RP:Liberation Ch1; Moonlight Breech

Part of the Liberation of Rynvale Arc

LOCATION: Rynvale, Entrance to the city sewers (Clean Up)

The thick greyish sludge upon the streets has slowly been removed, leaving only a slight remembrance to the flooding that occurred here. A partially removed sewer grate, however, appears to have been where most of the debris was pushed down, a way leading down still evident although a mysterious emerald glow pierces through the darkness as you look down into the bowels of the city. To the east, the shipyard is almost completely rebuilt, the citizens working hard with a renewed vigor to once again make their city the pearl of the island. To the west, off in the distance, the observary and the library loom, urging those of a scientific mind to once again grace their structures and halls.

Arien was a peculiar sight in the velvet thick darkness of a moonlit island night. The elf, fully decked in the armor she usually reserved for combat, was crouched at the grated mouth of an exit from the sewers which was located in the very heart of Rynvale City; literally footsteps away from the run down Inn that was its heartbeat. Everything about this moment had been timed to perfection; hours..weeks even, of surveillance of the harbor area finally yielding its fruit. She would owe Rhocielle more than she could repay for the hours spent milling about with these brigands. It was the hour of the night when the legitimate citizens of the isle had long been to bed, but before its more nefarious inhabitants had returned from their evening’s disreputable labors. Those within the Broken Barrel’s walls were well into their cups and unlikely to emerge into the deathly still streets until their more active brethren reported in from their night’s ‘work.’ Thus, it was into an almost eerie lull in the life of the isle that the general and her incursion force crept, one by one, from the filth and stench that was the poorly up kept system. Strapped to the face of the paladin and to those of the forces who followed her to the surface from the under ground tunnels, were crudely made gas masks; a left over resource from their initial failed assault on the isle when the sewers had been their intended means of escape. It was the only way they had survived the hours long underground trek through a gaseous stench that would almost certainly have asphyxiated them on their journey from Cenril, where the sewers spilled out, to the heart of the City. Surprise would remain their greatest asset in the assault that would unfold. This time, facing a much depleted and demoralized imperial remnant, the elf was hoping that powerful magic, and a battle of wits, more so than physical brute force would be able to complete the task that she had begun so very long ago. It would be noted therefore, by anyone who might be watching unseen that the force that emerged from below ground was a small one indeed; highly skilled, hand selected officers and allies, and a small unit of the Royal High Elvin regimental guard who had been stationed at the Fold compound during their exile from the island. As small a group as the unit seemed to be, their physical presence would be vital to the success of the mission. Arien’s gaze sought the black dragon’s in the dark. She hoped Helich was as good as she had determined him to be. She waited in silence for her team to arrive fully on the surface, before removing her mask quietly and beginning to speak.

Rhocielle was next to escape the hellish bowels of Rynvale. Arien's shadow was never far behind her, regardless of circumstances. The black armored figure breathed heavily beneath his own canine-fitted mask, paw like hands clasping at the edges of the crude fabric to draw off the apparatus. Fur coated ears were the first to be exposed, followed by sharp silver stones amidst rune markings that marred a wolf's muzzle. Lupine features retained silver highlights to the jet black fur; the moons above Hollow granted his furry visage an almost ethereal appearance. Slated eyes scanned their surroundings with scrutiny, wary of any unfortunate passerby that might come across them. None did, not a soul. Deathly silent, was island. The calm before the storm they would unleash to liberate its citizenry. Just as soundless, the anthropomorphic male stepped over to stand behind the High Elf General. His paw like hands took a fleeting moment to examine his belongings, addressing every loop, pocket and pouch that lined his bandoliers. He had traveled through the far regions of the mainland in preparation, acquiring all sorts of trinkets, baubles, and arcane items that would serve him in one situation or another. With the future and prosperity of the island resting on the shoulders of every individual present in the impending assault, the wolf would need everything he had to assure its success on his part. Gaze darted subtly to Arien as she finally removed her own mask, focusing on her emerald gems as her words would come forth.

Jack was glad to be out of the hell hole that was the sewers of Rynvale, relief flooding over the man, the sight of the light at the end of the tunnel a much welcomed one. He wore the mask, though it would merely stunt the stench--it would prove insufficient to nullify it. Jack didn't complain though, knowing that the battles to come were of importance, and the transport there was just an ill effect left to be handled. His garb was that of his usual, lightly armored, and cloaked in his usual cloth. At last, the moon held high would release its rays unto him, the crisp air about a wall of beauty that would crash into him. The mask was hastily snapped free, his nostrils widening with the deep intake of the air. It didn't matter that he was still as close to the sewers as he was, the air was considerably fresher--and the breeze that came through was that of the sea. Deep murky pools were affixed, a look of concentration and determination locked in. Turning about, he would watch as the remaining exited the tunnels, and then back to Lady Arien. A smirk crossed previously drawn lips, the breeze casting his crimson locks this way and that. Jack was ready, as he always was. Subconsciously his hands would play about, finding his Scimitar and Katana on each of their respective hips, and then the assortment of daggers about his waist. Good, he would think. His gaze would then shift skyward, finding the moon--a serene look overtaking his visage, almost as though he were completely at peace. Odd, though, it might be though when considering what was getting ready to happen. That was simply the way Jack was. Crimson rain will fall this night.

Keturah ran gloved fingers slowly over the surface of her mask, brows furrowed and gaze trained upon the sewage the group trekked through. Only when the druidess had emerged from the sewers' exit, did her eyes flicker toward the others who had come out ahead of her. As they had done before her, the woman's mask was quickly removed and clutched tightly in her palm so that she might inhale the fresher, salt-scented air. The diminutive woman waited anxiously, allowing her gaze to wander about the far too quiet streets of the island city. It had not been the lycaness' first visit to Rynvale, under the cover of darkness or in the effort of liberating it, and she thought herself at least more prepared than she had been before. Her hand trailed downward, pressed against the cloth that covered her stomach, as if to ensure herself that her chest piece was still beneath. Nodding slightly, the healer allowed her hand to brush against the sash tied against her middle. She was not without her weapons: her curved dagger and the satchel of softly tinkling glass that had accompanied her on her first journey to the island. Keturah had the goal in mind, her mission, though it did little to ebb the worry for what was to come that night. Edging closer to the red-haired male, the druidess lifted her gaze toward Arien, still silent; yet determination glimmered within her eyes.

Valiana emerged in the middle of the pack, though if it had been by her choice she would have been the last to enter and the first to take leave of those putrid sewers. Slender digits clawed at the mask upon her face, tearing it free in what may well have been a frenzy had the silent reminder of the need for stealth not rung true from her mind in that brief moment. The sharp nose of the half silver could not bear the scent of the sewer, yet it clung to her, leeching upon her temperance. Without thought the mask was clipped to the leather girdle which held the sheathe of her trusted blade. Reaching with her mind the Paladin could sense the cold steel of Debrias upon her hip. The ancient weapon sang its presence to the templar. Immaculate plate, forged under the blessing of the divine, shone a midnight blue under the light of the moon. The glistening mithril seemed to illuminate cerulean orbs, which for the first time during this journey, broke free from the shadowed figure of the Black that Arien had chosen for their team to take in the team’s position. The night was still, the only eyes that were upon that team of elite members were those of the Gods. Enjoying the silence and the cool breeze of fresh harbor air, Val waited for command.

Helich simply watched the group. Rhocielle more than any, from beneath the edges of a hood far drawn over ebon skin. The saurian was fully clothed in illusionry robes that covered every inch of skin - yet seemed not to sway at all with each passing foot fall that brought him to Arien's side. An eerie thing, sif death were walking this eve. A dark growl in his throat, nothing more, suggested exactly what he had intended it to - lets be done with this. From beneath the hood his gaze fixed upon Rhocielle - anger was a blossoming flower, weeks nurtured, yet now was not the time for it to bud. No words spoken, no real body language to note - he simply was a presence at Arien's side.

One by one they emerged, Drael, Athyaron, and the small regiment of Elvin guardsmen who would be so critical to their illusory work this eve-bodies to be multiplied into an overwhelming army. They were the reason the brooding dark presence of the enemy in their midst was tolerated, and the elf spared a glance now for the dark elf who lingered at her side, before casting emerald gaze to the now vacant hold in the ground. Lirithen had been left below, along with a unit of allied Naga, their mission to hold the tunnels in the event of the need for a hasty retreat. She did not doubt that he would be successful in doing so. It only remained now, for them to do their part. She swept them now with a look, her words a quiet murmur rippling out now into the night. “I will not waste our time with grandiose words or attempt at moving speech. This is the hour for which we have labored, this is the hour for which our kin have died. You know your targets. Our allies await at their assigned locations, unsuspected for lack of open connection to our cause. Be swift, be sure. Finish it, tonight.” Her expression was grim. “This is the Empire’s last hour. When it is over, gather at the courtyard where once the palace stood. There, I shall bring the King and Queen to assume their throne again.” She took them in again, one by one, wondering in that moment if all would make it through the night, and knowing some would not. “ Look for the signal..the flare..then leave it all upon the field. By Fidelity and Fortitude..” A clasped fist lifted to her breast in quiet salute, then, a sudden and unexpected grin, the thrill of battle upon her visage. “I’ll see you on the other side.” With a sharp nod Helich’s way, and a signal to Valiana and the regiment who would accompany them, the elf turned on her heels without a single backward look, and melted into the night’s shadows.

Rhocielle grunted softly in agreement to Arien's orders, but still her Warder's silent countermand was clear in his granite hues. 'Do not make me come after you, elf.' At her departure to the north, he took off to the south. The Ice Magus and Tiefling were awaiting him at the harbor. The sea would give up icy waves of splintered lumber and tattered sails.

Keturah bit softly against her bottom lip and ducked her head. "By Fidelity and Fortitude~," she parroted, accent playing softly amid her speech. With a final bow, the druidess straightened, bringing keeping her fingers splayed across the hilt of her dagger. A glance was turned between Jack and Drael before the druidess turned eastward. The arena would be their first stop that evening, to the gladiators awaiting their freedom, and finally to the clinic, where Rynvale's citizens likely awaited the very same.