RP:Liberation Ch6; A Royal Rescue

Part of the Liberation of Rynvale Arc

LOCATION: Rynvale, Outside the Governor’s mansion.

You are standing outside a very long set of stone stairs that lead up into the governor’s residence but currently well armed guards armed with iron spears and formidable looking armour bar entry. The house is very large and grand with stone pillars on either side of a huge red double door giving the impression of royalty. The home is at least four stories high - much larger than any of the other homes - and has a thick green ivy growing up its ancient and grand looking walls. To the east appears to be a large building, though the governor's mansion naturally dwarfs even the most stately of structures. The entrance seems a mystery, however, to which only a select few have the answer.

Frederic strums his lute very gently with a sigh as he watches the twin moons high above the horizon through the windows. From his position sat on the stairs leading to the floor above ground he can see through the high windows of the entrance hall out over the city beyond and he kinda liked that. Not that he'd really wanted to be governor, nor was he really qualified, just a lowly politician was he until Leigh had decided to set someone in the position. Not that he minded either, the robes of office were rather nice and having servants to do his bidding was a definite perk. Even now he hadn't managed to banish all of them and so one of the older retainers stood quietly at the top of the stairs, hidden innocuously behind a servant's curtain. The old man was the only one who had been around since the royals, all the other servants were new but this one was experienced enough to know to keep his mouth shut about what he saw; which is exactly the reason why he was the one still here while Frederic waited for his 'guests'. Midway through a stanza of quiet melody two shadows unfold themselves from behind a tapestry, his private assassins, master, and apprentice. Apart from the royals on the third floor, his elite guards outside at the door, and the servants downstairs in the kitchens the vast manor was defended by only himself and these two. A brief report is given. Of everyone on the island, the Governor was now the only person perhaps who knew exactly what to expect as the assassins swiftly vanish back to their hiding places. A small smile hovering about his lips the Governor returns to his lute, gently strumming the first stanza melody of a new tune.

Arien was moving silently through the still night, the only clue to her physical presence the gleam of moonlight upon her armor and the soft clicks of armored boots against the rough surface of the streets. For now, she was silent, aware of the dark and broody presence of the black dragon on her heels. She was entirely uncomfortable at this point with his presence on the mission, and quietly grateful for the presence of the armed unit of High Elvin regimentals who trotted in formation in her wake. Beyond being a physical presence with which the dragon would be able to work, they were also her last line of defense against betrayal by the malevelont creature. Valiana and it was to be hoped, Lirithen, once the tunnels were secured would also serve as a deeper buffer to ward off unexpected trouble. The small troupe rounded the corner of Resident’s Square, and sighted the looming hulk of the great mansion in the shadow of the street’s gas lights. The elf raised a fist in signal that they should draw to a halt, emerald gaze sweeping the perimeter of the mansion, checking that the level of guard had not been increased. All looked as she remembered it. Now..before they emerged into the open, would be the time for Helich to begin his work. When they arrived at the governor’s doorstep, it was to appear to be in force. She glanced the dragon’s way, her tone clipped and focused. “ Do it now, Helich.” She looked towards the small troupe of Elvin guard. “ Fall in, she murmured quietly, pike men on the front lines..archers on the second. To arms everyone, for the King and Queen..for liberty..”

Valiana followed the troupe of Elvin warriors as they turned the corner that marked the final stretch before the Governor’s mansion. The mental twang of pain came briefly at first—perhaps it was just an impulsive constriction of blood vessels, a reaction to the heightened tension of the cool night. Yet it was there again, more painful this time, and again—each time growing more intense, until the templar had crumpled to her knees; fortunately far enough back not to be noticed by the troops, who were already on edge. Lirithen’s presence rang through her throbbing mind for the first time this eve. How could she not have even thought of her Warder? Had she let duty consume her so fully?.. He was in trouble..no.. his life was in danger. Something must be done. Rising slowly so as to remain in stealth the Lady moved to catch up with her party. Each step falling with more haste, yet nevertheless the footfall of each leather boot calmly calculated as they fell upon the firm rock base of the road. Within moments the lady was at Arien’s side, a whisper produced through abated breaths. “M’lady, Lirithen is in trouble. He needs my help.” Years of experience with the High Elvin leader caused Valiana to wait knowingly for the nod of approval. “I shall return before the battle is waged, ‘til then, be weary of your allies as well as your enemies, m’lady. Most of all, keep a tight leash on reality.” The last of the words had barely been ushered forth before the soft pad of leather upon pebbled road carried the Lady’s body into faded silhouette, which dashed quickly around the corner and into the darkness of the night.

He had followed along in silence. Content to do so. Malevolent indeed, for the male truly began to weigh the pros and cons of destroying the high elf - a passing thought, marred by the dark blemish the girl was upon his vision. Armor be damned, he still saw her for what he thought her to be - weak. One of emotion, compassion, courage - so ready to justify self destruction to attain a goal. This was not the saurians way. If he were not indebted to this island as an entirety, her death would have been a herald of his coming into these lands. Yet. Those were not the pieces on the board, nay, "You look wonderful tonight." the male retorted at her with a small smile barely visible in the quickening dark. Mana began to pool on his form, a dull blue aura to those so inclined - one that would cling to his form and roll in waves, growing larger - and then larger still. Idle moments pass by. Paper thin replicas of a few of the regiment begin to pop up - poofing out of thin air - after perhaps a minute the force had been tripled, quadropled, and finally five times as many filled the area in a neat formation. Strain -was- Helich. Eyes were narrow and fixed on Arien's form, sweat adorned his Drowen guise - and not an illusionry sweat, nay, it dripped over his brow, down his cheek and finally splashed on the ground. Words were hushed, and like steel forcing itself against sandstone, smooth - yet rough. "I..this -- make this quick." He struggled out, fists clenching at his sides, "The sooner I transform - " gritted words now, the paper thin illusions were begining to grow more dimensional. "The stronger they will b-be." Jaw clenched close at those words quickly bitten off - Valiana had interupted - yet he felt content to leave it alone. To focus.

Frederic smiles, one of his assassin's briefly silhouetted in an upper window to pass him the signal; they were here. He chooses not to warn the guards, most likely their life was forfeit already. He called them his elite guard but they really weren't more than above average, all the truly elite soldiers had died or left the service after the initial attack on the island. Sighing he takes out a crystal and places it on the balustrade beside him, taking a moment to admire the effect of the moonlight passing through it. Then he begins to play a new tune on his lute. As he starts, the crystal begins to emanate its own music in accompaniment to the lute. Strange as it seems this is how the governor chooses to await the inevitable.

Arien’s focus, oddly enough, remained almost entirely locked upon the black dragon. At the moment, his volatility was almost a greater risk to her security than any enemy that might linger ahead in the shadows. She would not forget, that the multiplied figures of the small army now present were in fact under his own control. She kept emerald gaze locked upon him..to remain anchored to reality. If she watched him create them, her mind would know that they were not real, and they could not be used against her. The elf felt the brush of her kinsman draconian at her shoulder, a flash of worry sweeping her expression as Valiana indicated that Liri was hurt- it must mean that something had gone wrong in the sewers. Memory darted to the moment she had released the flare, she had given them all time enough to reach their assignments as her team had moved through the streets, but she had known that waiting until the heat of battle to set the ball in motion might be a risky affair. Thus had silver flare winged skyward, bathing the island sky with light and likely stirring the island to life. If the light had not served to alert the guard of their pending arrival, the muffled underground explosion and shuddering of the earth beneath the Inn at the heart of the City, almost certainly would. Brigands and whores were likely pouring out into the streets and raising the alarm as she stood, prepared to give the final command to attack. Already, he could hear the sounds of shouts on the night air, and see movement up ahead where the imperial guard remained at the watch. If she could..she would have their surrender without bloodshed..enough of it would be spilled elsewhere on the island this night. She turned to Val, a quick nod of affirmation of her intention to aid her warder, and then returned her focus to the dark elf who continued to weave his magic. “ Then, let us go..” The only words uttered in reply to her request that they act quickly and decisively. The elf raised a fist to signal for the attention of the unit behind her. “ Quick march..” And the apparent small army was on the move..a show of overwhelming force, certainly, for the small guard unit who remained. From the windows above the approaching wave might appear at least one hundred strong. If Parsithius and his men held the barracks, and stopped reinforcements from arriving, any battle here would surely be swift and efficient dispatch. Within moments, the elf and her battalion were upon the gates, weapons drawn, and a challenge rang out into the night air toward what defenses remained. “ Liberty is come..At the end of blade and arrow, or upon diplomat’s tongue..the choice will be yours this night. Open the doors, and take me to the royal family.” Tension was thick in the air, as all present awaited the verdict- would it be battle, or surrender?

Leigh:: A small crowd of nervous guards joined one another just inside the mansion door, all coming from their different posts upon hearing or seeing the army outside. Some of them had come from a vantage where they had witnessed the size of the group they were dealing with while others were hearing it second hand and finding the information terrifying. They stood in the foyer, whispering their concerns about the words they had just heard from beyond the gate outside. Most were young and inexperienced; too green to understand the situation and come up with a plan against such impossible odds. The older guards almost felt hopeless. Given the circumstances, they had no choice but to confront the army and likely lose their lives in the process. Fleeing wasn’t an option. After all, those that remained after the initial attack and the disappearance of the Emperor were either tenacious or foolhardy. Whatever their reasons for sticking around the crumbling Empire, these guards would fight until their dying breath and hopefully take a few enemies with them into the afterlife. With that in mind, a few of the older guards set about giving orders to their junior officers and sending the swiftest amongst them out whatever unguarded exits were left to find help. They were, of course, unaware that reinforcements weren’t likely to come due to the other battles taking place on the island tonight. Regardless, the remaining defense, some thirty men ranging from the wet behind to ears to the hardened soldier, filed through the door in perfect formation – two by two. Outside, they lined up in front of the mansion, pikes, swords, maces, and bows in hand and ready for action. The head guard stepped forth to address the army outside the gate. While he appeared quite calm and bold, many of his underlings trembled noticeably behind him. Their eyes were wide and their knuckles white inside their gloves from gripping their weapons as if holding onto their very lives. Tonight, however, would be the night they died. It seemed inevitable and though they accepted their fate for the sake of the Empire, they could not hide their fear. When their commander spoke to the enemy, though, their spirits were somehow raised and determination overpowered even the thought of death. The commander jerked a thumb backwards, indicating the large double doors of the mansion, and said, “These doors shall not open until each and every one of us lies dead at your feet. There will be no negotiations. None from us, at least. And when you do walk over our corpses into that mansion, remember that even though ours was a small, futile opposition, we fought bravely and for what we believed in.” Nothing more was said and no time was given for a response from the enemy. No sooner had the commander turned away from the gate, his hopeless band of guards charged forward. The archers, only three strategically placed at both ends and at the center of the defensive line, began firing their arrows into the opposing army as the others rushed the gate with their weapons of choice hungry for blood.

The templar found herself alone again amidst those cool cobblestone streets. Lirithen now healed, the Paladin’s mind turned back to the Governor’s mansion. Liri would be able to hold his own within the sewers now. The pad of soft elven leather against the roads brought the Lady sprinting around the first of several corners, only to fall back upon herself in an effort to stop. The patrons of a local tavern had taken to the streets and were staring stupidly at the night sky, some claiming they had seen the streak of the flare. Yet even the smoke of the signal flare had been wisped away upon the harbor breeze by now. The Half-Silver could not get by without being seen.. With no time to be spent finding an alternative route, the Lady decided she may as well give the patrons something to stare at in the empty night. Draconic wings flexed powerfully. A precise thrust hurled the templar into the air. The natural feel of flight carried the Half-Saurian low amidst the rooftops. It seemed but moments before flight had brought her over the Resident’s Square. The battle had already begun. A moments thought, mind reaching for the essence of the blade that hung upon her side; Debrias called to her, the battle hardened steel flashing from scabbard, seeming to rip through space itself, appearing in the seasoned Paladin’s hand. Digits grasped the cold steel, the weight of the long sword settling naturally within a mithril gauntlet as the Half-Silver made her rapid descent. A group of Imperial Guards had split off from the rest. Keen eyes set the marks as her targets. Battle cry sounded from above in the thick night. The stars revealed the silhouette of the woman’s winged form as she fell. The half-silver’s blade was driven straight down, a precise thrust driving the cool steel between neck and collar bone of an unsuspecting guard. Catching sight of their brethren’s demise, two further men had turned upon Valiana’s position. Steel rang upon steel, a parry of blows dealt and deflected, until finally the templar had found her opening. A thrust into exposed torso sent the younger of the guardsman to the ground, the cold look of death pouring from his eyes. Then came the other, his intensity catching the woman off guard; a best effort to deflect left a noticeable gash upon the shoulder which bore the divine warrior’s shield. Years of discipline in pain and battle caused Valiana to slow but slightly in her assault. Again steel upon steel, it rang everywhere throughout the square tonight. The cry of one blade sliding upon another and the apparent officer’s weapon had been thrown from him. Wet with the Dragoness’ own blood it clattered to the ground. The moment for the final blow came, enchanted blade was raised to deal the man enough to at least remove him from the combat this night. In that moment the whistle of an arrow caught the Paladin’s ear, a shield thrown in front of face and body in attempt to shield against the unseen projectile. Within that same moment searing pain shot through a scaled wing, an echoed scream rang throughout the square. The wooden shaft of arrow jutted victoriously from the woman’s wing tip.

Hell. All the scene needed was brimstone raining down from the skies. An arrow flew over Helich's head - and it was then that he became more aware of the situation at hand. No surrender, no mercy. He could feel the pulsing emotions of fear, sense the final departure of life from every dying man around him and it only added strength to the fire that was the illusions he controlled. The empath began to change as his illusions rushed by him, scythe-like blades swinging wildly at a full on rush toward the guards. Yet the dragon simply stood, eyes focused on Arien still - digits knotted into tight fists - and then....he changed. The transition from guise to dragon took roughly fifteen seconds and he found himself after it, blocking the path enough to only allow a trickle of the illusionary soldiers to pass in single file. So he took to the air. Even over the screams of dying men and the terrified screams of those still living, the dragon's roar was loud enough to pain tender ears. The lifeless forms of the illusionary soldiers were falling into a half moon formation, trying to push their enemy against the retaining wall of the mansion in a tight, controlled arc - and while this was occurring, the dragon's maw gaped open - he was hovering just above the mansion - and spewed forth the most noxious, acidic liquid one could imagine. The very sight of it - sif it burnt through the very air it passed - would be the final blow to the morale of the guards and it was shot toward the battle below without caution nor concern, be it one of Arien's or one of the Empire's....it did not matter to him. Hell, if Arien herself were hit by the liquid - which would burn worse than any fire and with fumes that would kill - he wouldn't care. After a few moments of this endeavor, as pure exhaustion took him - regardless of the extra boost being provided by the emotions of those below - he would only hover and watch as any of his illusions that were hit - as detailed as they were - would fall to the ground, only to rise like some undead beast and fight again. Be it if they lost a limb, they would use the other - even the removal of a head did naught to phase them, for it was Helich who controlled the unreal objects.

Frederic:: As the battle raged and the officer of the guard fought those last moments of his life in the isolated skirmish which had developed with Valiana he knew in his heart that he served the right cause. His opponent, looking like some beast of horror with those draconic wings, had mercilessly struck down his two companions. As the sword flew from his grasp his senses focused into a clarity that almost hurt as he watched the glittering edge of Valiana's blade rise to strike him down, which he surely would not have survived. He saw it before it happened though, the arrow. With Valiana's scream came the blade, not in a directed stroke but flung in a reflex action as she reacted to the arrow now embedded in her wing. The blade cut into his shoulder and chest, though not as deep as it could have, knocking him to the ground. Bleeding there he simply lay, exhausted, he knew the battle was lost, he'd done what he could, even now he could hear the battle ending, the dragon's roar and the gouts of 'fire' wreaking havoc on the morale of those few who had survived the initial clash and fought to this point even against the demoralizing warriors who rose again even from death. With a sigh he closed his eyes as exhaustion and pain took him. He doesn't know it but he may be lucky enough to survive, the others won't be. In the manor Frederic continued playing, one of the assassins passing before a window and delivering the second signal: The gates were breached, the guards dead all that remained between him and Arien's army, an empty courtyard and the unlocked main doors to the manor. Despite the dragon's roar, which had certainly startled him, the governor had maintained his tune, barely. Now the crystal beside him was in full swing, building steadily towards the first climax of the music. Prepared long before this was the collaborative efforts of several mages, and with the guiding hand of the governor, himself only a feeble magician, it wove a spell, Frederic's final defense.

Arien had never been in any real doubt that that the defenders at the gates would make a last stand, but that did not stop the flash of regret that met the defiant words of the enemy commander as signaled his small band onwards into their suicidal mission. She had hoped this time, to avoid the numbers of casualties endured on their first assault, but the Empire would not go quietly into that dark night. Hell broke loose. The elf spun on her heels to bark a command to the elvin regiment behind her-the real one, that was- “Engage at will! I’ve got the commander!” There were hirelings, junior officers who would surely fall back if their defiant leader was taken out. Perhaps one could be sacrificed to preserve the many. The sound of arrows whistling thought the night, deadlier for their near invisibility under the cover of darkness, caused the elf to raise her shield blindly in defense of the falling death, protecting vital organs as a priority. In this, she would succeed, but a cry of pain would erupt from rosen lips as a single arrowhead tore through the leather covering on one exposed thigh to embed deeply in the flesh there. A second, sharp cry was lost in the battery of sound on the battle field as the elf pulled the arrow from its fleshy home and turned again, bleeding and slowed down now, into the fray. Emerald gaze sought and found the leader of the enemy unit, even as her hand fell to the sword on her hip, drawing the blessed blade forth with a singing of steel to meet and parry the incoming slash of an imperial guard in the first wave of oncoming frenzy. The paladin was lost to the chaos of battle in the ensuing foray, save for the moment that the flash of silvery wings and the song of steel dancing with steel alerted her to the fact that Valiana had entered the battle. She fought her way away from the center of the defensive line towards that wayward commander who seemed to have fallen behind in favor of allowing his men to bear the brunt of the incoming fury. It was hard not to acknowledge that the situation of the guard was desperate as they were pressed back before the ever coming wave of battling illusory soldiers.“ Fight then..if you would have your men die for you, and the Lord who abandoned you to your misery,” she spat out as she finally came upon him. Rage for his folly, and the futility of sacrifices being made lit emerald gaze ablaze as the paladin would lunge forward, carrying her weight on remaining good leg, to thrust her blade towards the liver of the officer, her intention to fell him in a single blow should he not defend the strike. It was in the moment of that leveraged blow, that the roar of the dragon would place exclamation point on the blood bath below and a rain of acid death seemed to pour forth from the sky. Indiscriminately. The elf lifted her eyes skyward, alarm and anger stamped upon pale visage- a mistake perhaps, if her opponent had not fallen right away- but attention would be returned almost immediately to her objective as Arien moved to position herself so that the commander was between her body and whatever remnant of the breath attack might penetrate past the remaining lines of sitting enemy targets. Such a course of action might leave her more vulnerable to the counter of the male, but his attack was likely more survivable than that of the dragon should he choose to continue his course. Bodies fell before the draconic onslaught, enemies and allies alike, and Arien screamed in the agony of the burn that seared through armor plating to eat into the flesh of her exposed sword arm despite the cover offered in part by her opponent’s frame. They were moments away from breeching the outer gates and the elf felt the frustration of not being in a position to lead the charge. “ The door!..to the door!!..” She heard the rallying cry of those allies who remained as they surged past the outer perimeter and across the courtyard towards the grand doors of the mansion which she hoped would be breeched by draconic strength if it proved to be barricaded. She would join them, if she survived this engagement. Across the telepathic link that bonded them, she called out to Val, unaware of the Halfling’s current physical condition. “ Take them in Val..I’m right behind you…” Minutes would reveal if she spoke the truth.

Leigh:: Each man fought his best, but in the end it was just as futile as they had believed it would be when they marched into the battle. One after another, they fell to the ground; becoming some morbid carpeting for their living brothers to fight upon until they too would join them in death. Perhaps the worst blow to this small, hopeless unit was the one dealt from above. They had found themselves corralled by terrifying soldiers that refused to die and though they continued to fight the impossible creatures bravely, death would come from above more swiftly than they had imagined. The acidic torrent rained down upon the unsuspecting guard, scalding them as it seeped into every crevice of their armor before eventually melting even that little protection as well. Those that did not find immediate death upon being covered with the dragon’s acid soon found it by other means. The fumes rising from their fallen brothers quickly overtook those that remained. They coughed and sputtered until their lungs were completely burnt away and they died a miserable, painful death. The commander’s end was perhaps the most gruesome. In his mind, he had already been defeated by the sight of his underlings covering the battlefield even before Arien engaged him. He had not prepared to deflect her initial attack and when she struck, he grasped the wound left by her sword with both hands, knowing it was the end for him. However, he managed to stay on his feet and thankfully so, for Arien’s sake. The acid hit him full force, splattering over every inch of his body. The commander convulsed and twitched, his flesh and armor melting away into a disturbing pool at his feet until all that remained was a collection of steaming bones that crumpled to the ground. The empty eye sockets of the commander’s skull seemed to stare in horror as the jaw was left agape in some silent scream. With his death, all thirty guards littered the battlefield; none of them had taken more than one or two enemies with them each, but they were satisfied by the damage they had done - however little it may have been. The opposition was no more and the path to the Governor’s Mansion was clear save for the bodies strewn about. The guards had made their final stand. It was now up to the occupants of the mansion to make theirs. Elsewhere on the island, Leigh stared from the second story window of the house in which she had resided ever since the disappearance of the Emperor and the castle she once called home. The screams woke her several minutes ago and the scent of blood kept her awake. It carried upon the wind like an enveloping fog and teased her senses. This was not some small fight in the streets, some skirmish between the rival thieves that seemed to rove the streets of Rynvale these days. It was much more and she was grudgingly aware that the city her Lord had fought for would likely slip back into enemy hands tonight. How the thought sickened her. How the very idea made her skin crawl with complete disgust, but there was nothing she could do to prevent the inevitable. Without the Emperor, Archmosia was going to lose all that he had acquired for there was none among those that remained loyal strong enough or wise enough to defend against the invasion. Leigh closed her eyes and let the howls and yelps of the dying enter her mind and she bit down upon her lower lip so hard that it began to bleed. Anger and confusion drugged her. What could she do? What would -he- expect her to do? The answers eluded her and she had never felt so helpless in all her life.

Valiana:: Tense digits grasped the protrusion of the wooden shaft, the arrow’s extraction hastened by an avoidance of the downward spray of acid. Toned legs sprung dexterously out of the way of even the slightest splash of the liquid that seemed to burn through the air itself. All of the templar’s battle focus was now channeled into anger as silver orbs shifted skyward, targeting the Black saurian, holding him within that piercing gaze of scorn. How careless could one be? “I’ll be damned if that fool is going to write off our men as collateral.” The words were muttered, deftly swallowed beneath the still strong uproars of battle. In those moments the templar had never lost her situational awareness, as focus was channeled so deeply into one aspect of the battle at hand, all the rest spun a colorful picture ever-present within her mind. The distressed command of Lady Arien caught Valiana off guard. Years of friendship were hardly necessary to detect the pain which bore down upon the troupe’s leader, the silent undertone begging for relief, but for now the High Elf would survive. Without hesitation Val made a hasty advance to the Mansion’s gate, the occasional stray blade of one of the few Imperial Guards which clung to life dodged in the process, the Half-Silver’s own cool steel aiding in the man’s dispatch. By the time the Lady had reached the door, it was already on its way to shattering, a team of four sturdy Elvin officers smashed collaboratively at the sturdy slab of wood. Using the speed and momentum of her sprint across the courtyard, the Halfling female joined in the next strike. The additional force of the draconian caused the hinges to buckle, collapsing inward. Keen orbs gazed forth, inspecting what lay beyond. Sword and divine shield raised in preparation for what might be a final attempt at the governor’s defense. Without delay the paladin signaled the handful of officers onward. Her own body taking the lead of the “V” shaped formation which stormed the room. Nothing. Surprised at the lack of resistance the detail stopped paces before the bard who rested alone upon the stairs at the end of the hall. Whispers… nigh, music greeted the invasion party’s ears. Each gentle note worked at the Lady’s mind, absorbed within the hardened wall of battle awareness that fortified the Lady’s mind. Could this be it? This man would lie in wait of his impending doom alone? The thought had hardly settled when the movement of tapestry, no more than a rustle beneath a man’s breath, caught the woman’s eye. The wind, perhaps, but no, to a seasoned veteran it was a risk until proven otherwise. “Circle up!” The shout carried every element of command, halting the remainder of the Elvin troop just outside the Mansion door, and bringing the raiding party which accompanied Val to form a tight circle. Each Elvin guard seemed to search desperately for whatever it might have been that their leader saw, the serenity of the scene amidst battle gnawing at their minds. “Even knowing this day was soon to come, I would not expect the Royals to give up their throne so easily... Give up now and we shall spare your lives.”

Helich ceased his destructive reign after locking his gaze on Valianna. Twas his own eyes that narrowed, twas only a growl that permeated from his throat in response to her words. Collateral damage indeed. A few tokens of appreciation for Arien - oh yes. As wings kept him afloat, so did they bring him back down to earth - already the male was transitioning back into a guise even as he descended. This man - quite elaborately designed - was now an exact copy of a random guard he had seen on the ground. A dead man now, the saurian looked like he suited the body. Muscular, scarred - dark. The wings were the last to disappear just as his feet touched the ground. For a moment he appeared a dark angel and it was after the transition was complete that he took a breath heavy with weary. Yet it was his eyes, they were wary. Inside Frederic may note the illusionry soldiers that had followed inside with Valianna at this point losing a bit of detail, becoming more bland. It would be hard to spot but - if he were paying attention he would see the clothes they wore lose color, eyes appear less life-like. Yet this was the least of his concerns. Oh yes it certainly was. She was here, amongst the ravaged corpses - amongst the final breaths and glazed eyes of the dead. The male stood awkwardly, watching Arien with malice in his mind. To win a war one could fight a long campaign - or cut the head off the legionary snake. Arien. He moved with alarming speed hoping to catch her off guard. As he neared her with those eyes bordering on sadistic, the man would attempt to coil his arm around her neck and lock it with the other - a choke hold. Rather brutish of him, but he had tip-toed around this matter far too long and now - she was vulnerable. This was an attempt to render her unconcious, nothing more - and while this occured her very own voice echoed throughout the manor and hopefully loud enough to reach those within. It was the saurian creature's mouth moving however, "Attack at will! All hail the Rising Dawn!" An odd thing to say - an old battle cry that had slipped out...a curse was muttered under his breath. If his attack had been a sucess - if he truly had been able to incapacitate the High Elven woman well - he'd seep illusionry empathy into her subconcious, a trickle at first. The dam would break however, and to make it simple he was trying to flood her emotionally into submission.

Frederic's music reaches the first climax as the Valiana and her small company of four break through the doors. As the sounds emanating from the crystal drop back to a quietly haunting melody the Governor lays his lute to one side, cursing mentally at the tiny motion of the apprentice that had given the presence of assassins away to his foe. Smiling sweetly he rises, voice carrying into the near-silence as illusory warriors cease to exist upon crossing the threshold. This 'boundary' spell was why he had ordered the foyer deserted, lest someone accidentally cause error. "The legendary Silver Valiana. You know the door was unlocked, you could have just turned the handle." The look of reproof on his face was akin to that of a parent scolding a foolish child. "Why should I give up when I believe that I can yet take you all down... and when I have no reason to believe you shall spare me?" The question was honestly voiced though his expression suggested she would be unlikely to be able to provide a satisfactory answer. Behind him the quiet tone of the music begins to change in subtle steps, the quiet before the storm so to speak.

Through the haze of her own pain, Arien watched the horrible death of the commander as he seemed literally to melt into a puddle of bones and liquifying flesh before her-the gruesome nature of the scene stunning the elf into a frozen stance as the stench of death rose around her from the corroded remains of those others who had fallen. She had been that close, to death-and at the hands of one who should have been an ally. Helich would pay for his treachery. An almost blinding wave of pain swept her body as it finally began to register the shock of the burns taken by what splattering of acid had fallen on the arm that now hung limp at her side. She swore she could feel drops of acid yet working their way through flesh to the deeper regions of muscle and bone. She needed to get inside, to Val and her healing touch if she would make it through the remainder of the night upright. The elf blinked as a wave of dizziness caused her vision to swim; she was slowly bleeding out more than she could sustain without battle field triage. Moving finally through the sea of corpses, the elf limped over to a body whose armor had been corroded enough to reveal the tatters of linen clothing beneath, and lowered herself with a wince to slice a strip off the skeleton with dagger held in good arm. Hilt was tucked between white teeth as she grunted through the pain of attempting to tie off her thigh, and then the paladin was rising to her feet again, blade in hand with eyes and mind focused on the shattered doors she could see across the courtyard. It was her second error of the same nature-taking her eyes off the current field, to look into another- and this time, it would cost her. She felt the surprise hold of the dragon before she had any clue that he had even made it to ground, felt that increase of pressure that threatened to still the flow of precious life’s blood to her brain, and she reacted on a gasp. The dagger in hand was plunged downward and backwards, her elbow inclined at just the right angle for the point to penetrate the lung of whatever humanoid form the dragon had adopted if he was not properly armored. With both arms raised to encircle her neck, his torso would be vulnerable. And yet, she could feel the encroaching darkness, the burning of lungs desperate for a breath as she struggled in his hold and that desperation increased her focus. He was a Black-as effective as intelligence had proved holy magics would be against his sister, they should be against him. As she began the slip into semi consciousness, the elf channeled what was left of her energy into the stirring of her mana. He was pressed directly against her body, a wide open target for the pulse of pure divine energy she attempted to direct into his core, weakened though it might be by her own damaged state . If she was successful in her attempted defense, the reaction of the male to the unexpected physical and holy assault would be enough that he might release some of the pressure upon her neck, if not let her go completely-and he would certainly be under enough duress that attempts to bombard the security of her mind would be hindered. In the last moment before blackness might swallow her, the elf sent an urgent plea for reinforcement across the link that bound her to her kin..perhaps there was one not lost in the fog of battle who might come to her aid.

Lirithen loved his new toy. It was a marvellous thing, the Sacred Winds, all handily contained within a plated bracer that fit snugly upon the ranger's wrist. Marvellous, truly. He'd actually longed for an excuse to employ it's abilities beyond the simple tests he'd conducted during windy days across the Milous Plains, so when keen elven eyesight discerned the spectacle before the Governor's mansion, blood-soaked corpse piles playing host to an assault upon the General herself, the elf found he couldn't repress the sly half-grin that picked at the corners of fair lips. The Naga were a warlike lot, not content to simply sit around in the filth-strew sewer and await the battle to be over, and after much restless arguing that nearly ended with Lirithen himself stuck atop the troupe sergeant's pike, he'd boldly decided it might be best if the warriors got what they wanted. At the moment they were slithering through the streets, serpentine bellies flat against the cobblestone floors, and they covered the distance at an alarming rate. The ranger felt daring, so had deemed his wound sufficiently healed enough to allow him to take to the rooftops, and though his abdomen still shot a dull pain through his body with every step, his movements hadn't been all that hindered. So he'd scouted ahead, and now crouched perched upon the rooftop of a house where unsuspecting citizens slept the battle away, staring out across the streets to assess the situation into which they were headed. Pale hands leapt to pull the elemental bow from across the shoulders of the nimble elf, the left lid sliding shut over an emerald optic as Lirithen drew an arrow from his quiver, knocking the steel-tipped projectile into place. Two fingers pulled the bowstring taunt, and with utmost care the archer took an aim that would require extreme precision from such an impossible distance. “Easy...” the tree-born murmured to himself, and then opened the internal energy streams that enabled him to channel his limited magical prowess into his fingertips. Previously hidden runes flared into life over the surface of the bow, a crimson glow erupting upon the golden Sage wood that traced complex, intertwining symbols into the weapon. Sparks erupted from the elf's fingertips, dancing down the length of the arrow shaft, coming to shroud the arrowhead in a sea of electrical charge, “easy...” Then came the call, the mental link between the Fold shimmering to the fore of Lirithen's psyche, a horrified cry for help. Gritting his teeth, and silently reciting a quick prayer to Lauria, the ranger tentatively allowed his half-gloved fingers to slip the feathered projectile. Immediately he felt the Sacred Winds burst forward, a sliver of air wrenching itself from the bracer to grasp a firm hold of the arrow, and an exultant, joyful cry ripped from Lirithen's pale lips, even as the recoil sent him stumbling onto his back. Climbing back into a crouched position emerald gaze sought to trace the arrow's progress towards it's target, a satisfied grin coming to rest firmly upon the visage of the rogue elf. The Winds did their job well. The arrow soared, thundered, darted, whatever term one may prefer on a perfect path, the Sacred Winds carrying the steel tipped projectile on an airborne journey of epic proportions. Upon the wings of Winds the seemingly impossible distance was covered in moments, and the aim was completely flawless, a thing of true beauty. Thus, unless deflected in some manner, the arrow would embed firmly between the shoulders of the dragon in humanoid guise, Helich, and if that weren't enough to hinder the humanoid's attempted strangulation of the Lady Arien, then the contained electrical pulses would blast outward, sending a shock that would short-circuit the illusionist's nervous system, and cause a painful slip into unconsciousness of his own. Lirithen sprung again into his calculated hops and leaps, following the ground-bound Naga troupe through the few streets that prevented them from joining the skirmish at the mansion. 'Twas a small group, the remains that had survived the prior Fermin attack. Eleven warriors, by Lirithen's last count, armed with long spikes and thick shields, and accompanied by the seven remaining Naga archers, it was hardly an army by anyone's standards. But they were reinforcements, still, and was they were certain their appearance would be greatly received. Their appearance was immanent, and Lirithen's even sooner, bow having been slung again over his shoulder in favour of grasping the two silver short-swords that were usually sheathed at his belt, ready to tangle with the usurper whom had made the grave mistake of attacking his childhood friend.

Leigh silently darts through the darkened streets of Rynvale, avoiding any confrontations with citizens and enemies alike. All of the most private and secluded pathways of the city were well known to her and it made travel, even during these hectic times, a simple matter. Her destination is the Governor’s Mansion where she hopes to find the man she appointed to the position alive and fending off any would be invaders. The mansion was one of the most important structures still standing on the island and defending it, if nothing else, is the Empress’ chief concern at the moment. Of course, she suffered no delusion of actually preventing the restoration of the High Elves to the seat of power in Rynvale, but standing by and doing nothing was simply not an option. If it meant her death, she would at least join Frederic at the mansion and attempt to stave off the invaders - if it wasn’t already too late. Running along Shellfish Street, however, the woman is nearly overwhelmed by the extraordinary amount of blood being carried upon the ocean breeze and she begins to assume the worst. It hit her like a wall as she rounded the corner and nearly drove her back, but she presses on only to be met with an indescribable scene on the street in front of the Governor’s Mansion. The lycaness was far enough away still to remain unseen when she paused to survey the road ahead, but her eyes could easily cut through the darkness and pick up the bodies littering the ground. Leigh shook her head and bit down on her still bleeding lip. A massacre. That’s what it was. But just when she thought she was too late to be of any use here and began to suspect the Governor was already dead or in enemy hands, her sensitive ears fill with the faint sounds of music. Perhaps all was not lost and Frederic was still holding the mansion after all. Her determination is renewed, but she dared not be optimistic. The Empress readies her spear and bolts. The large, stately manor grew ever closer as her feet pounds the pavement, but an abrupt quickening of the wind overhead and the whir of a passing arrow sent her crouching low to the ground. Cautiously, the woman lifts her head to look for the point from which the arrow had been launched, but finding no one on nearby rooftops, she assumes she is not the target after all. She rises again to her feet and continues on to the mansion. Approaching the gate, Leigh takes notice of the struggle between what appeared to be an Imperial guard and Arien of The Fold. Something didn’t seem right about the situation, though. Call it intuition or pure instinct, but the Empress was hesitant to involve herself in the conflict between these two. It isn’t long before she is spotted; momentarily distracted by her confusion over which course of action she should take, she isn’t making an effort to hide. A couple of the Elven soldiers still stalking the courtyard notice her presence and quickly moved in to do battle with the newcomer before she has a chance to slip past them and join the Governor inside. Leigh is ready for them and deflects the initial swordplay with her own weapon. The length of the spear makes blocking two separate blades a bit easier and the woman’s skill with her favored weapon is impeccable, but fighting two soldiers at once is no small matter for someone who relies upon stealth and surprise. Dispatching these two swiftly is paramount. In an act of desperation, Leigh allows one of the men to pierce her right arm. The blade goes straight through her flesh and wedges between the radius and the ulna of her forearm. Though the pain is excruciating, the Empress manages to wrench the weapon from his grasp and simultaneously gouge the other soldier’s gut with the sharpened tip of her spear. He drops to the ground, writhing in pain until death saw fit he be still. The now unarmed Elf takes a few steps back as Leigh rips his blade from her arm. She would take care of him next, with his own blade – hopefully before she lost the ability to use her right arm due to blood loss.

Valiana:: The silver’s gaze was piercing, cerulean orbs danced with a silver flame that seemed to quench any jest that the bard may have put forth. Pink lips drew taut ‘pon a visage claimed by that stoic expression of a hunter measuring her prey; cheeks hardened with the horrors of the battle which were witnessed outside. “Had I left the door ‘pon its hinges I might not have been as effective in making my message clear, my friend.” The cold steel clenched within tense digits was dropped into one hand, which still held the deadly blade at the ready as the templar weighed her words. “And it is important that my words are considered with the utmost clarity, for your life does indeed depend on it… Surrender now and –I- shall spare your life. I very well believe the Lady Arien would consider the notion as well. Surrender now and save the lives of those men still foolish enough to give their lives to a broken, falling empire.” A spit of disgust. “ Fool, your bluffs are as transparent as the air between us.” Orbs seemed to glance at the invisible figures who continue to hide their presence from the raiding party. “I give you all a chance to surrender. Obey and you shall not die.. Fight, and…. Well, for your governor at least, I guarantee a particularly painful death at my blade.” The words had hardly escaped their owner’s mouth, dying into a faint sneer, their hatred and disgust painted so elaborately by each articulated word, when the mental pang had hit her. If but for a moment the channel burst open, a splintered floodgate releasing pain and desperation that must have been worn so plainly on Val’s own visage. “Arien” the name was no more than a whisper, a strain to the ears of even the Elven Guards that stood at the ready beside the Halfling leader. The whisper itself seemed to herald the jerking of Valiana’s body as a step was given towards the door, the governor forgotten. Yet at that single step the lady seemed thrown back by an invisible barrier, forced to resume her original position amidst the ring of warriors that remained. Duty…This was her duty. Guilt and fear painted but a portion of the myriad of emotions that washed over the templar priestess in that moment. ~I cannot help her! Somebody get to her!~ The empathic cry was loud enough to be heard by any conscious member sharing her link. The failure of broken promise reaching but one—Rhocielle.

Helich took first a scouring hot blast from Arien - a painful thing - followed by a well-aimed arrow into his back. The only thing was Arien's holy attack set him off of her form so that the arrow pierced a lung. At any rate, this was a lost battle - a lost cause - and as quick as the male could he transformed into his true form and fled into the skies.

Arien’s body was already slumping earthward, set free from the stifling hold of the dragon when she was thrust away from his body. The whistling ‘thunk’ of an arrow penetrating Helich’s borrowed form echoed in the blurred haze that was her almost asphyxiated mind. Falling to her knees and gasping for breath, the elf cried out in pain as she unintentionally took weight on her damaged arm. Years spent in the company of a dragon had fine tuned ears to the recognition of the sounds of transformation when it occurred, and thus would head be raised and emerald gaze be locked upon the form of the Black as he took to the skies, a dark blot against the starlit backdrop that was the Rynvalian sky on this once peaceful night. Bastard. Slowly the burning in her lungs receded, as did the ringing in her ears, and the elf gathered her wits about her enough to take stock of her surroundings and the way things stood in the battle at hand. All seemed still save for.. Keen elven eyesight took note of the apparent scuffle taking place further along the street just in front the gates of the mansion. How had any of the enemy survived the dragon’s onslaught? Emerald gaze narrowed and then widened as the features of the empress of Archmosia were highlighted by the lamplight that glowed with almost bizarre cheerfulness onto the macabre scene below. Arien tried to get to her feet only to sink back against the wall, she was weak from loss of blood and in a state of semi shock-she would be fighting no one. “Hades and Damnation..” the curse was spat out softly in frustration. The presence of the empress must surely mean imperial reinforcements headed this way. She had to get the Royal family out of the mansion and to a secure location…now. What was she missing? A forgotten detail tugged at recovering mind. An arrow; Helich had taken an arrow when all of her men were within under Valiana’s command. Someone else was out here. Emerald gaze trailed over her perimeter in sweeping arc again, lifting to take in the rooftops just in time to catch the glimmer of moonlight reflecting off of a pair of silver short swords as an all too familiar elvin form seemed set to drop to drop with his catlike grace from significant height into the scene of death below. It would only be an instant before he caught sight of Leigh and possibly choose to spring into action, but the elf needed him elsewhere tonight. She was willing to sacrifice one prize for the accomplishment of the larger objective. The King and Queen needed to be removed to safety. Arien reached out to her childhood friend across the link that bonded her to her kin-it would not hurt for all to be aware of her intentions. “ Liri.. I’m hurt..I can’t get inside, Vali’s in there, and the Royal family, most likely on the third floor. For the love of the gods, get them out. All of them..” She could not bear the thought that Valiana would be left to shoulder the responsibility alone. Only time would tell if her silent command would be followed directly, the rogue elf had a powerful will of his own, but tonight, lives and a kingdom might be resting upon his willingness to follow an order, and promptly. Directive given, Arien slumped back against the wall pain and weariness washing over her again as her eyes turned eastward towards the place she had last seen Empress. So close..she had been so close.

Lirithen indeed, once discerning the fleeing saurian, took those first few running steps towards the goal of the empress, yet a mental command halted the enchanted heels as the order cut through his psyche. The royals? He’d given little thought to the objective, having assumed the intention was to secure the Archmosian captives whence the mansion had been overrun. But surveying the situation... Lirithen gave a tight lipped frown, turning emerald gaze again to the Empress and the Guard she engaged. The fellow was surely dead... “We’re here,” a hissing tone entered the tree-born’s pointed ears, and a sharp-chinned nod followed. “Capture the Empress!” barked the ranger’s firm voice, and from behind him, the Naga troupe roared in compliance. Arrows flew in Leigh’s direction over the heads of the burly pike-wielding warriors that slithered gleefully toward the named prey, forked tongues darting to taste the air. Capture, the elf said, but in the heat of battle mistakes were often made... The snake sergeant, an eight-foot monstrosity of scale and rippling muscle brought a steel-spike tip of a long wooden pole boring down upon the ranger lycaness, followed by the elongated weapons wielded skilfully by the remains of his battalion, seven or so Naga pole-arms all racing forward to skewer the woman on the ends of their weapons. Lirithen was far from that particular skirmish, toned legs pumping leather boots repeatedly against the grounds of the mansion courtyard, green eyes scanning the front of the building, running mental calculations through a quick mind, judging distance, height... Magic flowed about the ranger’s person, meagre reserves of energy drawn upon to effect the male’s intended entry to the house. Gathered, bundled, and immediately shot downwards, mana navigating the set paths through Lirithen’s body and straight into the boots on his feet. Crimson runes, adorning the surface of the male’s extravagant boots, flared into being, and a mass of energy forced itself down into the tree-born’s heels. Black leather pants tightened around toned legs as the ranger bent at the knee, and with a preparatory breath, released the bound energy. Legs pumped the male into a forward leap, and a barrage of air was forced out from beneath his person. The spring-heel enchantment rocketed the nimble form upwards, a plated coat sleeve coming up to shield a silver-curled head from the expected impact. A horrible ringing ran through sensitive ears, several sharp pains shot through the lofted arm. Glass rained upon his back and legs, slicing through leather leggings and etching grazes into the elf's fair flesh. A thud, solid floor felt beneath the expended appendage, and the agile male threw all his weight over a broad, tensed shoulder, and his body bent into a shaky, not-too-flawless forward roll, unfortunately ending with Lirithen, looking quite beat, lying on his back. “Urgh,” a slight groan slipped from between fair lips, and after a brief cradling of his ringing head he climbed swiftly to his feet, throwing emerald watch to the empty square-set hole in the wall. Jagged glass clung to the window frame, showing clearly the acrobat's path of entry. A grin tugged onto his visage, and after plucking a few shards of glass that buried into his arm in mid-flight, the rogue elf bit back upon the painful cuts suffered from the impact and turned to face the dark haired high elf who's bedroom the tree-born had intruded upon. “Your majesty,” Lirithen enacted a small bow to the High Elven king, before crossing over to the locked door that barred exit from the king and queen's temporary hold. “Wake your wife and come with me,” Lirithen continued, plucking a tin from within his coat, and prising open the copper lid to expose the selection of custom-made lockpicks contained within, “we're liberating the island, you see. The Fold.” Idle chatter continued as the former assassin skilfully wriggled an iron pin into the door's lock, and began feeling his way through the mechanism's inner workings, “and my watch doesn't seem to think we have much time.” The door swung open, and the elf turned to scrutinize the King and Queen, noting with apparent surprise that both were wide awake, and fully dressed. A finger extended, pointing upwards, “head for the fourth floor, if you will. I'll send your fellows after you, and we'll find some way of reaching the roof. Hope you don't mind heights too terribly, we'll probably have to jump some ways.” With that, with the flap of his coat whipping out of sight, Lirithen promptly abandoned the royal couple and set about freeing the others of the court contained on the floor, the scuffle of feet alerting the ranger to the King and Queen following the given directive, and heading for the higher levels.

Keturah arrived at the mansion's gates with her Warder, nearly doubling over as she struggled to draw breath back into her lungs. The corrosive stench of death had reached her before her arrival, but standing in the midst of what had once been the Imperial guards, the woman could hardly keep herself from retching. Pressing the back of her wrist against her mouth, she ventured further. It took agonizingly too long to locate the highborn, and for an instant upon discovery of the other's condition, the druid's face fell. "I'm with the Lady now," she sent the quiet message over the link, but otherwise wasted no more time with words. In a moment the petite woman was alongside Arien, and knelt quietly beside her. Blood stained hands were drawn upwards, the soft green healing light flickering to life as she cupped her palms over the other's shoulder. Closing her eyes, the lycaness poured her awareness into the elf's injuries. The woman went dutifully to work, 'watching' as she stitched together damaged blood vessels, muscles and skin, paying special care to the worst of the injuries. Healing was a slow process, meticulous, and though time was vital, Keturah could not rush. Drael, she counted on to keep them safe from whatever reinforcements might arrive. Eventually, Keturah pulled reluctantly away, though her hands remained upon the highborn's shoulder. The healing was incomplete, and only the most terrible of the wounds were healed fully; after all, there had always been the possibility that another might be in need of a healing. Moss-green eyes flickered toward the mansion, teeth scraping against her bottom lip with apprehension. "All will be well in the end, chal?" Gaze sought Arien again, noting the injuries that had been left. "I need to see if there are others. Drael," looking toward the other, Keturah smiled weakly. "Stay with Lady Arien, chal?" Without pausing to see if her order would be followed, the druidess hurried off to tend to any others she found. It was the least the druidess could do.

Drael drives his feet hard into the ground, sliding to a skidding halt beside Keturah. His gray eyes—holding something akin to worry—move about the Elfess’ form for a few moments, to assimilate the damage Arien may have succumbed to. However, before Keturah begins the healing, his eyes are already off, moving about to take in this place anew—to learn his surroundings. Not much of a scrutiny can be had, as the Human spots the group of rushing Naga almost immediately. Their sinewy forms are nearly all scales, skin, and flashing steel. Those beastly creatures are so fixated on one thing that the youth cannot help but wonder what; until he sees her. Lady Leigh, as he had heard her named, though he did not know this woman to be her. Something begins to stir inside the Warder as his arresting gaze lingers on Leigh’s figure. Keturah’s command for him to stay and guard is completely ignored. The Fates. Their call... Oh, how he could not ignore them! The whisper of The Fates begin to leak through the Soldier's mind, only to eventually tear free from the barriers he set in place to lock them out, flooding through him like a torrent of raging waters! Like a myriad of voices, they all chant one word in his head—no, like a choir, they sing the word together in unison, to the rhythm of his beating heart! KILL! Immediately, the Rigid Sentinel launches himself forward with the aid of his powerful calves, propelling the youth ever onward. Surpassing skill comes into play, as the Juggernaut of a Man weaves through the ranks of the Naga--his form perhaps said to move like living quicksilver! Whilst doing so, he frees the brand at his side, his visage taking on a hardened look, steeling himself against the task at hand. The Fates call is too much for him to control at this point, all other orders are ignored or forgotten. He would obey The Fates and The Fates alone! The Human hefts the sword high over his head, its white-hot hue bursting to life with flame! The swell of this overwhelming rush of need and desire thrusts out from his lungs in the form of a ferocious battle roar, intent on demeaning his foe. Without a second of hesitation, Drael brings the brand down at Leigh--the 'HISSSS!' of that searing weapon is the only thing to herald the sickening arc of his blade. The Fates guide his hand this night, further enhancing his aim to cleave the wenches head from her shoulders.

Rhocielle tensed his canine ears against his scalp as the docks behind him erupted in upward cloud of sea water, stone, and lumber. The leathery soles of his feet furiously pounded upon paved streets, continuing on towards the north without hesitation. The vampiric kit and tiefling would be alright, he continually reassured himself as he ran through crowds of panicked citizens. They would have surely taken heed of his advice to leave as soon as the fleet was destroyed. Kasyr would not have let anything happen to his mate. "You will be alright, elf," he muttered to himself vocally, though it prompted him only to race on faster. A low azure light glowed softly in the confines of furry digits and leathern palm, already prepared to tend to the High Elf herself if she was indeed as injured as her outcry on the clan link made him believe she was. In his other wolfen appendage was held the Mage's Bane. Thoughts lurked in lupine mind of skewering the black dragon. Rushing into the area in front of courtyard gates of the mansion, he saw not only madness, but smelled the retching stench of acidic horrors. A mob of serpent soldiers were laying charge to an injured woman, one he knew already by sight, let alone the telltale scent of another wolf. Leigh. As he raced to intercept the Naga, granite gaze caught sight of a much faster streak amidst the scaled troops. Arien's call reached his ears. It was Drael. The younger Warder moved as a man possessed, bringing forth memories of their violent encounter at the fault of the curse placed by the White Witch. He barked out an order of cease and desist to Drael as arrows from the Naga troops zipped ahead of both warders and towards Leigh, unknowing of the other male's vehement command by the Fates. His paw quickly reached for something from his bandolier. Leathern soles of his feet planted black furred Lycan squarely in front of the injured Lycaness, and in the arcing path of the flaming blade. With the climatic roar of the human came forth the dominating howl of the wolf. And time froze. A deafening crack of steel against enchanted stave resounded as thunder to those watching the two Warders clash. The Mage's Bane held true against the destructive force of sword of the Fate's. Snarling aggressively, Arien's shadow slowly brought his full height and strength to bear against the residual force of Drael's attack. Something suddenly flickered in his left paw, a small object held against the shaft of the Lochaber ax by his palm. Dim at first, a weak red spot suddenly flared out in a crimson flash in attempt to distract and blind Drael while Rhocielle quickly brought a leg to shove the human away. Not a moment would be spared regarding the empress of Archmosia. Discarding the spent flare to burn harmlessly on the ground, he pivoted upon his heel to bring a fist of fur coated digits to the lycan huntress' face, the female most likely having been surprised and confused by the sudden defense of her person by another member of the Fold. There was still the armed rabble to deal with as well. Black fur flared out in the bright sapphire flames of a Healer's Light to enhance the intimidation of an already infuriated wolf. He barked out his command to Drael and the remaining Naga forces with a look over his shoulder, "It is over!..." Without need of Arien's eventual command, the wolfen warder sought to immediately to take Leigh into custody, whether unconscious or not, and remove her from immediate harm.

Leigh drops the pilfered blade of the Elven warrior to the ground beside his corpse and reclaims Kinslayer from its bloody sheath in the others stomach. Their deaths had not been quick or painless and the Empress had drawn a sick satisfaction from impaling the second soldier upon his own blade. However pleased she is with her kills, there is little time to bask in the glory and no time to consider the next course of action. A single arrow strikes the street several feet in front of her - then another and another until they become a frightening shower. This prompts the huntress to perform an abrupt about-face, bringing her around to regard the coming onslaught with wide eyes. The arrows, it seems, are the least of her worries. The bloodthirsty Naga horde slithers forth at impressive speeds, but Leigh can easily discern the sadistic gleam in their eyes and realizes her best option is to flee for the Governor’s Mansion where she assumes there will be greater safety in numbers amongst allies. Unfortunately, her plan is foiled before she ever has a chance to put it into action as a sudden pain shoots through her body. The woman rips the arrow from her shoulder with a feral snarl only to cry out in pain as yet another of the projectiles pierces the flesh just above her left knee. Kinslayer clatters to the ground as the Empress grips the shaft of the offending arrow with the intent of tearing it from her body as she had the previous one. Damn all caution; she had to get out of there. It is then, before she can free the arrow from her flesh, that a vicious cry seeps through the pain pounding in her ears and she realizes with a start that there is someone closer than the Naga; someone that is close enough to attack her while she is vulnerable. Sapphire eyes snap upwards to rest not on the attacker, but instead his fiery brand. The brightness draws her eyes much like a moth to a flame and for a split second she believes that she is going to die. In those slowly ticking seconds before impact, Leigh thinks of only one thing. How proud she is to die for him even though he isn’t there to see it. Her time in this world is not yet over, however. It starts out low and escalates until it is a scream in the female’s ears that she can hardly bear. The howl of kin – the call of another wolf. How she hates the sound, but in this instant she is lucky to hear it. She stares at the furry, black form before her in disbelief. He is no ally and she knows it. What she doesn’t know is why he saw fit to save her life when it was obviously best for all enemies of the Empire if she found a place amongst the other corpses littering the battlefield that is Rynvale’s streets. Seconds later, the Empress hits the ground and her head swims from the blow the male lycan deals during her moment of uncertainty. His words echo in her ears, giving her a pounding headache when coupled with the pain left by Rhocielle’s fist. It is over, he said. Over? Kinslayer currently lies beyond her reach and she doubts she could make a successful dive for the weapon with the other wolf in such close proximity. An aching head and various other painful wounds leave no room for further planning and she fails to find a solution for her current situation. The female, though injured and dizzy, struggles to sit up and gazes skyward. Her eyes narrow as they find the star speckled heavens silent and empty. Leigh then scowls and her chin drops against her heaving chest as her lids fall shut. He wasn’t coming to save her or make things right. He wasn’t coming back at all - ever. “Oh Gods... He...,” she mutters quietly and never finishes her statement. The realization strikes her more painfully than the male standing over her had and her world crumbles. Where such defeat once would have been cause for pure frustration, the Empress instead whimpers and sobs into her blood-soaked hands. It -is- over. The fight leaves her in that instant as depression eases into every fiber of her being. She will not struggle, nor will she spout curses at her enemies for what they have done tonight. The Empress of Archmosia, wife of Emperor Vuryal, is totally defeated; her fate now rests in the hands of The Fold. A silent, wounded captive for however long they see fit to keep her incarcerated.

Within the walls of the great mansion, ignorant of the chaos beyond, Frederic, the old butler and the two assassins watch on impassively as Valiana spits her evil lies and salival fluid before them. They wouldn't let themselves live, so why should their foes? The governor's expression of calm faltered at the sudden strangeness in her behavior though, the change of expression, the half step, and his focus on what was to happen slipped away from him. The song wore on inexorably behind him, a seal silently and subtly crossing the door threshold, preventing exit or entry until the final climax now. When the first deep bass notes re-enter the melody he is jolted from his momentary curiosity back into sharp focus, pale hues narrowing upon Valiana as she retakes her position. "Well, perhaps I shall die trying but I shall stop you, if not your friends." Sighing he lifts a hand as if to give a command before adding almost as an afterthought, "Oh and make no guarantees, I doubt it will be your blade that kills me." With the expression of a man resigned to death for a duty he hadn't ever deserved, Frederic lifts his hand as the last movement to the climax runs before him. The assassins move now, one dropping with lethal speed from above, the one being the master who lands right amidst the group of guards, decapitating one instantly with a loop of rope. This is simply diversionary though, designed only to delay attack on Frederic's person by a moment, for Valiana had waited far to long to need to be halted for more than that. Drawing on a trailing rope, the master, with the help of the apprentice, retreats nearly as fast as he arrived, their fates to be determined by their own actions in the moments to come as the music comes to its deafening climax with a chord deep enough that elements pass below the level of human hearing. The building shakes, Frederic's eyes closing as he hopes his addendum to the spell will save him. Dust and rubble fall from the ceiling as large cracks spread around the walls and floor right as far as the top of the stairs some distance behind him. In fact it is only the butler who need not move, the spell's cut-off being just before his feet, for he would survive to continue serving the royals, it was he after all who had cared for their needs all this time. Out in the courtyard beyond, great cracks rent the ground as well, mirrored in the ceiling of the expansive basement level below. Then finally, after only the time it takes to take three steps, everything goes to hell. Frederic floats, free of chaos in his own little bubble of protection for a moment but it is ripped apart in moments as the stairway, the ground, the ceiling and so forth, blast outwards, propelled in a voluminous cloud of choking dust and jagged stone towards the party with Valiana and after that the front doors. The ground and the basement levels below rise up in the deluge to strike the inside of the front wall with the force of a landslide, smashing the lower facing outward as the courtyard floor collapses, drawing any who remain in it down into a pit only to be buried in tonnes of rock. The explosion is tempered only at the end by the outer wall of the mansion, keeping the majority of rock inside where it falls into the basement levels, only a small fraction over spilling the wall into the street beyond wherein lay Arien. This however is not the end. With a keening wail and the sharp crack of breaking stone, the whole front face of the mansion drops off; the mighty four storey front wall tipping outwards. Up on the third floor where the royals reside, the floor breaks in half, taking with it a third of the inhabitants, though Frederic no longer lives to know this, or even who it takes with it. With a grace seen only when the mind plays horror in slow motion, the stone topples forward, exposing the interior of the building as fully one hundred tonnes of rock moves. The facades of the ground level, or what's left of it, the first, second and third floors all impact the courtyard below, spelling certain death to any living thing which remained anywhere in the front section of the manor grounds. The fourth and last floor facade, with its additional central peak and gargoyle statues stretches out to fall squarely into the road outside, the outer wall of the manor ground simply vanishing under the weight of rock bearing down upon it. As the great behemoth of rock ends its descent a cloud of stinging dust billows thickly through all the streets and air around filling the sky with cloying dirt. In the manor the tiny crystal in which the spell was wrought shatters, a million stars of blue light trailing like fireworks through the air as the butler watches on and the surviving royals wail... Frederic's endgame having hopefully wrought the heavy toll that he had sacrificed his life to achieve.

A quick worker, Lirithen had managed to assemble a respectable troupe of the royal procession, giving each separate body the same directions as the King and Queen; to the fourth floor, and be quick about it. Sadly fate had it that the locks of those doors further down the corridor would remain forever so, for as a lockpick brandishing rogue made to move upon them, a high-pitched ringing erupted from the depths of a trenchcoat pocket, so a half-gloved hand immediately dived into the the garment to retrieve, hanging from the end of a long chain of gold, an odd little pocket watch. There was naught to suggest the watch was the source of the ringing, save that it instantly ceased as the elf flicked open the cover that hid the clock-face within, narrowed emerald eyes staring intently at the hands of the clock, disbelief written across fair elven features. “I'm hardly in dire peril,” the ranger thought out loud, right before a well concealed trap-door sprung open on the floor directly before him, and over it's lip crawled the assassins. Or rather, they attempted to crawl the trap door's lip, but an instinctive, and well-aimed, solid kick to the face of the first caught him completely by surprise, his grip upon the rope trailing beneath the entrance slipping as he fell, entangling half-way down with his cohort, and both were sent tumbling to the ground, swallowed up moments later by the ensuring explosion. Explosion? The fire reflected in bright green hues, the approaching blast consuming the lower levels in an instant. The high elven guard... Valiana... A scream rent through sensitive pointed ears, and against all odds the paladin emerged from the blast, wings furiously peddling her form toward the hole in the roof from which Lirithen watched, the golden hue of some divine shield or other having saved her from an immediate death, but 'twould fast fade, Lirithen knew. The Sacred Winds display their sentience once more, the ranger's right arm coming forward purely through no intervention of his own, or perhaps shock had severed the link between thought and action. The Sacred Winds burst forward from the bracer clamped around the extended wrist, three separate weaves of air wrapping around the half-silver, and in the blink of an eye she was wrenched upwards, plucked literally from the air and dragged without will to close the gap between the Lady and her warder. Their bodies collided, sending both reeling backwards onto the solid stone floor as the building shook around them, ground crumbling but metres away into nothing. Lirithen cried out as the unopened doors, the locked rooms, the incarcerated royals remaining crumbled, their terrified screams curdling his blood. Chaos reigned around them, their yelling quietened by the rumble of falling floor and ceiling... Until it stopped, as suddenly as it had began. A bleary eye slid open to be confronted by dust hanging thick in the air. Stifling a cough he quickly cast his sight around for the Lady, and seeing her fortunately nearby he scrambled to her side, extending two fingers to check her pulse across her exposed throat. She was alive... Merely unconscious. Probably for the best, mused the archer as he saw her wing, bent and sprained from where it impacted into the ceiling when forced through the trapdoor that had been her salvation. ~We're alive,~ he called through the clan's link, though chose not to clarify, promptly shutting himself from that particular communication channel, and casting his eyes towards the largely intact ceiling that formed the floor above. Thank the Gods, the already freed royals were probably whole and healthy... “Hardly dire peril,” muttered the elf as he pondered the evacuation process.

In the streets beyond the outer gates of the mansion, the unfolding action bombarded Arien with a series of sounds and images that catapulted the general almost into a state of numb shock. She had seen Lirithen make for the mansion as she had directed, taking a flying leap through one of the corner windows of the third floor, and disappearing in a shower of shattered glasss. She might have spared a thought for his discomfort had not mayhem broken out on the darkened street, distracting her from the hushed thanks she would have issued to Keturah for relieving the worse of her damage. Dear gods.. "No!!...” it was a shout directed at the backs of the charging Naga. The damage that would be done to her cause if the empress was cut down would be irreparable. Leigh was a sitting ruler of the lands. “Drael..stand down! “ The order was barked at the youth as he wove his way through the onrushing serpentine soldiers, to no avail. Something other than reason had him in its grip. Desperation curled around the heart of the commander as she watched her ordered assault plans fall to pieces. Could anything else go wrong here tonight? Was the situation any more stable at the other locations? Already she was moving, darting along the street in the wake of the charging group, her mind far from focused on what remaining soreness might exist after her healing. She had to stop them from slaying Leigh..but she would never make up the distance! The dark shadow of the wolf as he leapt into the fray prompted a surge of relief that almost stopped her in her tracks. “ Rho!.. Drael, he’s out of contro-“ She began the shout but the words weren’t even necessary; her Warder had already placed himself between the empress and intended fell blow.

The elf was moving forward again, her attention focused on the bodies tangled in combat on the street when it happened. The power of the initial blast shook the very ground on which she stood, cracks appearing in the paved road as it seemed to heave and settle beneath her. Fiery head whipped around in the direction of the mansion as emerald eyes flew open and a distressed cry was torn from the paladin. “ Valiana!..” And gods, Liri..the King and Queen were still in there. What had happened? But it wasn’t over. Clouds of dust and debris were pouring out of the shattered lower windows of the mansion, and in a secondary mammoth ‘aftershock,’ before the almost paralyzed gaze of the elf, the cobblestone surface of the courtyard disappeared in a cave in that seemed to swallow what rubble and debris and flooded into it- though not before a wave of the stuff had managed to crest the retaining wall and spill onto the street where it offered partial burial to the skeletal remains of the corroded imperial officers. Stunned reaction was quickly superseded by battle field survival instinct; where one or two stages of an assault might occur, there could be a third. It was time to save who she could before seeking to learn the fate of those who had been within. “ Rho, Ket..Get everyone out of here..fall back to the rendezvous point. I will meet you there with those who have survived. That’s an order.” Her tone brokered no dissent, though it cracked beneath the realization that she might in fact be returning alone. She would receive a darkly speaking look from her wolfen guard, but directive would be followed. And just in time. As the much reduced train of battered and damaged combatants began heading away from the scene, the façade of the building seemed to tear free of its moorings and come crashing to ground, that of the top floor eventually slamming into the streets in a choking cloud of dust and debris in the very place the clustered group of recovering soldiers and captives had been standing previously.

For long, seeming unending moments, the small band stood silent in the dark in the midst of the scene of hellish devastation. It was almost impossible to see for the haze of dust cloud in pitch dark, and the only sounds to be heard were the continued settling of stone, wood and glass into the ever mounting pile on the street. How could anyone have survived that? The silence grew heavy with the premature onset of grief, only to be broken by the distracted awareness of a too familiar soul as it penetrated the link that bound the kinsmen. Relief was almost crushing for the elf. If one had survived.. “Lirithen.. is Val?..are the King and Queen with you?..” the mental call was returned. She hardly dared to hope. Silence was her answer..or at least a lack of words. Keen elvin hearing picked up the murmur of soft conversation carried on night’s wind, and that of the displacement of debris as her childhood friend lead his troop of survivors through treacherous debris pile, east across the still lush gardens of the now devastated building and out the garden gate into the streets beyond. Emerald gaze came to rest with soft affection upon the rogue elf when he emerged into view, before drifting with increased concern to the still form of Valiana in his arms. It was the grace filled appearance of a regal pair of High Born behind him, however, that prompted Arien to realize what had been accomplished-though at a price higher than she would have thought to bear. The paladin lowered herself to one knee before her monarchs. “ Your majesties..” it was a soft murmur as she bowed her head before them. “ The throne of Port Rynvale is yours once more, my blade and magics pledged to its defense.” Tears pricked the backs of emerald eyes, and the elf kept her gaze lowered to the earth, lest the weakness be shown in the release of pent up emotion. She had lived for this moment, since the first minute that defeat at the hands of the Time Lord had been acknowledged in the throne room of the now destroyed palace. It would need to be rebuilt. A lilting reply would come, a gentle hand rested upon the shoulder of the commander. “ Thank you..Arien..” golden haired queen would respond. The general’s name had been shared by those under her command. “ Your sacrifices will not be without their reward, but that is perhaps a discussion for another time, yes?” The Royal smiled gently, delicate pressure to Arien’s shoulder blade directing that she arise.

The paladin unfolded, pausing to trail a long look over the faces of gathered allies and foes, a distracted nod acknowledging the wisdom of her liege on the matter at hand. There was yet the need for a full assessment of what the night had wrought. “To the rendezvous point then..The courtyard. We are expected..” The order would be reissued as the elf turned on armored heel to make for the front of their small caravan, a brief moment of eye contact made with Leigh as she bypassed the captive lycan. There would be indeed, days, perhaps weeks of work ahead as Elvin run government was restored, and what to do with the fallen Empress of Archmosia would be on the top of the list of concerns. Within minutes, the group had dispersed out into the night, a picture of devastation left in their wake-evidence of the night an island was liberated.