" yells the woman, gathering saliva upon her tongue before spitting before the feet of Rhocielle. The ground beneath fizzes, specks of dirt melting into nothing and leaving a tiny hole where the spittle had landed, and piercing blue eyes look straight through the warder to the Elfess over his shoulder, "I am civil! I come here alone, and unarmed, and am promised a peaceful discussion! I wait, and wait, and wait, and what do I receive?!" The dragoness is quite vexed, her voice becoming shrill with anger as she balls both her hands into tight fists. Delicate shoulders suddenly bulge, a pulsing shudder rippling the sorceress' back as the sound of ripping cloth resounds throughout the compound. From Lasacartra's peel two wings, black as the void, metallic scales gleaming in the bright Sage daylight. One may notice, although quite irrelevant, that the destroyed fabric seems to knit itself back together without aid, spiralling runes etched into the material glowing a neon blue as they set about repairing the garment. "We will talk now, Arien! I will have what was promised to me, and you can benefit from the transaction, or you and yours will be destroyed! You!" Now she rounds upon Rhocielle, giving the anthro one Hell of a threatening stare, "I gave you specific instructions to remind this woman of my needs, and still I received no word. One of you has failed me, Lycan. Tell me, which?"
Rhocielle faintly glowered at the saurian female, gaze only briefly broken by the hulking mass of reanimated dead flesh that was the Ogre taskmaster of the goblin platoon. The individual clawed toes of his bottom paws flexed to the subtle heat caused by the corroded soil. Granite gaze flickered to shades of differing pewter silver at enduring the shrieks of the enraged dragon. A constrast to Helich, for sure. As with the other black dragon, he maintained the same composure. His nostrils flared at the directed comment towards his person, to which he remarked simply as, "You have failed yourself, coming when there is no one present to address your concerns, and not being anywhere found when we are. We are not your servants, dragoness. We have been present the previous day and night, and only now do you decide to make yourself present." Bold wolf, it would likely have him facing off against the rotting Ogre before long. Oddly enough, it brought brief thoughts of the other Black's lackey, the Orc, Porc. A simple-minded creature, dangerous, but all the same strangely endearing. The Ogre was no Porc, however, and therefore inspired no feeling to someday having to cleave the monstrous head apart from the equally monstrous body. Concluding his statement, he canted his head at the dragoness, "Thank you for finally returning to speak your concerns with Lady Arien..."
Arien’s gaze flickered to the goblins, attention paid to the fact that they were armed and inclined to engage. A warning movement of fingers directed Athyaron to have his men hold their fire-they were currently at a crossroad, and whilst the undead were..well already dead, she was loath to lose living and competent soldiers. It would not hurt to find out what the dragoness’ concerns were, Kumori’s report had been vague enough, and Rho had likely had other concerns on his mind in days past. A part of her did wonder at his failure to report on the apparent contact had with the dragon, but she was disinclined to judge at the moment-he had been more than a rock to lean upon in the darkest hours of her life. And the wolf’s response made sense-they could not engage with one who was not present.Emerald gaze found the dark eyes of the sorceress-she was not intimidated by her display of draconic heritage, well aware of the acid attack of the blacks. They had already begun preparations for their inevitable encounter with Helich-it was to be hoped those two did not find each other. She repressed a shudder at the thought. Thoughtful gaze narrowed upon the female. “Very well dragon..by what name are you called? It would seem you know my own. Let us have a discussion. What have you been promised..and what does it matter to us?”
Athyaron nods lightly as he spots Arien's signal to hold fire and delivers the same signal to any archer who couldn't see it. However, a wary forest green eye is kept on the black and her...'friends'. The elf then beckons to the human archer in charge of squad Arda instructing him with various hand signals, to have his squad aim their arrows at the undead on the black's right- just in case. Squad Arda was the human squad equipped with simple oak longbows. Likewise, the elf would then give a different set of signals to the feline leader of squad Naur, all armed with elemental bows like himself. Squads Alu and Khelek remained hidden....for now, while his own squad,Squad Me’urra the elven squad, remained in waiting for Arien's next order, all armed with various different bows, some of which had been enchanted by several different elven spells. Patiently the ranger waits, having finished his instructions. A small sigh escapes his lips as his eyes, as green as the Sage itself glance about the body of the black, looking for a weak point. They could always go for the eyes, but the chances of the arrows hitting were slim to none.
Lasacartra lofts her pale hands, hastily arranging her features into a bright smile. A frenzied applause erupts from the dragoness, hands repeatedly colliding with fierce vigor as a stream of pearly laughter escapes her black, painted lips. "Oh, well done Elf, well done indeed!" the humanoid congratulates, again looking past Rhocielle to the paladin behind him, "you've done a most excellent job. Who would ever think that such a..." her gaze combs the warder carefully from head to toe, "..such a ragged mutt, could be trained to lie so convincingly?! But, no I digress, Lycan. You are an idiot." Her scepter strikes the floor beneath, fingers gripping the skull atop the weapon's handle tightly. "The feline stated that I would be contacted. Was I contacted? No. So I came here. Now, please, keep you mouth shut. You will only embarrass yourself." Arien's fears, little do any of those gathered know, have already been realized. Indeed, were it not for Helich, the dragoness would not even be here. A sigh slips through her lips as she the reality of the situation hits her. These children needed to be educated. "My name is Lasacartra, and once upon a time.." the sorceress begins in a sing-song tone, "..we, the dragons, were free to do as we pleased. We owned this land, and all others, and we did not have to acknowledge the whims of the pathetic two-legged creatures that, at the time, seemed little more than ants beneath our toes. I was a girl when the Arch Necromancer, a Crystal Dragon named Britella, promised me this spot as my own once my training was complete." Her eyes flashed darkly, boring into that of Arien's, " Well, my training is complete. And I want my land."
Rhocielle : Canine teeth clenched firmly behind his black lips at the blatant insult. However, Arien had already spoken her piece and it was forced upon him that he remain silent for her sake. Still, however, he kept his stance, a barrier between both speakers until the High Elf would motion for him to stand aside, or would step in front of him. The name offered already rung with subtle chimes of falsehood. Perhaps the dragoness was truly named Lasacartra, but so often was the case though, that most errant blowhards chose to select more intimidating names during their malevolent lives to attempt to inspire fear in others. Whatever her name, the fact remained that she was a black dragon, and experience had already taught the wolf and the elf that such scaled saurians were never to be trusted. Such thoughts loomed in his lupine mind as his black tail brushed against the back fabric of his cape while his molten silver gaze kept a focus upon the black dragoness.
Drael : The Human strolls his way through the open threshold of the Compound, left hand held so 'pon the hilt of his simple longsword, strapped by means of a baldric, at his hip. A common appearing male held with, perhaps, a bit of overconfidence, continues his march through the area, eyes never to move from the apparently hostile situation taking place within. His eyes--a swirl of grays and blacks--are filled with a strong sense of youthful vigor, only enhanced by the strong-set of his jaw, and seemingly steadfast demeanor. The worn cloak he wears is quickly brought back and tucked behind either shoulder, allowing free movement of his sword arm--perhaps in an effort to deter -someone- from inciting an all out battle. More like a slaughter, in this Human's opinion, but it matters not. In fact, Drael only came to this place by accident, and found it to be quite peaceful, save for the excessive amount of 'testosterone' and 'aggression' flying all over the place. Not knowing whom he was here to protect, he holds his faith that the answers will present themselves. Nothing was coincidence, it would seem.
Arien brought her palm to rest lightly upon the shoulder of her wolfen warder as she made to move quietly around him and down to the ground level of the compound clearing. Slow, leggy strides took her across the vacant space, until she was just outside of the range of any weapon or breath attack that the Black might be inclined to produce. Her voice when she spoke, was calm..and pointed. “ In the first instance..Lasacartra, the days of which you speak..have long gone. The dragons, those that remain, have long been of neutral stance in their relations with the other races of the lands, and in some instances have formed alliances. Any, promise you might cling to, made of a long dead creature..bears little weight with The Order..we have built our home here, and are thoroughly disinclined to move.” Emerald gaze came to rest upon the sorceress and the scepter in grip. “There are plenty of open ranges of forests yet available here in Sage, and in the Xalious mountains to which you might stake a claim. But let it be known that we will not yield this spot lightly.” A smile that did not quite reach her eyes, tugged upon the pale lips.. “Or at all really..” This last, was softly added. It was the sudden advent of movement at the still open gate..had no one seen to the minotaur’s well being?- that drew her gaze, and a frown. A civilian walking into this mess was the last thing she required. A subtle signal was given to the Elf high upon the wall..a single warning shot..to prevent the human from enduring a greater harm.
Athyaron spots Arien's warning signal from his place within the tower and raises his bow, aiming it for a spot right in front of the feet of the intruder. 'Stupid humans....always poking their noses where they don't belong,' thinks the elf as he draws back on the string of his bow, pure electricity sparking about the arrow notched into the weapon. Slowly the elf inhales and exhales, releasing the string as the last of the air escapes his lungs. Swiftly the lightning charged arrow flies towards its mark, landing right at the feet of the human. The arrow itself releases several threatening jolts of lightning as the tip reaches the ground, warning the human to leave now, lest he wished to face further consequence. Smirking, the ranger holds his hands out, gathering the energy to create another arrow and notches it in his bow. The bow, like before, charges this arrow with the power of lightning, the elf once again raising his bow in the direction of the human male.
Lasacartra :: A twitch beneath the left eye, a strong vibration passing through the membrane of scaled wings. Painted lips pull into a dark frown as the grip of the scepter's head tightens more still. Negotiation, it seems, is quite impossible with these most stubborn, and foolish, of creatures. Here's the wonderful thing about Undead soldiers; they bare no life. No blood, no veins, no working organs. With your average man, and a good stab in the chest will put him six feet under. But not the Undead, oh no. Their bodies must be destroyed completely, and with no nerves to carry a pulse of electricity, such enchantments wouldn't herald much result. One hand lifts to place an index finger against the pointed chin of the pale-skinned humanoid, brows furrowing as if in contemplation. Then, without warning, the scepter is lifted, it's head trained directly upon the forms of Rhocielle and Arien, and the foray begins. The sorceress' assault; a blast of dark energy, one could be forgiven for labelling it as black lightning, which thunders (no pun intended) toward the High Elf and her warder. The arrows are released, seven feathered shafts launching high in the air at the visible Elf and Feline squadrons, while the Ogre let forth a mighty roar. CRASH, CRASH, CRASH, the mammoth's charge causes the ground to tremor as the seventeen-foot mass of decaying flesh and solid bone runs blindly for the nearest archer's tower, consequently the one atop which Athyaron is poised himself, swinging his huge arms at the beams and walls that hold the tower aloft. The goblins simply go wild, drawing the a wide variety of weapons from wherever they were held, and charging the nearest Fold guard or foot soldier scattered about the compound floor.
Rhocielle was much more accustomed to his blade, having learned over years to wield it without conscious thought. Why then, did he release it from its grasp at the hilt? Not even a second's thought passed in the wolf's mind to question the reaction. Instead, a deft and involuntarily controlled right paw swung the lochaber ax in a swift forward arc as his legs immediately lurched forward to once more stand in front of the High Elf. If she sought to scold him afterward for obstructing her, he would gladly accept it. Rune inscribings glimmered in time with the runic tattoos that marred his muzzle, the summoned lightning of the dragoness manipulated, forced, to arc towards the curved ax head of the enchanted weapon. The pole-arm now clenched in both paw like hands, the previously destructive black energy diminishing. Wayward streaks of the lightning fanning outward like water striking against a point. Nostrils flared to the stench of electrical burns upon the spaulders of his shoulders. He was not to simply stand his ground. No, not today. The peace was already broken, and Arien's Round Guard was freed of his social constraints. In the span of a savage bark's utterance, he charged with ungodly swift strides of his armored legs. Ever present of the dragoness' staff and acidic breath when in close proximity, he sought to either feint a lancing strike or try at one of her scaly flanks.
Drael is a simple Swordsman, therefore he withholds no inborn trait that would separate him from a commoner, other than the fact that he is remarkable with a blade. This, obviously, means that the Human is not very quick in jumping back from the arrow, albeit it's course was not meant for him, yet the ground near his feet. A defense is posted, as Drael backpeddles, only to stop once more. A glare is proffered in the direction of the Elf whom loosed the arrow, which he follows up with a single digit of his right hand, extending to point in the direction of none other than Athyaron--this was his warning. With the abrupt assault beginning to course it's way, the Human is all too inclined to arise to the challenge. The former Captain of the Guard in his homeland, Mirah, begins to stir. The simple appearing weapon at his hip is brought to arms, creating yet another audible sound of steel being freed. This blade is far from simple, it's edge matching an almost ivory hue, hissing as it meets the afternoon air. Holding his sword in a death-lock grasp, he charges forth, brashness, followed up by anger, fills his mind, and drives himself onwards--into the fray! The first poor soul--or, rather, soulless--person to catch his deadly weapon is a nearby Goblin archer, whom Drael immediately kicks to the chest, after having removed the things head; not a second glance is given to the thing, as it topples over backwards-already his eyes are set on the next target. Ignoring the stench of decaying flesh, betwixt with that of burning hair and skin, he strides on in a charging assault directed to none other than the wicked Sorceress. Deft movements, perhaps best described as the epitome of skill, ensues; Drael jumps forward, to the left of the Dragoness, using this momentum to further strengthen the blinding fast swing of his already arcing weaponry. Prevail or fail, it did not matter, for his next attack has already begun. Coming to a skidding stop, the Human slides about in a complete one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn, to face his chosen opponent once more. In hopes of a two-hit win, perhaps, Drael thrusts in with complete violent disregard for life, his aim is for the throat of this potentially deadly Necromancer-she-thing
Arien had not been a soldier..and then a general for as long as she had, without the ability to read a situation. She was well enough aware of the moment that the ‘negotiation’ ceased to be such-as it would seem, was her warder. Rho’s attempt to step in front of her would have been entirely unnecessary, as the elf was not about to stand around waiting for a launched offensive to make contact. Arien threw herself to the side, raising her own defensive shield of holy magics around her slender frame as she dove to the ground and tumbled into a roll that would see her safely out of immediate range of the sorceress. “Damnation..” All hell was breaking loose. The human was charging the sorc, as was her warder, and the undead archers had likewise released their payload. It was not to be helped. “ Fire at will!..” The order was barked to the archers..It was to be hoped their aim was true, with so many allies on the ground beneath. It the meantime.. Hardly a glance was spared her warder as emerald gaze became fixated on the monstrous back of the undead ogre. There was a complication. Arien took off in a low crouching sprint that hugged the tree line, trying to stay out of the crossfire of the arrow shower sure to come. Pale hand dropped to the shaft of the mana flail resting at her side, and the weapon was drawn, flaring to life with a pure arcing whip of divine energy that seemed to reach out, powered by the will of the paladin. No use for the elements now, against the undead..it was upon the power of her holy soul that she drew. Taking advantage of the creature’s preoccupation with the tower, Arien launched herself at the nearest access port for the guard wall, swiftly clambering its height, arm over arm, to the walkway above where she would run along its length. From this added height, she would position herself above the clawing creature, and arc the searing energy in the direction of the Ogre’s neck. At full power, her mana stream could at best reach six feet out from her person, and from this proximity to the creature she should be able to do some considerable damage.
Athyaron had seen his share of battle and wasn't stupid. However he, like the rest of the archers in his tower, were in fact caught off guard as the ogre slammed on the tower, causing it to shake. "Damn it all.." mutters the elf as he yells for the rest of the archers to scatter, as he too rises to run. All of a sudden, the ogre strikes yet again, this time causing about five or so of the archers to fall from the tower and to the ground below where they surely would die. "No....not them...not this time," says the elf as he rushes through the door followed by twenty or so elven archers. Quickly the elf brings his left thumb and index finger to his mouth and whistles a strange, yet melodic tune; a signal for squad Alu to come out of hiding. “Not a moment too soon.." says the ranger with a sly smile as Arien's order reaches his ears. "Fire!!!!!" yells the elf as he, along with the rest of squads Arda (who used simple, pure arrows), Naur (the fire users), Me'urra (his own squad, the lightening users),and Alu (the water users) all fired simultaneously, releasing hundreds of arrows into the air. The very sky itself darkened as the arrows rain down from the skies, each carrying a different element along with them, down towards the dragoness and her friends. Not caring which hit what enemy as long as they hit, the squads repeatedly launch arrows into the sky, this time Athyaron's squad firing at the ogre to assist Arien, while squad Alu fires at the backs of the archers, with Squad Naur and Arda focusing on the black.
Lasacartra :: Per'aps the whip would strike true against the Ogre's form, and cause his frame to shatter into pieces. Perhaps Rhocielle would be successful, and bring the Lochaber axe up to sever one of the dragoness' marvelous wings. Or perhaps the human would save the day, and Lasacartra's blood would stain his blade while her head rolled uselessly upon the compound floor. It did not matter, really, for the first to attack to collide with her form; a single arrow. Unenchanted, bare, simple flint head upon a wooden shaft, yet its aim is as true as any. Through the robes, and dead into the woman's chest, projectile buried deep into the sorceress' heart, a sure fatality. The dragoness falters, a strangled breath catching in her throat as she fell forward, reaching the ground with a series of small clunks. A series of... What? For the body rolls as it hits the ground, pulling back the hood to reveal a hollow skull beneath, lop-sided jaw seeming to grin goadingly at whom ever would look upon it. From within the folds of the garment rolls a spherical object, a small ball of clear crystal, which shatters upon contact with the ground, releasing with it a ripple of dark laughter that vanishes into the air. Naturally, any Undead left still whole dissipate, their skeletal frames collapsing into small piles of dead matter. The threat of the dragoness is gone... But the indiscriminate fire of the archers on the wall must still hold danger for those on the ground.
Rhocielle spared no chances now so close to Lasacartra, but to make matters worse there was now an unknown human male charging at the dragoness. Fiery storm of arrows soon to rain on the three combatants, he could not be bothered to focus on evading the shots that missed their intended mark. In front of, behind, and to his sides, the arrows peppered the ground. Steel enchanted tips seared through the fabric of his cape in the wake of his continuing charge to Lasacartra, threatening to pin him to the ground were it not for the fact that arrows were magically embued. Flames produced by the elven spells immediately burned through the cloth and whisped out, freeing the wolf before he could even feel the slightest tug backwards. Lunging in a thrust to impale the dragoness, he halted as no sooner than he was to making contact that death shone in her eyes. Was it over so quickly? Pole-arm kept at the ready should he be required to stab at the lifeless form on the ground, the emergence of an already bare skull coming as a stark surprise to canine visage. A low growl errupted from his gullet, a moment's grace given before he directed his attention to the remaining enemies, even as the bellowing laughter of the necromancer flitted away into the very air. They too were as the dragon when his gaze came upon them, rotting refuse where they lay after the enchantment left the bodies. Slowly he lowered himself onto his haunches once the threat had vanished, the blade of the ax tentatively prodding at the grinning skull. "Dammit...," he muttered grimly to himself.
Drael is left attacking nothing, as the once-sorceress falls down to reveal puppetry, perhaps. Another threat is quick to cause the Human to begin dashing to a nearby tree, in hopes of shelter from it. Dodging around plummeting arrows, he ignores the few scrapes of their heads as the slice across his clothes, cutting into his skin. It was practically raining with arrows! Just before his dance with death is over--thankfully able to weave between the falling death above--he is struck by an arrow that was sent off course by a gust of wind, mayhaps. His back instantly ripples with searing pain due to the cursed arrow being gifted with the fire attribute, and that's not even mentioning the torturous pain the simple thing produced by being stuck in his back! Unscathed, for the most part, he drops to his knees in order to retrieve this blasted thing from it's current residence. A quick glance down shows him that the thing went all the way through--the sharp, wicked arrowhead protrudes about an inch below his first abdominal row. Without aid, he would be unable to remove the thing. "Dammit," he mutters silently to himself, feeling incompetent due to the fact he was struck with an arrow for the first time in his short, yet adventurous life.
Kumorohyou quietly watches from high in one of the trees, the panther just recently arriving and sitting on a branch just out of the way. His arrival time would be noticed by all, however. A strange presssure, pushing in all sides due to the panther's vast Spirit that invisibly covered the enire area. Once the battle subsides, the feline uses said Spirit to detect any residual magics from the skeleton that was used by Lasacartra. The shaman took note of the signature of the magic before it all fades away, the feline committing it to memory so that it would be easier to track the dragoness next time.
Arien: A soft cry escaped the elf as the command was released from Athyraon’s lips. “ No!!...” emerald gaze flew down to the courtyard, seeking the form of her wolfen warder in the shadow of arrow storm. She had been young once, and remembered what it felt like to be lost in the heat of battle, but the young ranger’s mistake was potentially costly. Seconds felt like hours as the scene unfolded before her; the sudden crumbling of present enemies to dust, and the eventual glimpse of lycan, apparently hale, at the side of an already whitened corpse. And what of the human? Gaze shifted, seeking the shadows of the tree line, it was where she would have headed if she had been stuck below in the firestorm. There. “ Someone aid the human!” she called down, already beginning her swift movement along the wall to the wall access once again. “Rho..are you alright?” She spared the ranger a quick look as she swung a leg over the edge. “We’ll talk later soldier..” the promise of a reprimand…though perhaps not as severe as otherwise might have been had her body guard been harmed. Within minutes she was at the wolf’s side, pensive gaze resting upon the body still present. “ A puppet..that is not good news..”
Athyaron’s eyes widen in a combination of shock and surprise as the ranger quickly runs down from the tower to the ground beneath, passing by the dead bodies of the five fallen archers from the ogre's attack. 'I'm sorry...I'm sorry..' thinks the elf as he runs past them and as he passes by Arien, he nods so that he acknowledges that they will talk later. Upon reaching Drael, the ranger shakes his head as he carefully tears the man's shirt loose from around the wound. "This is going to hurt..." he says, as he gently lifts the man up with his left hand, whilst his right fingers close about the arrow. With a grunt, the elf yanks at the arrow two or three times before it finally moves from its current resting place. "Burns too, dammit..." he whispers as he tosses the arrow aside and carefully places his hand over what would be the now bleeding wound caused from the arrow assault. Quickly the ranger would begin to chant in elvish, a white light surrounding his hand as he chants. The elf would then begin to focus that healing energy towards the inner damage first before he began to work on the outer.
Rhocielle : Black armor and cape still smoldering faintly from nicks left behind by errant fiery bolts that had made contact during his race towards the then living puppet, the wolf nodded as a response to Arien's question of his wellbeing. His gaze did not yet rise to look at her. Canine ears were lowered against his scalp as he briefly continued to look over the skull and crystalline shards near. As he seemed to frown, he could not help but look again to the Lochaber ax still held in his grip. A soft snort was expelled from his nostrils before he finally spoke to the High Elf. "...Helich will likely seek her out, Arien. If he does, or already has, this makes his presence in the assault even more risky," he commented idly while his granite hues fell upon the rune inscribing on the blade of the ax. Slowly a free paw rose to idly press against the tribal markings on the soft dow of his canine face.
Drael grits his teeth at the expected amount of pain that he would have to endure, from the arrow being removed so violently from within his own body. And yet, miraculously he didn't feel much, other than a release of pain, almost alike popping a dislocated knuckle back into it's place. The Human grunts a bit, holding himself on his knees, sinewy muscle flexed beneath his skin to hopefully strengthen himself against the still-lingering pain. "Hurry up, Elf." He mutters, before locking his jaw once more.
Kumorohyou slides down the large tree that he had been standing on. Walking amongst the wounded and seeing to them as needed, his strange Spirit pressure providing a degree of comfort to all in the area. As the shaman checks the damage, he slowly makes his way over to the skeletal remains of Lasacartra's puppet, his bespectacled, electric-turquoise gaze scanning the remains of the vessel. Kneeling down next to it carefully, the panther makes a point not to touch the bones, lest they had some sort of unpleasant surprise.
Arien nodded in sober agreement with her warder’s assessment, her fingertips coming to rest lightly upon fur clad shoulder in self assurance that the wolf was truly ok. “ It appears we shall need a council soon enough, to deal with this and what it might mean in the coming days.” She murmured. Shadows entered her eyes as emerald gaze fell upon the clan casualties who were already being removed to their morgue..their families would have to be notified. The groaned complaint from beneath the trees drew her attention finally to their unexpected ally, and she wandered over to where the pair- victim and his unintended assailant, were quietly at work. “ Well then my human friend, it would seem that you found yourself accidentally the wrong place, at the wrong time..unless, you were seeking us out?” Curiosity glimmered in emerald depths. Turning to address all who remained present, the elf dismissed them to their rest. “ I will meet with the human..and see to his completed healing, the rest of you..go get cleaned up. I will issue a formal report later tonight.”
Athyaron finishes his healing job as he sends the last of the healing energy into the wound, hoping it would be enough. However, the elf would not let the human get away with telling him what to do. Smirking the ranger backs away and releases his hold on the human, without bothering to set him down gently. "As you wish.." he says slyly as he turns on his heels and walks away.
Rhocielle tilted his muzzle to his shoulder, briefest grazing of his dow against the tips of her fingers before the hand itself drew back. With the guards attending the dead and remaining wounded, and the High Elf to speak with the more nonthreatening intruder, his focus was directed to the shaman panther. "Kumorohyou..," he uttered to call the other's attention, "If we can..., may we bring the.. body into the laboratory?" The other's hesitance gave silent warning to the warder about not attempting to touch the cadaver either. Still, however, perhaps clues were to be found in the remains.
Kumorohyou takes the remains of the crystal orb on the skeleton's body and places them in a special case in his satchel for reconstruction. While the ball would not provide any leads, the scientist knew just what he wants to use it for. Turning to Rhocielle, the shaman nods, "Hai...perhaps we can identify who it belonged to..." The panther then puts on a pair of protective, clean gloves, gathering the remains of the corpse.
Drael was able to catch himself, and stand fully upright, if only a bit precariously. A sneer is offered to the retreating back of the Elf, Athyaron, before he shifts his attention back to Arien. The Human sheathes his white-hue blade back into it's simple scabbard, his left hand all-too-quick to rise back to be placed on the pommel. His gray eyes study the woman before him, wondering who she might be, "I am Drael Marcoth, My Lady," he continues in a very smooth voice, "I stumbled on this place by sheer coincidence, it would seem. Yet I believe I found this place for a reason, though that reason is unbeknownst to me." Drael takes a moment to peer about the Compound grounds, taking in all the sights after such a short battle, before once more redirecting his attention to the obvious High Elf.
Arien smiled. It was the smile of one who had been only too often led by the fickle hand of fate, and she nodded her agreement with the human’s statement. Keen elvin ears picked up the traces of conversation between her warder and scientist kinsmen, and she watched idly as the pair withdrew from the courtyard, headed to the barracks from whence they would enter the secret passageway that led to the lab below. Returning her gaze to the human, she nodded, pensive. “ Indeed, there are no coincidences my friend. Come, let us talk together a while.” And with the indication of slender hand, the elf would invite the male into Chambers, an exploration intended of what new mysteries the fates had in store to unveil. With the retreat of the pair, the courtyard retained an eerie stillness..no evidence remaining of the visit of the dragoness who had so shattered their peace.