RP:Night of the Blood Moon

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc

Gates of Cenril

Desparrow had arrived at the bridge of Cenril earlier in the afternoon and waited there patiently within view of the guards and appeared to be generally harmless. In his company were two men from the previous night at Mihael’s and were the only ones that were the most controllable in their altered state. Also accompanying him however were seven mana-gorged wolves, ones from the original pack from the sage he had gathered and have since fed on his mana granting them their stature and power. Standing up to Des’ chest they were a sight to behold, rippling with muscle beneath their thick fur and the piercing intellect in those eyes that was unusual for a beast. As the full moon rose into the sky and night fell across the land wrapping Hollow in its peaceful embrace Desparrow prepared the call to not only his allies but to the city itself. His body coursed with magic, a red light rising up from his feet to envelop his form until he focused it into a single sphere in his right hand and launched it into the sky. A beacon it rose higher and higher before with a thunderclap it exploded into a mass of particles that when spread out created a temporary layer that filtered the moonlight over Cenril to be crimson and created unease among those within the city. Des’ compatriots were already transformed for some time and barely in control of themselves, forced under the light of the moon to shift due to their nature as fledglings while Des stood proud while approaching the gates of Cenril calmly. Illuminated by the combined light of the moon and the torches he was grinning up at the guards atop the wall and the ones who were at the gate “The night of the Blood Moon is here!” he called out before acting. His propensity towards utter destruction would show in full glory tonight when his left hand became engulfed in fire and with a signal he let loose several bolts towards the upper wall, merely suppressing fire while his lycans rushed forward with a carnal hunger comparable only to the desperate and savage as they came upon the grounded Cenril guardsmen with no fear for themselves, only the desire to feed.

Trent had been passing through the gate as things began to unfold. It had been a long day of discovery and venture, his final journey for the evening back to the Inn that he had grown so accustomed to. He paid no mind to the gathered in passing, for even if they were up to no good, it really wasn't any of Trent's business. For all he knew, it could have been just a bunch of companions getting together for an evening of fun. The crimson light above first caut Trent's attention; Steel blue eyes peering out from beneath the shadowed veil of his leather hood, trying to discern what exactly was happening. Natural phenomenon? A magical display? When Desparrow let for his war cry, the human turned upon his heel just in time to catch sight of the arcane onslaught. He wasn't quite certain what was going on and quickly moved himself out of view to get a better idea of what exactly was taking place.

Mihael saw the beacon and smiled to himself, the man soaring in the sky atop his pet phoenix. His arms spread out like wings while he began to laugh maniacally. Behind the cloth mask he wore, crimson orbs flickered gold and then back with his internal battle over possession and control of his body. As he circled the sky Desparrow launched his assault and it was then the bird dove, wings pressed tight against it's body. As it the pair drew close to the wall, Smokey let forth a plume of smoke as wings spread out again to rise. Mihael leaps off, igniting the smoke, setting the wall aflame. As he lands, he slides back several feet. Upon his back is a staff and a bow and quiver. Dressed in ragged and torn clothing, the hermit grabs the staff and swings it violently. The speed creating gusts of wind which only add fuel to the flames, making them roar and grow in size. "Lets play shall we?" he says in multiple voices, "If you say so." he answers himself.

Daneyfey had gotten the word about this little party some time ago, under her tentative employ under Desparrow. So for the bulk of the day she had been waiting for the lycan sorcerer for some time. Rolling a half empty bottle of bourbon between her fingers, a grin parted her lips when she caught the scent of the wolf crossing the bridge. Then his sneaky little beacon that he put up, “Subbtle.” She muttered under her breath as she slowly pulled herself to her feet and took a final swig from the bottle before heaving it at the city wall. A little offering to the fun that was to be had this night, pulling from her jacket her gloves she would slip them on then from her belt she fixed a faceless mask. A pair of taps given from the toe of her boot before she burst into motion running flat out on the narrow banister of the bridge until she hit the city wall, she did not slow nor avert her stride as she hit the hall and started running up it, such the fun of vampires. She knew the number of guards had been increased, maybe the feeling of something big in the air, she wanted to go say hi.

Gevurah emerges from the underdark via the tunnel in the Dark Forest, astride a giant spider mount. She is flanked by two rogues riding giant lizards. The drow know of Desparrow’s plan, thanks in part to a tenuous alliance between the lycan and Gevurah, and in part to a spy network that pads out the information she already knew with extra details. She takes advantage of the city guard’s preoccupation with the commotion at the city gate to enter Cenril via a different means. The spider and lizards eschew the bridge and instead cling to the 90-degree chasm walls, leap from boulder to boulder to shorten the distance, then emerge along Cenril plateau’s southern wall. They skirt the exterior of the wall towards the coast, then climb the wall on sticky legs, their riders clinging on by the strength of impressive thigh muscles and lots of practice (and hard cased reins). Once in the harbor, Gevurah makes a beeline for the dilapidated coral castle to do a little real estate shopping. The drow need a new base of operations on the surface, after all.

The guards at the top of the wall had their weapons out long before Des had begun his assault, in fact they were tense the moment the sky lit up red. The city was descending further with each passing day into absolute uncontrollable chaos hence the increased sentries and even the growth of the militia. The bolts of fire came as a surprise surely but against a well-timed shield wall enchanted to resist the majority of the effects of magic while archers aimed through the spaces between the shields and began their fusillade at those on the ground. The smoke-to-flames created by Mihael and his phoenix claimed the lives of two unsuspecting men before a single magical presence made itself known and with magic was fighting the flames. They were kept at bay by a constant chanting by the mage, and with the lack of fuel on the stone walls they would surely go out on their own. At the same time a second mage fired off his own signal flare, a spell designed to alert the rest of the city and moments upon its release a loud bell went off multiple times to alert the city. Daney was met at the top of the wall with a band of men wielding swords and shields whom advanced upon her, lashing out before defending with intent to back her against the wall. On the ground more troops had evacuated their towers to take up arms, only three guards falling to the hunger of the lycanthropes, even managing to severely injure one before with a signal the portcullis was dropped. In that same motion was the one lycan caught and crushed under the weight and most likely not the first victim of the night.

Desparrow was glad for the turnout, especially the backup of Mihael and Daneyfey but not knowing that Gevurah was even around as she had quickly made her way into Cenril towards the coral castle and whatever else she had plans for. Trent had been completely overlooked, but as his companions arrived he found himself distracted and the victim of an arrow, along with two of his wolves becoming riddled with the projectiles. In an instant he switched from offense to defense, ceasing his hurling of bolts and whipping up a barrier of kinetic energy which granted him safety from the oncoming projectiles, even expanding it to extend out to the closest of his wolves however in the following moments they too would fall, leaving only four of them standing next to their Alpha. In that instance, pinned and all his focus on his injury and protecting himself he looked to Mihael, “A little help?”

Trent tried his best to keep track of the invaders and their numbers; Cool gaze first settled upon Desparrow- The obvious ring leader. The awesome and fearful appearance of the man on the phoenix would be the next under survey, yet a survey that would only last momentarily as the wall-running vampire stole the show. Who or what were they? The amulet fastened around Trent's neck began to pulse with every dreadful thump of the heart beating in his chest; Swift, rhythmic, a showcase of panic. From the corner of his eye, Trent spied a woman and her children wandering up toward the gates, his voice rising above the commotion with warning. "Do not approach! The city is under attack! Send word that the forward guard is in dire need of help!" His position would undoubtedly be given away. Trent wasn't quite sure what to do from here. He had no idea of whom he happened to be. Where he came from. What he were capable of. He knew for fact that the metal encasing his arm has often acted in defense; and upon his back he carried a sword. Perhaps the visions told to him were not fictitious. Perhaps he once was a knight. Even then, would he remember how to use that damn weapon? He could not sit idle and let harm come to innocent civilians. With a deep breath held, Trent pushed off from the wall in which he used for cover, preparing to aid the next line of guard that came to defend the city gates.

Mihael ducks as a nearby guard swings a sword for his neck. Sliding on his back, he grabs a needle dart from one of the pockets lining his robes. As he passes under he stabs the guards leg, the neuro toxin would act quickly and paralyze the man in under a minute. Leaping up he can hear Desparrow call for help, yet his head whips around to a voice that was hidden. The ancient lycan rolls his eyes, before he can do anything though three guards appear. "Go home and protect your families or stay and die." He says, the man buying time as he puffed upon the pipe, inhaling massive amounts of smoke. Smokey calls out to the sky as he dives again, the phoenix blowing smoke over the city itself and making its way to cover the area Desparrow was in as well. "Bye bye." He says to the guards as they ignored his warning and came at him. Smoke turns to flame as he breathes the smoke out at them setting them on fire and laughs as they run around frantically. Using this opportunity he begins to shake violently as the chains binding him begin to glow brightly, even behind the curtain of smoke in the night, an ebon and gold light pulses revealing his position. They begin to shine brightly before they break and from them raw energy flows out manifesting itself as a massive black lycan. "What do you want Mihael?" the manifested personality says, "Shut up and do what we do best." the hermit says before he too transforms into his lycan form. "Over there, someone was hiding. Go play." With a scoff the creature takes off and ignores the man's orders. "I want the children of the city. Their meat is so tender." The Other says before using the cover of smoke to make its way into the city. Mihael meanwhile blew out a cloud of smoke, using the smoke he teleports himself to reappear by Desparrows side. "Get it together pup or I'll take your pack from you boy." Shaking his head he looks up to see countless arrows being deflected. His aura flaring up turns the man into a mass of flames. Eyes flick from bolt to bolt and follow their trail before he grabs the staff in one hand. "Be ready." Is all he says before he leaves the protection of the kinetic field. With a roar he uses the flames engulfing him to flare up and out at the arrow bolts and their shooters. As he does this he constantly swings the staff amassing the flames, and pushing them towards the wall buying Desparrow and his pack some time. Smokey sees this and blows more smoke over the city walls to block the guards vision if even for a moment. He would have to tend to the voice that raised the alarm after, his dissatisfaction with that can be heard as he mutters to himself. "Damned pup. Need to throw him in the arena at home. Keeping me from having fun."

Daneyfey crests the wall to the greeting of the wall of guards ready for her, these Cenril guards where no slouches, Shame she couldnet get the portion of the wall guarded with the fools and corrupted guards, they would be mildly more entertaining to hurt. Coming over the wall she firmly planted a foot in the center of the nearest shield and pushed off. The force of that sending the guard slamming hard into the ground as she is propelled up into air and away from those reaching swords. A soft sigh as she takes a moment to survey the surroundings. “Troublesome” she sighs as she lands silently amidst the guards. Swords fall upon her, but none bite into flesh. her feet slid along the hard stone of the sturdy wall, hips angling and swaying just enough to pull the rest of her from along for the ride, she seemed more as if she was attending a ball with how she danced around, bending and ducking, hopping and spinning, dancing with the men keeping them busy. “Well boys.” She purred softly as a flash of light filled each hand. “I have to cut and run.” She moved so fast it would be hard for the humans to follow, thin bladed daggers flash out to bite at any opening that she could find as she made her way back to the edge of the wall. A pair of guards had fallen from the group with one or two of her narrow blades poking form the joints of their armor. Nothing fatal, so long as they are treated in a timely manner, snapping her fingers a pea of flame flicked to life in the palm of each hand. “Better run!” she screamed, voice full of near psychotic glee as she flick the fireballs, each going opposite ways down the line of soldiers gathered atop the gatehouse. The vampire simple fell backwards off the wall falling laughing to herself , moments after she slipped, saving being countered by any mages in their ranks the fire balls would release its pent up magics and explode turning the gatehouse and the surrounds walls into a burning hell. The vampiress herself would vanish into the shadows just before smashing into the fast approaching ground.

Ynhaldei was already inside Cenril. As always furnishing her plans as she quietly drew her maps and ink the details into parchments while spending her time inside the library at the east. It is the most peaceful place there is for obvious reasons. She stretched her arms to relax her joints when she heard the comotion outside. At this distance, no human ear could possibly hear it but her heightened senses and the silence held within the room she is in, she was able to hear it. Frowning as she rolled up her documents and exit the building. As soon as she did, she turned her head just in time to see a large cloud of smoke bursting in flames. "What now?!" clearly annoyed. She has planned to conquer this city but if people keeps attacking it, the guards will become way too 'ready' "And who's bright idea is this?" thinking out loud, though Desparrow came in mind right away. Exhaling loudly as she stuff the document onto her top hat before walking toward the west, atleast wanting to watch what's going on and will support when needed. The guards at this point were finding themselves overwhelmed against the flames. The archers had backed way after their last barrage of arrows before slinging their weapons and making for a hasty retreat. Magic holding the initial attack of fire by Mihael at bay was rescinded but the mage that had cast it was overcome by the smoke and then too burned away to nothing when it ignited along with a good deal of his brothers at arms. Oncoming guards were met with a group of retreating soldiers which were going to regroup before coming back with a new strategy and bolstered forces. The wave coming numbered a couple dozen each with their own definable roles. Heavily armored at the head of the lines followed by lighter geared swordsmen followed by heavy crossbows and lastly what appeared to be field medics. Advancing towards the burning wall they set up a solid defensive line with the armored up front and the crossbowmen taking a ranged position waiting for intruders to come through however they would. This was merely an initial force, the squad certainly not the best that the city had to offer. At this time as well the streets had been mostly cleared of civilians, though criminals who may believe this time to be advantageous to their endeavors could not be counted for.

Desparrow waited until the cover of smoke to make his move, banishing his barrier that protected himself and his wolves to rise and face the wall. The injury he had sustained seemed to do nothing to slow him down as he conjured up more magic in order to progress into the city. “Mihael, I’m heading over the wall, alone because I can’t expend the energy to carry my wolves over the threshold so take care of em will ya? I’ll see you on the other side.” His question didn’t require a response and by the time one could be given he had already propelled himself into the air and over the wall to land gracefully on the other side near Trent. Azure hues gaze at the man before something is muttered under his breath and through his ruined ash-covered shirt light pierced from his abdomen. Following that light was a shimmer that encompassed the entirety of his body which when the first round of bolts were loosed towards his form, it’d be found they did not pierce his form but merely left scratches. A temporary boon he knew, guaranteed five to six minutes for sure before the magic granted by Vasha faded and he was left just as mortal as any other man present. It was then that he charged head long towards the heavily armed, deflecting blade but not managing to break through their defenses so had to slip around only to get encircled by the others. The lycan didn’t want to resort to this so early but it seemed he had no choice, accepting the beast within and allowing it to come out. Seconds passed before he had managed a semi-transformation, granting him height but also a greater increase in his physical ability which he exerted by lunging out at the nearest man. When blade could nor bolt could pierce he was looked at with a sort of helplessness which was advantageous when he sunk his teeth through cloth into flesh before tossing the man aside allowing the moon to take him. Desparrow managed to lay his curse into three other men before convulsions took their forms and they too found themselves painfully aware of a new existence, one that was naught but hunger and they would turn on their allies to sate it! This was just enough of a distraction for him, his new fledglings slaughtering and cursing their once allies and beginning what he had intended from the beginning: a sweeping advance, an outbreak of lycanthropy.

Trent had joined the large range of armored soliders taking their defense amongst the inner gate of Cenril, ready to do his part- as little as it may be. The blackened hilt poking up and over the shoulder was grasped in his right hand, the crimson stained weapon freed from it's tombstone sheathe in preparation for use. While he could not recall the proper way to use the damn thing, something about this felt right. A blur above stole the human's attention soon, gaze trailing the swift blur as it sailed up and over the wall past the the readied platoon of soliders. What does he do? It was just one. Only one. Maybe he could take care of this guy on his own. Just maybe. Time seemed to slow for Trent as he watched the glow first emanate from Desparrow's form, the shift soon after striking fear into the male's heart as he witnessed what he assumed were man turn to a more beastial form. The way he ran through that oncoming squad of soldiers. The way he produced those twisted offspring with a bite. It made Trent feel as though he may be in over his head. Pushing aside all doubt, Trent separated himself from the armored platoon and gave chase to Desparrow into the city, using the bloodshed and carnage as a distraction to bypass those first turned creatures.

Shock filled the detachment of soldiers when their comrades fell to the power of the curse and the immediate exposure to the full moon. Bodies shook, flesh felt like it was on fire but no matter how much they wanted to scream their contorted forms gave them no relief and allowing only the twisted features of absolute agony before the beast took hold. The first man bitten was shot till dead before he could muster a full transformation but the other two had risen up to be at least ten feet engines of destruction fueled by carnal hunger and rage. It was a rush that adrenaline could not compare to and in this state they shrugged off minor injuries until they had slaughtered several more men. A couple more suffered bites and soon fell to the affliction while the two that stood tall broke for the heavily armored. Claws could not breach the plates and bites found no purchase though the steel of their blades proved to be at least semi effective, especially if they managed to dismember. Even though beasts they were not unintelligent and quickly drew upon themselves a pack mentality and assaulted the soldiers together. Their power was overwhelming and when they had them pinned they dug claws into the plates and would pry them off to get at the flesh much like cracking open clams, to great success. From there they continued along slaughtering and feasting upon their kills before moving on down Beloy street.

Jesen is leading a small band of high elves home, or rather he -was-, as the rising flames and the sounds of battle paint a picture that keen elven ears have picked up a while back. Fleet of foot and trained for such strenuous physical exertion, these warriors make haste towards Cenril, to the city that houses the port that leads home. What these twenty five Rynvalian soldiers find is horrific. The gate of Cenril is ablaze, bodies litter the ground below and on top of the still flaming wall. Before the reach the other end of the bridge they catch a glimpse of a single man bounding over the wall, only to be followed by more screams of pain and horror, which is almost drown out by the roar of those magically enhanced flames. What carnage is this that this wayward band of high elves have stumbled upon? Who would seek to attack the port city, and without an army no less? Jesen's gaze follows the arrows, which paint a picture to one such as this arcane archer. Cenril defends itself, and by the looks of it the ragged looking man in the center of all those arrows seems to be the target of their aim. Nodding to those men with him, this small elven force, which had travelled from rynvale to Hildegarde's war camp just over a week ago, is still carrying with it the gear they brought for war. Out of these twenty five there are ten rangers, which includes Jesen himself. Ten heavily armoured spellblades, and five mages. The rest of the force was sent to Larket, to better aid there in this troubling times. And, as fate would have it, it seems those who thought themselves lucky to avoid a tour of duty on the mainland would indeed find the fight they came looking for. It was simple for this platoon of men. Aid Cenril and drive back these attackers. The formation was a simple one, the armored spellblades rallied up front, while the rangers, just offset by a foot or so, lined up behind them and took aim. This offensive and defensive posture is used by the high elves often, and as such us well practiced. The mages? Those five go to work by trying to stop the flames upon the wall. In one unified strike the rangers unleash a volley of arrows towards Mihael, while the spellblades enchant their shields in preparation to defend themselves and the rangers. The mages unleash a combined spell above the wall, with wands at the ready, and together conjure up a massive rain cloud that unleashes a torrent of heavy rain upon the wall. This option was chosen as to avoid dropping a single massive wave as not to knock off the cenrilian forces atop the flaming construct. With a heavy rain falling, the flames should start to slowly die off. But with that done, the spell casters rally to the formation, ready to lend aid to it in case the archers miss their mark. A well-oiled machine of war, the highbourn houses of Rynvale have mastered using combined tactics in the field. Each house has a selected specialty, one it masters. But each house is expected to train in these unified tactics so that the high elves of Rynvale are always prepared to meet any enemy on any field of battle. Today seems to be such a day.

Mihael heard a bark from one of the nearby lycans left behind by Desparrow, the lycan turns to see ten arrows flying at him. Grabbing his pipe the enchanted weapon shape shifts into a shield which he ducks behind. His free hand begins to glow where the scars are and an orb forms. The orbs give off an eerie light at first, expanding and contracting each time getting brighter then dimmer before the go entirely dark. The first arrow clipped his arm as he had grabbed the pipe, while he hid behind the shield he pulled it out with his jaws while counting the arrows. The enchanted pipe shape shifts again the arrows dropping. His left hand pushes outward as the orb suddenly gives off a blinding light and sails towards his target. Grabbing his own bow the man notches an overly large arrow, pulling back he lets loose the arrow, as it sails overhead the shaft then breaks open, shooting out ten extra arrows. Once those near within twenty feet of the group which he had yet to actually take in, they too break open and project out ten needle like darts, raining down one hundred darts and two arrows. Their tips poisoned with a neuro toxin that would render someone paralyzed in a five minutes if punctured, ten if scratched. He notches another as soon as he lets loose the first and fires it, the arrow doing the same as the first. After he places the bow on his back and draws forth the dual pick axes. The ancient lycan then drops them into one of the remaining chains in a chain link and hurls the one in his right hand at the direction of the troops. Grabbing the chain he uses it like a puppet string to maneuver it around watching their movements to avoid it and let it taste flesh. While this is going on The Other had snuck back out of the city as the streets were cleared, how convenient that families gathered together. It made it so much easier to find the children he wanted. He came back over the wall with several blankets tied together to form a bag. Inside were twelve children. The rest of their families bitten and left behind. He comes out to see Mihael engaged in battle.

Jesen watches as the initial assault is halted, the arrows dropping mid flight. But no time can be spared on that matter, as their target now goes on the offensive. The rain of darts and arrows makes its own swarm like cloud of death, something that would be intimidating to most, but these men have fought Lycans before, but even worse of a foe are the dragons. Capable of unleashing powerful torrents of elemental fury, it took centuries for the high elves to develop means of fighting back. But fight back they can, and it is here that they show their prowess. The spellblades react first, locking shield together while muttering verses of the arcane with masterful ease. While not as skilled in the mystical arts as mages, the armor clad warriors known as the Blades of Xalious are experts in enchanting spells that focus on their chosen weapons and armor. In this particular case, the large steel shields form a wall that is then emboldened by their magic to create a barrier which rises up. This prismatic wall serves as a barrier from that hail of death unleashed, stopping the poisonous projectiles. As those fall to the earth, the first pickaxe meets the same blockade, but shatters it with ease due to this ancient beings far superior physical power. But, having taken the brunt of the force away, that shattered barrier had served its purpose, thus allowing the heavily armoured warriors to stand firm and use their actual shields to stop Mihael's vicious blow. What happens next is much the same, as in this the rangers have been given another opening to let loose one more volley. This time, however, they Usenet normal arrows but put to use their knowledge of Lycans. Leoxander, Senka and many others were part of a pack that once held territory upon the isle. In that time the rangers have learned way to deal with such a threat. Each of those five archers merchants their arrows before they are sent flying towards the hermit with that keen elven accuracy. A mere two feet from their intended mark they explode, leaving a cloud of silver particles in the air that spreads out in a wide radius about the elder lycan. While this alone may seem good enough, true soldiers know the enemy is only defeated when he either loses the will to fight or they are dead. And given the fact that Cenril still burns, and the howls of wolves can be heard over the screams of the innocent leaves Jesen one option. Wipe this threat out and then move into the city. The order is given, and even as that cloud of silver dust hasn't settled, the mages go to work. One transmutes the ground beneath Mihael in a deep puddle of a thick black ooze. Tar. The thick substance will make movement hard, and with the cloud of silver hopefully taking some kind of effect, the lycan may find himself in a bind, for the other four mages attack in unison, each sending forth a separate ball of fire that rains down upon Mihael. Not only will these fireballs erupt upon contact, the resulting explosions capable of causing considerable damage, but the large pool of tar will ignite and cause anything trapped within it to suffer a terrible fate. It seems the elves of rynvale know war very well.

Mihael sees the arrows come towards him the hermit blows out a cloud of smoke just as Smokey flies overhead, the phoenix blowing out a plume of smoke between the two combatants, the arrows passing through however. Just as they explode he uses the smoke to teleport himself between the two locations. Avoiding the tar pit luckily, however he is met with from behind with an impact from the blast of the fire balls hitting the pit and exploding. This propels him forward unintentionally and he digs in coming to a halt. In his chest the silver syphon burns him and he growls in pain falling to one knee. "Damn you! Are you here to hunt us lycans? We only want to grow." he says through gritted teeth. He did not wait for an answer and blew out smoke again, as did Smokey, both covering their bodies. The lycan teleports to the bird and they fly off to their escape. The man was not here to fight a war, not was he in a condition to fight one. He was here to help Desparrow get into the city past the guards. He himself wanted children to turn so he could add to his pack. The Other had simply used the distraction to escape and head towards the west with the children in the makeshift bag. The clone escaping with future children of the moon.

-The inside of the wall-

Desparrow had managed his escape with relative ease, leaving the screams and the pungent scent of blood and ash behind as he continued down Beloy. He had already shifted back into his elven form which granted him absolute control over himself and his magic while the tattoo that Vasha gave him had only a couple minutes left before it too wore off and being unarmored would be a vulnerable target to all manner of weapons. It would be a little bit before the next round of guards came he figured so he had a moment to gather himself but it wasn’t long when he was confronted with his pursuer Trent. As he neared he couldn’t help but question what this man was intending to do here, “What do you want? Did you not see what I did, and yet you chase me? To what end might I ask?” The lycan grinned then, finding it all funny, but certainly not about to underestimate his opposition but perhaps it was more funny that his new fledglings would feast on this city. By morning they would be in danger, passing out from the trauma and strain of their first shift, but the gate and the streets would be a blood bath of chunks and corpses.

Trent halted in his chase when Desparrow turned to address him, his distance maintained but a few odd feet. The crimson-cladded weapon was gripped firmly in his right hand, ready and waiting for any sort of advancement from the elven lycanthrope, while the metal digits of his left hand curled into a ball. "I can not allow you to do this. There are many innocent in this city. If you seek gold, I have a vast amount of wealth. I can pay for you and your comrades to leave. I do not wish to use this blade, but I will if I must." Trent was nervous as hell. He had, to his memory, never been in confrontation on this scale. He didn't even know if he could hold his own. His features, barely visible by the shadow of his hood, were quite stern; A facade put on to perhaps attempt to cause doubt in the other. "What say you, stranger? Will you leave peacefully?"

Ynhaldei 's advance was halted. Typical. Guards all over the city tried to control the situation, then again she could use this data for the upcoming assault of the city. Reaction time and number of troops and reinforcements. She soon finally left the crowd for a more elevated view. Climbing a couple of buildings near Beloy street, she is a circus performer after all, being an acrobat is one of her numerous skills. Watching the mayhem unfold before her eyes. As she ponder what it is to gain in this attack. Soon enough Desparrow came into view but a bit... ruggish? maybe he is stressed. Yes, let's go with that. or constipated. She watched him as he started biting people and turning them into savage beasts. Nodding as she already understood what is going in. The more he bites, the faster the infection spreads. It will cause chaos and mayhem right now but after a few hours the moon will sink and the city will be left with hundreds of aflicted.. something that won't really improve anyone's morning if these number is to be executed which will basically add up to the death toll of this current attack. She looked around and started calculating how many minutes did the city took to amass a brigade to assist, writing it all down in a piece of paper.

Kaiah might have been a little numb going into tonight’s show due to siding with wolves. Numb meaning buzzed as she let the wine consume her before she had arrived to Cenril from the direction of Larket. Kyla had been worried about the woman who was crumbling, but Kaiah kept her secrets to herself and convinced Kyla that everything was under control in her world – wrong – she was so in the wrong. So fast forward: Kaiah had been there the whole time in the city. On top of the building she was lingering watching the crimson moon and watching the blood splatter from the dispute between guards and wolves, so she would not bite the dust. She would not be another one. Her face was half-covered with a plain black bandana covering the nose, her hair pulled back into a braid, the rest of her attire – black, cliché, but she did not have much of an advantage being human. She just did not want to be known, and the clothes did the job to mask her identity. Time would fly and Desparrow would land in sight, elven now as he was now within the gates – cue Kaiah. The masked woman now climbs down the side of the high building she was planted upon and moves towards Desparrow, keeping a small distance in the shadows as she idled during the contact between Trent and Desparrow, of course Des would sense her from his peripheral if he was engaged enough to his surroundings.

Desparrow took a deep breath when Trent said his piece, though the warlock was merely biding time as he figured how to dispose of this man before guards and his newly turned converged on their spot for another clash. “I’m sorry, but I most certainly cannot abide by your wishes. It isn’t wealth I require. This city is my home, and I have stood by watching it go to waste for too long. I take the reins and purge the filth. I have no intention of harming the innocent; in fact in the end they will be rescued. This city has more dangers than you can imagine. Face me if you will it will not be an easy battle.” At this time his gaze had shifted to the shadows, towards Kaiah or at least where she would be since he had acquired her scent. Already the howls of his fledglings were getting closer; they had bonded in the face of their hunger and approached fast. At the same time another wave of guards could be seen on its way, at least from Ynhaldei’s vantage, but they were at least another minute or two from their current position. “I have every intent of cutting the head from the snake, and removing the head of the guard. Why not join the winning side?” with that his durability enchantment had faded and his skin faded back to its normal hue.

Trent almost believed him. Desparrow was very convincing. Better yet, truthfully, Trent knew nothing of the world he found himself in. He knew nothing of its struggles. The sides at war. He simply knew... nothing. However, he witnessed senseless carnage- the turning of men who then turned on their own. Who, without any sort of control, might just extend their hunt to innocent civilians. What he saw, that unbridled bloodlust; There was no way he would chew what the elven warlock was trying to offer. "Rescued? I have yet to see any form of rescue needed. Not in the time I have been traversing this city. The government.. it might not be perfect... but I am certain that it is not so terrible it warrants murder. To turn men into beast..." Trent hadn't noticed Kaiah skulking in the shadows, steel blues focused solely on the elven one before him. He could hear the roars of those newly turned growing in number. The sound of more approaching soldiers, ready to defend the city. If he were to make any sort of move, now would be the time. Without so much as a further reply, Trent's left hand came to wrap around the bottom of that dreadful blackened hilt and he charged at Desparrow without concern for his own safety. As he neared, Trent would first swing the blade horizontally from right to left to potentially open a wound on the man's abdomen; Momentum halted as the blade was twisted and then brought down in an arc to attempt to slash at the elven lycanthrope's right shoulder.

Kaiah does not blink a single olive eye as the lycan senses her, and that is her cue to move from the shadows and into the crimson light. The winning side… She was too deep to side with the “losers”, already having helped slaughter the mayor, however, the guilt had not set in quite yet due to Desparrow’s persuasive words. Cenril would be better. Kaiah was doing good, right? Gangs would vanish around the area eventually and Desparrow would be in control to make things organized and “rescue” the innocent. Of course, Kaiah was actually scared of the elven lycan, and she was not scared by much… More like she was scared of what he was capable of. Not death, but… her own silence. As Trent would move forward and swing, Kaiah would take her turn to jolt forward and to try to attack Trent from behind, as if she was under some sort of spell to protect the beast. Would the woman kill the man? No… Instead, she would reach forward to halt the blade from striking Desparrow by trying to grasp onto Trent’s arm – pity move, but well she knew Des was strong, and a little distraction would help the lycan. Protect the innocent?

Guards came around the corner toting more weapons, some scouts from towers having sent back word that the first wave was utterly gone. This next one had been bolstered by the archers and a couple swordsmen that had survived the initial blaze at the wall. They were shaken but had the resolve to return to battle, as if they had a choice but were not prepared for what they saw. Coming their way from the other side of what appeared to be two men battling in the middle of the street while further down the city was illuminated by a dying fire. They didn’t have an answer for beasts other than unleash their all and that is what they did with crossbow bolts launching, some to great effect while others were little more than a nuisance. The lycans coming this way were tempted to bowl over Kaiah, and even Trent as nothing more than food but even in their frenzied state they knew who their alpha was. Des’ piercing gaze and his radiant confidence, the air of superiority and that pressure he exuded on a psychic level with them was more than enough for them to ignore his doings and send them barreling into the oncoming force. A bolt had managed to lodge itself in one lycan’s eye resulting in a tumbling descent which did nothing to trip up his brothers who continued even through impalement. They crashed into the first line and from then on it was bloody savagery. Chunks of meat flung every which way and no matter how many crippling blows were landed on the lycans every bite only served to spread Desparrow’s curse. Where one soldier whom barely suffered a bite lopped off the arm of a lycan at the elbow as it raised to attack another he was overcome by the affliction and soon enough joined the ranks of the enemy. A portion of the men that fell rose back up to continue the fight, even press on with a command from Desparrow to find the source.

Ynhaldei whistles loudly, something that Desparrow's heightened senses would hear. It doesn't matter if he does not know who did it but she wanted to get his attention. While he was busy chatting with Trent, Ynhaldei has been casting spells from the rooftop, sending out doves crafted with illusion magic, swarms of them pouring into the streets before exploding into harmless yet flashing fireworks. Only to distract the amassing soldiers that is nearing Desparrow. It is possible he would see the flashes of light from a block over where he is as that is where she ambushed the guards. The afflicted continued their mayhem and some of them saw the lights, charging to attack the stunned prey. Clearly though that she was not able to watch all avenues of entry as some other guards approached the group. Same did the afflicted, she sighs as clear she need to get down there now, leaping over some rooftops till finally she got herself onto ground level, easily dancing her way through the clash of people without attacking anyone. Before finally standing beside Desparrow.

Desparrow could do nothing but shrug his shoulders while the left corner of his lips turned up slightly in a cocky grin. “What you know is nothing. It doesn’t matter.” When the sword came his way and his assassin compatriot Kaiah intervened he laughed, managing to escape the balde for the most part. It cut through his shirt and cut his abdomen but not as deeply as Trent might have hoped. When the lycans came rushing through to meet the guards he stood well but conveyed his dominant aura granting him and those around him safety. Not breaking focus from his opponent he managed to side step his foe’s blade before stepping away. “You landed a blow, I’m impressed, but even through this injury, one of which I will survive, like the many I have suffered before it of the same kind, will not serve to slow me down. This is something bigger than you.” He then looked to Kaiah with a grin, “Please distract him, but don’t die. I have a horde to lead.” With that he began to calmly follow his lycans down the street even as they clashed, at least until he found himself distracted by the fireworks in the sky, as it seemed were the guards and even for a moment from their voracious appetites the newly turned. The light of the full moon even filtered by magic as crimson was a potent thing though and soon they resumed their blood shed but with slightly greater ease as their foes were stunned. When he turned to look towards the gate, then to Trent and Kaiah he could assume no direct source. It wasn’t until Ynhaldei made herself known at his side, eliciting a startled jump from him that he only smiled wider. “Well, you’ve joined the show.”

Ynhaldei simply proclaimed. "I would love not to be bitten. Thank You Very Much. I don't recall bites being in my preffered payment Mr. Desparrow. What exactly are you seeking right now? If it is mere mayhem to spread the lycanthrope even further, I sure can help with that. You are fully aware that I am mostly a tactician than a fighter." she took off her top hat and flings it upward and just like before, it never came down. Ynhaldei is a frequent visitor of Cenril, masking her identity as a tourist and allowing her to mingle about the city so she would have access to numerous things. For example, is spilling small amount of transparent oils(ink) upon the rim of manholes to draw circles of power. Her magic is too limited to her 'territories' and the longer she stayed in Cenril, the more marks she can leave around the city. For instance, while following Desparrow, she turned her head to a street where a group of soldiers started popping out of nowhere, with a flick of a finger, the manhole that covers the sewer line suddenly popped off the street and a sudden steam of hot sewer water clouded them. Maybe enough to irritate the skin but just enough time to allow some of the afflicted to feast on them. "Gold however is alot more preferable salary."

Trent felt his arm grasped on the horizontal swing, completely throwing off his attempt to fell the warlock with a swift blow. At least he managed to connect, somewhat. He paused, his hooded features turning first to Kaiah and then Ynhaldei. This was not good. Given how Desparrow reacted to the arrival of each, Trent knew he was outnumbered- and worse yet, he knew he were outpowered. Or was he? Thus far Kaiah was the one dispateched to handle Trent, the other seemingly in a more passive state. Perhaps if he were fast enough, he could take out the female currently holding onto him and get to Desparrow before anyone had time to react. A hasty plan that had everything going against it. Before he could act however, that cursed metal-laden hand let losse the bottom of the hilt of the sword he wielded and placed itself upon the side of Kaiah's face; Undeciphered symbol in palm beginning to glow. In tune to this act, the necklace around Trent's neck flared with a brilliant pulse of azure, his head fell forward in a state of unconscious, and Kaiah would be subject to a flooding of visions unknown to her. Most would be fleeting, barely able to be made sense of. However, an odd few stood out best- A shrouded figure of great power from long ago; A power so twisted and wrought with evil that she may feel terrified. He was surrounded by seven wraithen entities who lead forth an army of ghoulish and undead creatures. Accompanying them a blonde haired knight in blackened armor. Fire. A black castle. Corpses of the innocent purged. Kaiah might begin to feel dizzy, perhaps weakened or nauseated. This effect would grow worse if she did not pull herself away from the entranced human, as with every passing moment the gauntlet seemed to be draining her life force- to what end? Well, that is yet to be seen.

Kaiah is almost relieved to see that the lycan was still standing, but still disappointed that her legs were not quick enough at that moment. Her eyes look forward at the group of lycan and guards charging forward against each other. “Sh—“ she cuts off before the curse slips out of her covered lips, but the lycan are running anywhere but around Desparrow and those who are near. As Desparrow addresses her, she is silent, not a sound. She was smart to hold her breath, she was going to be a mystery for most… She was good as the shadow. ‘Don’t die…’ Kaiah would stare for a brief moment expressionless before returning back to true reality. A hand would quickly grasp the side of her cheek and her hand would catch onto the wrist of the metal-laden hand to try to push him back. Distractions would be distractions, right? That was her job. Save her energy and distract, and she was doing perfectly. Just don’t die, right? The woman would try to push back the unconscious man until the visions flooded in. What was with these people and magic? Talk about an unfair advantage making this girl salty. There was a few gasps, no noise… no noise, Kaiah. Her eyes begin to close and tighten. The twisted was not frightening her as much as the fire… Her stomach clenched, as if there was a knife in her gut and she begins to go weak in the knees. There was pain… emotional pain from the visions and she begins to try to push his hand away as if she was pushing away the visions. If his hand was removed, it would stop, right? If it stopped, the dizzy girl would try to regain her balance while trying to reach for one of her daggers. A charge would strike as she would be crouched down, stumbling quickly to try to stab a leg. She was not trying to kill him, that was not her intentions.

Along the street was littered corpses, three to four human, and elven even feline for every one lycanthrope. The destruction was more than obvious with blood flowing across the streets, splattered on the outer walls of buildings like a child flinging paint with access to only red. The pack had grown in size, starting at three from when Desparrow jumped the gate, to five, seven, who knows how many now but for every man, woman that got back to their feet spelled doom for a previous comrade. At this time a few strays could be seen separating from the larger pack to go find more food. The soldiers that showed themselves and were then overtaken by steam due to Ynhaldei’s spells were quickly dispatched. A lycan even as a fledgling boasts incredible strength and with a charge, a back hand, a throw one specimen can manage to send a normal man several feet. The guards that had popped up must have been from around the city that were attempting to meet with the rest. Each group was ended, a couple lycans falling only for them to be replaced by a couple more. This was chaos and the moon was still strong in the night sky. It was far from over it would seem, but what would end first? Would the guards give up and flee, or be eaten, or would they perform a miracle and end the lycanthrope onslaught? At the same time another detachment of guards, possibly the last ones to be sent out were more than heavily armed and armored. They wielded torches, oil, even small pouches of silver dust with which to fight back, using the best equipment they had in an attempt to stave off the threat, having had experience when Alareik attempted Cenril’s destruction, though this assault seems far more planned, and better executed.

Desparrow could not wait for Kaiah, if she were to clash with the male then he would leave her to it, after all they were both only human. He knew from her first test she has what it takes to at least manage an escape, and she would not be punished for it. The distraction was good enough and that was worthy of a reward but for now he had to focus on what was going on. As the soldiers around them popped up here and there only to be felled, or even turned he just calmly moved forward with Ynhaldei at his side. “The goal is to show how little protection the guard offers, how pointless they are, and to remove them from our way for the future. The less opposition, the more successful the attack. You saw how well they have regrouped. I am honestly impressed to say the least, but I will not let them stand in my way.” That was when the next wave came and although it was some distance ahead he could see they were differently equipped, the danger sending electricity across his skin. His pack was in trouble! Knowing this he dashed forward leaving behind Kaiah and Trent to deal with the threat, the ether in his veins expelling to the air around him where he would then turn it into a weapon. It was too late though, silver particles in the air thrown into the advancing lycans causing the first group to reel as they were overcome with a burning sensation. A couple had breathed it in and fell into coughing fits as they slowly choked to death. Luckily the pouches were very small area and only several of the wolves were affected. Anger flooded the warlock, his entire life devoted to magic and fighting, and again his propensity for destruction would show itself when that rage peaked to be nearly blinding. His fists became engulfed in seismic energy, the vibrations they gave off felt in his very bones and even creating a rumble that could be heard from the ground directly beneath him. “You will not stand in my way!” he roared when he then stood behind the lycans, pushing through only to slam his hands onto the ground and release that surge of energy in the form of a directed quake with explosive results. First the ground beneath the feet of all in front of him cracked before shattering outwards sending many of the soldiers into the air or throwing them into buildings in an advancing wave. Even the lycans could not escape it, this terramorphing destructive force as they too were flung from the sorcerer’s way. The cost of the spell was great but was quickly replenished by a few slivers of the mana crystal Linn had given him. In response to this however the lycans in their enhanced stamina and voracious hunger scrambled and assaulted those fallen, ripping through armor to decimate flesh beneath. In attempts to try and fight back several lit their bottles of oil and tossed them as Molotovs to great effect, creating a wall of fire against which the lycans were nervous approaching, even a couple to be consumed. Again however their efforts only seemed to stem the flow a little as several among their own ranks were soon victims of the same curse.

Trent experienced something her had never experienced before. Of all the times that infernal gauntlet made contact with its visions, each and every single time, the connection was wanted. Mutually agreed. Never forced. This time is was quite forced. Worst of all? Kaiah broke contact in the middle of the transfer. This act seemed to have a most peculiar side effect; Something unseen caused the blonde haired male to scream out in terror. "No, no no, please! No!" It seemed to be a result of that trance-like state he had been in. With that small shove, Trent found himself suddenly snapped awake, his eyes watering as he felt the cool steel of her weapon pierce the side of his calf, the blade sinking in and touching bone. Upon earth he fell backward, a deafening cry ringing out over the crowd as he pulled his leg away to separate weapon from flesh. Time once more began to crawl for Trent as he looked around the war-torn city he was so hopelessly trying to defend. Flame. Corpses. Beasts and guard clashing head to head. It would not be long before the city was overrun. Slowly Trent began to crawl backward, his weapon aimed at Kaiah as if to threaten her to stay away. Like a coward he made his way on his rear to a nearby alley, using the side of a building to rise to his feet. There was nothing more he could do, here. Not now, at least. Defeated, pride broken, Trent hobbled off down the alley to find a way out of the city and to a safer location.

Ynhaldei quietly walked beside the man. "In the end of the day, there will be hundreds killed and few hundred more afflicted. The chance however of these people executing the afflicted is pretty low, maybe imprison the whole bunch at most. I mean, hundreds have already died. I don't think the city can take more loss of man power." She watched the man as he appeared threatened. She could not see it, but some of the lycans are howling and running away. "I think I'll be at the at the rooftops for now. It will be alot safer then." soon enough vanishing from the man's side as she climbed the nearest structure. She still has control over her territories, mostly just sewer lids that she could use the underground water for steam to escape but she has also walked around the city with the oils traling behind her bedore, allowing her to mark the land in advance. "I should get a promotion after this.. or atleast an increase." she shrugged as she finally reached the rooftop and casted her spell. The oils in question dimly lit, no one bothered to looked at it even as blood more abundant at the moment. Within her field she demands control of the territory, spending some of her own mana as the air around her starts to thicken. She is controlling a massive space which require mana. However as she is in an elevated position, it would be much easier to command the territory to harvest more of it, enrich the very air of this space with magic by simply now allowing magic escape the boundary, leaving only natural air as magic saturates upon her space. Using the dense mana field to substitute what she lost, She casted a novice aeromancer spell. A breeze of wind. However as the space she control is densely packed with mana, the spell assumed that there are hundreds of mages casting the spell at the same time, at the same spot. Triggering an amplified reaction to it, venting a torrent of powerful winds from her hands. She aimed her hands east. In hopes that the violent torrents of air would drag along natural winds and render the thrown silver dusts pointless if they can't scatter it properly.

Kaiah was still trying to catch her focus. ‘No, no no, please! No!’ she had to, everything was spinning and Desparrow needed her to do this. His voice startled her, was he just as weak as she was? Perhaps, she was stronger. Satisfaction settled within her gut. As the blade actually met with the skin of the man, she was surprised herself due to her lack of focus. She would stumble again forward as he would back away, but he was quicker, and he vanished as the city kept turning around her. Then, the vile taste began to build in her mouth – swallow it – done. Gross. Did not want that oozing out of her bandana. However, with Desparrow gone, Kaiah was now alone and that meant, anyone could strike at any time, which was what was done, and arrow begins to fly and the ill girl begins to duck and roll. Where was the lycan? Eyes traced the chaos around them. The dizzy girl now does what she does best, she runs and hopefully focus will come back soon in order to run luckily into Desparrow.

Jesen watches as the mysterious man vanishes into the distance, though not quickly enough as to lose Rynvalian rangers so easily. "Go." Orders the Phenthae noble, and instantly two rangers dash off after the man. "Look towards Larket, I've seen him there before." Is all else that is said before he begins to order the remaining troops into action. To the mages. "Control this fire, and work on repairs." The mages set to work instantly, following the orders of their captain. To the spellblades Jesen says. " Reinforce the troops at the wall, start from the bottom and work up, evacuate as needed those civilians. Use silver, and kill if needed, but remember that most are newly turned, there is hope." To the other rangers he says. "With me men, we've hunting to do. Use non lethal methods, containment is the objective, though be on guard, we're dealing with funerals here." Senka comes to mind, that particular lycan was perhaps the most savage she-wolf to ever prowl all the realm. A keen hunter, her legacy has given the high elves of Rynvale Isle the proper respect for Lycans. Not to mention the experience needed to properly deal with them. Seeing his men set to work, Jesen calls out. "Stay to the rooftops, I'm going after the leader." Desparrow was a sight that is hard to forget, so his target was easily identifiable to this trained hunter. With a bit of focus the archer activates the runes upon his boots, charging it with Kinetic energy. And, crouching down a moment, the elf launches himself over the still burning wall, even with that magical cloud casting its downpour. Up and over, the ranger lands with a grace granted by elven blood, and loads of practice inside the city walls. Carnage greets him,as corpses and destruction is all that is left in the wake of Desparrow and his ever growing pack. The howling the distance point him in a direction, but, before he can go a deep growl is heard behind him. A newly turned lycan, in hybrid form, snarls viciously as it rises from the meal it had made from a guard. Jesen exhales, he didn't wish it but he had to deal with this one. The savage lycan lunges forth, but it had given the archer too much time to prepare. As it comes in, Jesen reels back and uses those boots to catch the charging beast as he falls to his back, kicking out with his legs now amplified by kinetic force to send the wolf flying. While in the prone position, Jesen takes out his bow, notches back three arrows and mutters a quick incantation that causeway to glow. Looking the arrows with expert precision Jesen rises from the ground and heads off. As he rounds the corner the lycan falls to the ground, three arrows lodged in its chest in non vital areas. The enchantment being a silver coated tips, just enough to keep the beast down and out but not dead. Death was reserved for those that deserved it. And with every passing moment that Jesen passed Desparrow's handiwork, the more the ranger was believing the Warlock a more than deserving candidate.

Desparrow waited a moment for the shards of crystallized mana to fully dissolve and give him more energy than when he had started. It burned in his veins, the feeling of even greater power to the point his flesh couldn’t contain it causing it to leak out, wreathing him in its ethereal opalescent mist. Lycans still wandered about, ones that had disbanded from the pack to seek out food elsewhere, when the guards were few and far between. Those that vanished into the night had several hours before the light of dawn would turn them back to their original form but as a shell of their former existence due to the hasty and traumatic transformations that took them this night. The curse rushed in such a manner was more detrimental and it led to the beast shattering the psyche of the afflicted, those that could be either due to race or weaknesses against it while those that couldn’t change were devoured without second thought. Some survived though with grievous injuries including but not limited to dismemberment. The warlock examined his handiwork, the spell he released having destroyed a hundred or so feet of the road and even breaking the structure of nearby buildings while his assistant Ynhaldei made it safer for his lycan pack’s passage with the silver dust scattering winds. Within a growing radius they were under his absolute will, his alpha dominance in full effect but the further they got away the more like a beast that relied on pure instinct they became which under the circumstances could be more or less dangerous than in his direct vicinity. Des knew that Mihael had fled, for what reason however was unknown but even with the lack of reinforcements on his side he would push on through the street and over the fallen be they living or dead towards the warrior’s training grounds. Against everything his main goals tonight was to remove the head of the snake, cut down their current leader and leave them to disorganized chaos.

Jesen rushes down the maze of alleyways and streets that make up Cenril, trailing the breadcrumbs that are dead bodies, wounded people and newly turned as he goes. He doesn't stop in his relentless pursuit, even when met by one or more of the poor souls who have succumb to Desparrow's vile plot. Two of these such mindless beasts turn from their ravaging of a poor woman to look upon the oncoming ranger. The both rush forth,eager to devour their next meal, but the ranger is too quick. As the blood crazed Lycans rush forth like mindless animals, Jesen scales a wall of the building to his right at the very last second, his elven dexterity and balance playing a vital role here. Twisting about midair as the hybrids are caught in their own bulk induced momentum, Jesen let's loose another volley. Four arrows with similar enchantments as earlier find their mark, burying themselves just deep enough into the thick hides of the Lycans, but missing those vital organs. The beasts crumple to the road, sliding and then crashing with loud yelps of pain before they fall victim to the neutralizing effects of the archer's arrows. Landing upon his feet, Jesen continues pushing on without hesitation. Down a long street he k owns not the name of he sees utter destruction,as if the earth itself was torn asunder. Guessing he is heading in the right direction, the elf shoots a single arrow into th sky in midstride. Once it reaches it's crescent, right before it would begin to fall it erupts in a bright red flash. This flare is a signal to those rangers who are on the rooftops of their captain's location, a common tactic rynvale uses while travelling the forests of fog and dragonlands, for it is easy to lose one's way in such terrain. But, if they come or not matters little, for Jesen's goal is to take down the main threat here. Desparrow isn't far. Jesen can almost sense the raw magic that oozes from the alpha. A grim look falls over the Rynvalian soldier's face, for he knows a serious battle awaits him, with little option but one of the two beings dead before the sun rises this morning. With Zaytor and Selene being offered a prayer, the ranger pushes onward and prepares himself for what must be done. Desparrow turns where he needs to after he passes the difficult terrain he created, his pack of a few dozen lycanthropes nearby ravaging the entirety of the street fair. It was reduced to nothing in their stampede while their Alpha travelled in the center of the pack so as to be protected in all sides by the towering beasts which stood nearly twice his height thus leaving him completely concealed. His magic was a different story though, acting as a beacon of its own for those magically attuned. At this point the guards would see the blood matted savages with their own wounds even as they regenerated and start to flee. Small groups turned tail and would be left alone, but anything larger than three or four and they were reduced to half-eaten chunks with their armor scattered about. The large construct which housed the training grounds, barracks and meeting rooms for the guards was just up ahead and appeared abandoned, at least on the outside. Desparrow figured that his goal was just inside those walls, fortified against his invasion but unsuspecting of the warlock and what sorceries he would conjure to accomplish his goal. Determination burned in his eyes and radiated in his will, this drive that granted him resolve enough to perform abominations to get his desired end. “Soon,” he whispered, in reference to the fact that the captain of the guard lay within the walls of this building and once he tore them down, and removed that individual the entirety of Cenril would fall to pieces. At least he hoped. Even now criminals were grouping for raiding parties, breaking into shops, homes and pillaging while innocent people were robbed, violated, or murdered. At the same time other lycanthropes would happen upon those growing troupes and would slaughter them, or perhaps afflict even more with the dreaded curse of lycanthropy so that the city by morning would have casualties numbering in the hundreds.

Ranok was in contact with his ranger. A clever system of transferrable ink, tied to a partner, which in turn, was tied to a central switchboard. A terse message, the threat identified, and a plan was put into motion. It was impossible to ignore the inpouring of other information. Cenril was burning and under attack. A spreading infection, unknown goals. Still, one of his rangers was in trouble, and Cenril, cesspit as it was...was far too important to Rynvalian affairs to simply ignore. The man moved quickly, when there was a need to. The only moment spared was grabbing a canvas bag from a selection of gear, and he was moving, boots kicking him into the air. It was a matter of luck that he was capable of moving into Cenril as fast as he was, coming in from the docks from his personal craft. The little thing was built purely for speed, carrying an abnormally large sail, fueled by the vambrace on his wrist to push the craft fast. What normally took an hour or two was done in tens of minutes. Rather then slowing into the Cenril docks, the man simply cuts the sail and the wind, kicks an anchor into the water to drag it down to a stop. Another flex of the knees and a twin thuds of his boots activating again, the dented metal plate bolted to the deck specifically to blunt such treatment bearing its task well. Steps onto the docks, the fires clearly visible in the distance, embers and smoke on the air. Oh, he knew those scents well. Jesen's flare arcs into the air, then, cutting among the chaos. That was all that was needed. The man takes a coin from a pocket and drops it to the deck beneath him. This time, rather then simply relying on his boots, his armor comes into play. Electricity surges, blue lights flaring to life around him and the smell of ozone thick suddenly. The coin served as an anchor. A magnetic push, changed and fueled by runeology to lengthen and strengthen the ties between the field it made and the chosen anchor. The boots kick as well, digging out two gouges from the wood and Ranok was flying, impossibly fast and far. His arc eats the distance like a man starved, but it's not enough to reach. But as he falls, another coin is flung outwards. It slams to the ground as forces are exerted on it and Ranok's arc turns upwards again. It was this way that he travels the city swiftly, uncaring of the turmoil beneath. Within the breadth of a minute, he's arrived. Down he goes, surrended to gravity, leather duster snapping. No further anchor is flung free, instead, his boots extended and he lands, skidding as sparks kick up from the friction between cobblestone and metal. His weapon is drawn and flicked, almost casually, at some snarling thing. The blade extends and the sword is suddenly a spear, impossibly sharp, and the snarling thing is missing its head. To Jesen the smith goes, gray eyes glittering in the fires of the dead and dying, "What is your objective presently?"

Jesen wasn't far from his prey, as his keen sense of the arcane was focusing in on the vast overflow of power that the Warlock was radiating with every passing moment. Halfway through the rubble that was a street, a dot in the sky catches the elf's eye. Standing ready to face another possible threat, it takes only a moment to recognize what "it" actually was. The damnable blacksmith had actually gotten up from behind that desk. Seems the message reached, good thing for those mages aiding in the power of that system Ranok cooked up. As the metal clad man lands with gusto, the ranger meets him in the epicenter of Desparrow's crater. "I've my men containing this outbreak. It's a mass turning like nothing we've seen, I'm hoping there is a chance to save them, if not.." Both men knew that answer. He continues. "My goal is to get to the source, and end it. I recognized two key players from my venture into Larket. Both Lycans, both dangerous. Names are Mihael and Desparrow. Mihael fled, he had kids, Ranok." There is a look on Jesen's face at that, a dark one. "I sent my best trackers after him. Desparrow is that way." Points to the direction in which the warlock's massive magical signature is pointing. " He seems to be focused on the guard, but civilians have been caught up in this, the numbers are great. And.. the criminals are using this as an opportunity as well. Looters, even stopped a rape." Stopped meaning he gutted that bastard. "It's all out chaos, and that sonuva bitch Desparrow is behind it all." Ranok, knowing Jesen since he entered boot camp to become a ranger, would see how this is affecting the ranger is normally cool under pressure. It's been as he since Rynvale has seen anything this bad.

Desparrow did not recognize the threats of either Ranok or Jesen, in fact they didn’t even register on his radar in the slightest. His left eye ignited into bright violet eldritch fire, a form it took that granted him vision between the planes of reality, and the power to focus his magic power unlike he could before. With a raise of his hand the crimson layer of magic in the sky that made the moon and all its light upon the city red condensed into a single point before swirling towards the ground where Desparrow stood as a massive pillar. What magic hadn’t been spent was being reabsorbed into his direct vicinity, thus causing the sky to return to normal. It was several hours yet until dawn and that was more than plenty of time. A single order was all he issued and he with his pack of lycans which appeared as a swarm, a mass directed under a single will charged forth smashing into the entrance of the building and breaking through its fortifications with ease. The lycans acted with a higher intellect in the presence of their alpha and immediately began ripping into the closest opposing heartbeat. Due to the lack of exposure to moonlight any casualties would be just that and not suffer the risk of rising once more as just another beast. Projectiles did little to the oncoming wave, and the guards may have been able to take out one here and there but the numbers were just too great. Each attack was carefully executed for maximum destruction with little risk, every lycan a scalpel that enacted Des’ will. Of course once they ventured too far out of his radiant dominance they became less inclined to follow his direction to the order and became more reckless. Dozens more men fell to the tooth and claw of this bestial surge, further dwindling the population of Cenril’s protectors. The longer the night went on however the more dangerous the lycans became, for where the humans, elves, felines tired, under the light of the moon the lycans were fueled by voracious hunger and inconceivable rage. Men and women grew weary while the monsters they faced appeared tireless. Des and his pack pushed all the way into the sleeping quarters destroying everything in their path and leaving corpses both lycan and otherwise behind. Sure some fell but the warlock was confident in his own power and numbers to push forth. He had already won, just needed to perform the finishing blow.

Ranok was much less affected by the awful scenes before him. A sign of his true nature, perhaps, or he was just too much the old soldier. "One step at a time, then. Stopping Desparrow is priority. The Cenril Guard isn't as incompetent as he might hope. There's a lotta bastards that beat the Preklek back. There's going to be more blood, but we'll get through it." Fingers itch for a smoke, but it was unwise now. Waving hi metal digits, he'd head down the path where Desparrow had gone. The bag bumps along, and the man moves swiftly, forgoing the electrical jumping trick to allow Jesen to keep up, though. "Have you practiced lateral jumping with those boots of yours? Makes moving much quicker. A trick to it. Think of it as track jumping. I'll show you later. We have problems." Namely, a crowd of lycans that had appeared from seemingly nowhere. Given the armament he carried, punching through was going to be costly. He could...but no. Casualties to a minimum. The bag is set down. "We're all damn lucky I had time to grab this. Haven't tested it on this scale, yet, but...well." The bag is ripped open, revealing some ball with four large, blunt spines on it. Along the surface were a number of smaller ones. Wrenching off one spike, Ranok withdraws a rather hefty looking diamond. A moment's inspection. It might have been the fires and dying lights, but the interior of the thing seemed to be awhorl with motion, "It works on a small scale, though. This is called a Mesmer. Don't look directly at it. And try not to be distracted by it. Time's short." Slotting in the diamond, he replaces the spike, though it doesn't seal tight. Next, a glob of wax is taken out. To punctuate his point, the lycan crowd was closing in. Tearing a chunk of wax off, he presses it into Jesen's hands. "Ears, put it in." He was doing the same. Jesen didn't have much time before Ranok grabs the loose spike, yanking it down and releasing it. It hammers in, slamming the diamond home. A distinct shattering is heard and then the sound of the wind trying to blow into a too small space. Seizing another spike, the smith rears back and hurls the mesmer into the crowd of lycans. The wind reaches a howl, and then a scream as it rises. Within the diamond had been crystallized wind magic, which was directed through directed slots. In conjuction with runes that distorted space and amplified pressure waves, the thing made an ungodly howl that shattered into the skull, hammering, drilling, cracking open until nothing was left just so it could start again. To a normal human, it'd be unbearable. To a nearly turned lycan, senses honed, well. The effect was not pretty. To add further insult, the thing began to hop like a demented jackrabbit on those spikes, emitting light that strobed and seemed to originate from some deep well. Looking too long would produce heavy virtigo, hence Ranok's warning. Ideally, this would clear the way.

Jesen isn't as seasoned as Ranok, or soulless, depending on how one looked at the Smith's response to the slaughter at hand. But, all that matters little as the ranger was duty bound to see this through. Be it honor, or rage, he is fueled by a desire to stop this here and now, so he follows Ranok's directions and plugs his ears with the thick wax. What he watches reminds him of why he decided to work with this man, even when doing so was looked down by many. A honed sense of self control allows the ranger to avoid looking at such a strange mechanism, and he retains his focus on the goal at hand. While Ranok moved swiftly in his armor, impressively so in fact, Jesen was the faster. It seemed the Lycans grew in number, and even ferocity, the closer they got to Desparrow, but just as they neared so too did the troops he signalled earlier. With a precision mastered by few other races do arrows find their mark in lycan after lycan, only to be followed by spells of various elements being shot from afar by skilled mages. Looking back Jesen catches sight of those spellblades, clad in their heavy and shining armor, come storming in to rally to their captain. It seems things may level out now. For they are not alone. The remaining troops of the city guard, those who were not slaughtered outright by Desparrow's initial push, have been rallied together now, bolstering the Rynvalian troops. Bloodied, battered but not beaten, these men look grave but determined to fight for their home with all they got. Reaching down in himself, Jesen pulls himself together and pushes aside all doubt. This will be the final battle. Drowning a single arrow, Jesen mutters a complete incantation. As he mutters the words, the mages chime in, amplifying his enchantment. The arrow he notches back begins to glow with a light that seems to crack the wooden shaft of the arrow, as if the projectile cannot contain the power that is being held within. Truth be told, there is a strain even in Jesen as he holds it back. But, as his eyes fall upon the Warlock in the distance, just as the troops rally beside him and the smith for the final push, Jesen let's loose that magical arrow. It flies forth with supernatural force, leaving in its wake a massive cloud of dust, even kicking up a good amount of debris. The arrow's path is true. Desparrow's black heart is the intended target, and anything else that will get in the way with be utterly destroyed.

Desparrow although captured in focus by the task at hand was not oblivious to the growing magical signature behind him. With obstacle after obstacle revealing itself to his pursuers he would work to get his job done before they managed to catch up. It was when he could feel the flow of magic change that he dared to turn around. His pack had butchered the inside of the building, at least within the nearest rooms. The warlock’s magic was stirring, the ether that surrounded him undulating wildly as it shifted forms over and over between elements , wreathing him in fire, ice, lightning, water, all manner of things back and forth. When Jesen’s arrow came for him he was prepared, dispersing a large amount of ether like a shotgun into the air, bonding it with the molecules themselves before solidifying them as a kinetic force, a barrier between him and the arrow. It wasn’t enough however as he assumed, just able to slow down the arrow considerably but nowhere near halting its path entirely. Stepping aside he couldn’t avoid it either, the arrow managing to pierce the right side of his chest even as he grasped the shaft and prevented it from burrowing in his body to lethal effect. He felt it pierce a lung but he knew not all was lost, muttering a word before ripping the arrow from his form. The second tattoo on his body granted by Vasha activated and washed him in a green energy which healed him from all previous wounds inflicted upon him during this night of battle and allowing him even further accelerated regeneration for the next few minutes. It could be noticed that even healed the injuries had taken a toll on his body, exhausting his body, making him appear sluggish a bit. The fact he had been injured however sent him into another fury fueled state of destruction. “You will not get in my way!” More seismic energy but this time in the form of several projectiles of which he launched towards the entrance of the building. Upon contact nothing could be felt, until the dispersed vibrations were concentrated back onto the point of entry to explosive effect, sending rubble blasting outwards as if fired from a cannon. This blast shattered the structure at the entrance causing a small cave in. It wasn’t much but it would surely slow them while Des and his pack moved towards the training grounds where surely his quarry would be waiting for him. That spell may have ended the lives of several lycans in the way but he was not concerned with his dwindling numbers, he still had at least two dozen and they were only just now beginning to slow due to near-sated appetites. When Jesen and Ranok managed to clear into the building, that floor would be empty save for corpses, and perhaps a few survivors of the curse, maybe even some un-afflicted that had just been overlooked.

Ranok shoves the incapacitated lycans out of the way. There would be clean up later...and a culling. If they were truly beastial, then they'd have to be treated like one. "It seems he's headed towards the guard's headquarters. If I had to guess, he's trying to cut to the heart of the matter." Drawing forth his crossbow from the small of his back, the thing unfolding in mechanical smoothness, another deadly projectile loaded in. The cave in was ignored completely, a tossed coin to the ground and a calculated push and he sails over it in a superhuman bound. But it didn't stop there. The crossbow is aimed at the ground, and fired, a steel bolt digging into the ground. It provides an anchor that's pushed against and he's moving forward. Another fired, and pushed, and he accelerates. The lateral bound he'd mentioned earlier. With the bolts buried so deep, the speed and momentum building. Anything that got in his way would be met with several hundred pounds of armored and burly blacksmith hurtling by with no intent to stop. Nothing could keep up, and Desparrow would be soon hard pressed to keep his lead.

Jesen looks on as Ranok sails into the air, leaving the troops down on the ground to deal with the remaining lycan horde. Nodding to the mages, the archer points to Ranok, and they get it. He doesn't have that kind of skill, yet, but he has the means to get there. Five mages channel a spell focused on the Phenthae noble, and in a flash of azure light he is transported through space, past the caved in lower floor and up into the building that the mages have a clear view thanks to the decimation caused by Desparrow. A moment is taken to recollect himself before the ranger is off, rushing to catch up to the alpha before his sinister plan reaches its climatic end.

Desparrow at this point didn’t understand the persistence in his pursuers, as far as he knew they didn’t have a clue as to the going ons here and with each passing moment they became nothing but a nuisance. “I’m making mistakes in this rush, I’ll have to finish the job later.” Once reaching the training grounds which had what was left of the guards and the captain whom was in charge in his pretty outfit with his rank displayed proudly. He knew what the man looked like, and this would not be the end of this. Raising his right arm it seemed to fade between layers of reality, becoming incorporeal and with this arm he slashed open a rift in the cloth of the physical realm. Through the haze could be seen a tower, or at least the inside of a building that reached an inconceivable height and at the top was a moon shining blood red. A sliver of crystal was used to stabilize the portal only long enough for a dozen of the lycans to escape with Des. Once they passed through the crystal was spent, dissolved and vanished just like the gate while the remaining lycans would return to their bestial mentality. Forming a quick pack they went for the nearest target of the guards and smashed through them. With little more than a dozen left they did the best they could, throwing about the men, tearing them apart, perhaps even claiming the life of the captain as his body went flailing through the air much like a ragdoll. If he could be saved, then on this night would he survive.

Ranok was chasing a murder, which was pretty straightforward on the list of reasons to chase someone. It seems that he was too late, however. All of his momentum is eaten up in an instant, lines of red dashing over the plate on his chest as it was directly converted to heat and stored. Mirabelle, his crossbow, is raised and a hail of darts is sent towards the portal. Naught but steel, but each one was given enough force to punch through the scales of a dragon. When Ranok wished someone dead, it did not go halfway. His weapon empties and gives a clang as she runs dry. Unfortunately for the occupants of the room, sudden materializations of feral beasts tends to end rather poorly, and much blood waas shed. The captain was the target, and as a result, bore the brunt. The liutenants were much luckier, especially since Ranok wastes no time in deploying another mesmer. This one was smaller, but so was the crowd. His ears still plugged, he'd be free to engaged the beasts. Struggling as they were with new and unpleasant sensations, there'd be little to stop a delivery of coup de grace here and there, which Ranok delivered in grim punctuality. Once more the man's pragmaticism was overshadowing his kindness.

Jesen reaches the area where Desparrow was just as the guard captain's life was being snuffed out by one of the numerous Lycans that flood the chamber. Numerous are dead, though at the same time a good number show their worth and manage to survive. Then comes Ranok's rain of death, finding lycan after lycan. Desparrow can be seen in the midst of all this death, all this carnage. For what? Why? What kind of monster was this man? What motivates such wanton destruction? Even as his pack dies, it seems Desparrow does not care, and this only fuels the growing hatred for the alpha that now burns within the ranger. It is said that certain rangers can, in times of dire straits, develop an affinity towards a certain enemy. A specific prey that the hunter seems the most keen to slay. On this day, Desparrow has been marked as such by Jesen. With startling speed the elf notches back another arrow, but this time his magic courses through it alongside something else. Hatred. The arrow sent forth sails through the air, erupting in a darkened flame as it seeks to bury itself within Desparrow. These magical flames are forged from the ranger's anger, and will burn Desparrow only, but with an intensity that has not been seen before, if it finds a mark. But, even so, as the horde of Lycans rush around, Jesen let's loose arrow after arrow, burying each deep within, forgoing his non lethal measures in turn for outright slaughter. It's almost scary how accurate his shots are. One in the heart. One land a in an eye, sailing deep within the skull. One punctures a claw to sink into a lung. Arrow after arrow until there are none left, leaving the ranger to draw his blade. A kind of machete/cleaver deal, made for both cutting through the thick brush of the jungle as well as the thick hides of dragons and ogres. A lycan comes, but is met by the rage of the ranger, whose elven heritage and years of training defeat the wild mentality of the beastly hybrid. An arm is cleave off, before the blade is buried with its skull, all so Jesen can clear a path towards Desparrow. His ears, still plugged, are saved from Ranok's strange device as he nears it.

Desparrow had vanished through the gate he tore open by the time Ranok and Jesen were on the scene. It is true that the pack was a mere tool to him, nothing he may have had actual attachment with and thus it didn’t matter if they survived. In their abandoned frenzy they fought, fueled once more only by their rage until one by one they were cut down by the pair and the remaining guards. Jesen’s arrow of hate may have pierced the portal but it did not find its target, while Ranok’s weapon met the same fate with its lost projectiles. Desparrow was gone and when morning came all across the city there would be dead in their own homes, lycans that would wake to the horrific reality. They would rise up with evidence that they had committed horrible acts that they believed only to be dreams, at least until they tasted the blood on their teeth, the residue of their loved ones slaughtered on their own hands. Cenril would wake up traumatized and Desparrow feeling the victor.

Meanwhile at Coral Castle

Gevurah ‘s two rogue accomplices deal with the handful of Cenrili guard left patrolling the southern wall. Most guards have been called to the gate to defend the city, and those left behind at other sentry positions tend to be rookies. Gevurah doesn’t waste her time with them. She’s on a mission. Her giant spider mount descends the interior of the wall and makes a nearly straight line for the dilapidated castle, running along the sides of buildings, perpendicular to the ground and defying gravity instead of skirting entire city blocks. At the dilapidated coral castle she dismounts among the crumbling walls, beneath the gaping hole in the roof that filters in Desparrow’s blood moon. The groundwork for the ritual begins. From a bag hitched to Halbyrn’s side she unpacks: tall red skull-engraved candles, black votive candles, a tome of Vakmatharas, a ritualistic dagger, a bronze bowl, a bag of dirt from a grave, a holey bag stuffed with a wriggling ratking, and the ashes of the diseased. She places the candles in the correct formation on the ground around the bronze bowl at the center. With the grave dirt she draws lines between the candles to create a fifteen-pointed shape that looks crudely like a serrated scythe blade. She cuts into her own palm with the dagger and spills 15 drops of blood into the bowl, one for each of the 15 gods in Hollow’s main pantheon. From her pocket she pulls a leather glove, wears it on one hand, then with that hand pulls the ratking free from its bag. The ratking is a matted, bloody mess of 30 rats tangled together by their tails. They are feral, have gone insane from this entanglement, bite each other, and her leather glove. With her bare hand she begins to sprinkle the ashes of the diseased onto the ratking as she begins chanting the correct prayer to bring about her desired curse. The south eastern corner of Cenril mysteriously darkens. Her voice, though faint, begins to coom. It can be heard as far west as the Cenril Arena, but not yet at the gate, and certainly not over the din of war.

Gevurah ‘s ritual takes about 30 minutes to complete--thirty minutes of constant chanting . She sways slightly as if in a trance, her eyes still open and fixed on a point beyond the ratking, in another plane, another state of being closer to her god, Vakmatharas. About ten minutes in she lowers the tangle of matted rats and cuts off their tails to release them. The tailless rodents scurry around the remains of the castle, but cannot escape the property as if barricaded by some unseen force. Throughout the course of the ritual the light vegetation that surrounds the castle begins to die. Nothing can grow here, no visitor can survive for long. The rats begin to die, but they don’t stop moving. Constantly scurrying, they swarm over the castle as dead rats, not to be confused with the undead. They are different creatures altogether, brainless vectors for Vakmatharas’s decay. Anything that enters this castle so long as it is under this curse will immediately begin to feel their life sapped from their marrow. The average human would die in about 20 minutes, but have ample warning signs to escape and recover very quickly once beyond the invisible veil of the curse. Stronger visitors may survive a little longer, but all will die an accelerated, hypernatural death in this castle, save Gevurah and other high-ranking priests of Vakmatharas. A dark cloud fixes around crumbling turrets and there it will remain come rain or sun. Its presence a reminder about the state of things at this castle, as is the constant scurrying of tailless, matted, bloody rats. || Far away on the eastern fringe of the Trist’oth tunnels in the underdark a score of drow power a mighty drill. They tunnel east.