RP:Presage

Summary: The acting Mayor of Cenril reaches out to a few trusted parties in efforts of launching a covert rescue mission deep in the heart of Frostmaw’s wilds. This time in the hopes of not causing another international incident.

Meeting with a man named Hawkwood, Jaxson, Mahri, Meri, and Quintessa head into the forest only to be ambushed by the coven that has made the ruins their home. A fight ensues, in which Meri takes to the skies to expertly pick off enemies with her bow. On the ground, Mahri uses her druidic power to bolister the party and harm their enemies. Quintessa manages to use her runed cloak to sneak deeper into the heart of the camp but is stopped by the dark Priestess Isobel, her sightless eyes immune to the invisibility charm. Jaxson appears then, his rage and worry surrounding Valrae’s disappearance coming to a head as he faces off against the twisted Priestess. Quintessa finds the heart of the camp and its dark spell, and with the help of Mahri they are able to find the captured witch and Lanlan, who arrived only moments before they entered the camp themselves and was slowly working to undo the spell.

With a final mighty spell, Jaxson manages to undo the first lock of the spell that holds Valrae. Quintessa, thinking quickly and cleverly, with no small amount of personal sacrifice, manages to pull up the iron stakes that hold the witch between life and death. Once the spell is broken, strange magic turns tempest and when the damage is done, none of the witches from the Coven that remained are left alive. At the center of the camp, a strange new bloodstone heart was forged.

Hector's Letter

Nameless friends of Cenril or our esteemed Mayor Valrae,

While I am hesitant to impose upon your goodwill once more, especially considering the current political climate and the unfortunate events during the Larketian operation, I must bring forth a request and further information.

Cenril has recently obtained what we believe to be credible intelligence concerning the whereabouts of Valrae Baines. We have reason to believe that she is alive and being held captive in an abandoned ruin deep within the frozen forests of Frostmaw. We are currently navigating the official channels to deploy a team of Cenrili Guards for a thorough investigation. However, this process has proven to be arduous and time-consuming.

Recognizing that Cenril is mired in bureaucratic red tape, it has occurred to me that a smaller group of unaffiliated individuals might be able to assemble more swiftly for this crucial task. While we possess the location details, we lack substantial information about the individuals responsible for her disappearance or the potential challenges you may face. Any additional information you might possess would undoubtedly aid in the hopeful rescue of our esteemed Mayor.

Enclosed, you will find a map of Frostmaw with a clearly marked meeting point. Should you be inclined to undertake this mission, there will be a gentleman by the name of Hawkwood available to guide you to the ruins and assist in any rescue efforts that may be required.

With profound appreciation,

Acting Mayor Hector Cyprian

Icy Ruins

The forest reopens to a natural enclave in the mountainside here. Surrounded by frosted pines on either side is an abandoned stone keep that the Frostmaw forest has begun to reclaim. Pine saplings protrude from between the stones, with bone fragments and armor of the keep’s former inhabitants caught on some of the foliage. With some tidying, this keep could be renovated into something grand.

Valrae || The sun was hidden behind thick gray clouds and cast Frostmaw’s frozen forest in deep shadows. The world was quiet, cast in shades of white and brown and gray… But it was not dull as you might expect. Instead, here in the heart of the frigid wood, things were sharp and clear and even the stillness roused a primal sense of warning. As if from the deepness of the snow banks and the long cast shadows there were eyes upon your back. The path through the snow was narrow and muddy, not large enough for a wagon and only just so for those traveling on foot. Where the pines grew thick and the watery light of the sun struggled to reach, a man dressed in long brown fur waited, smoking a cigarette. His snow dusted hair was cropped short and dark, his eyes wolfish and golden as he surveyed the area that led back toward civilization. He was alone, and if it weren’t for the remoteness of the location wouldn’t have stood out as unusual, and beneath the bulk of his winter coat there was a glint of silver from the sword strapped at his side. With each new face, he would make a short and curt introduction of himself, always the same, “Hawkwood. Recently hired by our mutual friend in the Mayor's office.” Though one face would be familiar to him, he would only offer Mahri a small nod, subtle enough that it might be missed. Once it seemed as if everyone who might have answered the Acting Mayor’s letter was gathered, he would clear his throat and address them all at once. “The ruins are just beyond the pines. We have no idea what we will find or who. If you have any clues, now would be the best time to share.” He tossed his mostly burned out cigarette with a final cloud of spiced exhale to the cold winter air.

Jaxson Ravencroft wasn't the acting Mayor's favorite person at the moment, given his actions have lead to a clash between Larket and Cenril that will almost for sure be leading to a full blown war, but the wisdom of the old man was that Jax has a part to play and allowing him to be part of this venture not only increased the chances of Valrae's rescue, but also makes sure the noble wouldn't go rogue again and cause more trouble. So, the sorcerer is here in the frigid north, garbed in a fur lined coat and weather appropriate attire. He spots Hawkwood, and the two exchange nods of understanding but don't speak to one another as the awaited members of this rescue party all start to trinkle in. Here the man would wait and see, his mind truly only on getting Val back, and dealing with everything else afterwards.

Meri :: Every visit into this Sven forsaken region needed some sort of prompting, Meri was never inclined to visit this place willingly. In this case, it was the chosen meeting point to further the rescue of the missing Mayor Valrae. The blonde arrives into the area dressed for winter weather, though the bulk of her attire is hidden beneath a thick bear-fur cloak. If it were not for the cold, the woman might have actually enjoyed the trek through the middle of nowhere down some beaten path. Alas, this is Frostmaw and nothing here is enjoyable in Meri’s very strong opinion. Unfamiliar with this Hawkwood, the lycan woman is able to smell the scent of cigarettes well before she lays eyes on the man. His introduction is met with a stiff if not slightly suspicious nod of her own. Why would Meri trust some fresh hire? She had no reason. Her own name is not offered in return, intentionally. Meri instead waits in stoic silence for the rest of the party to gather.

Quintessa appears from the void, the deep shadows in the area peeling back to reveal the changeling’s cloaked form stepping into the sharp cold winds of the Frostmaw wastes. She vibrates with nervous magical energy, her posture tense and guarded, equipped with her sword and a foreboding vision- A glimpse of things already come to pass. Of iron nails and dove hearts. Of the face of a woman Quintessa didn’t recognize, but the way her eyeless stare bore into her psyche wouldn’t be something she’d soon forget. The witch bottle that revealed these visions to the changeling remained tightly in her clutch, pale fingers clenched around it as her sapphire and topaz eyes sought out those that had been called here. Approaching Hawkwood and Ravencroft, Quintessa offers them both a slight tip of her head to greet them but she does not introduce herself, fearing the power of uttering her name out here where someone might overhear it and use it against her. Powerful and ancient magic was at work here- Forbidden magic, things that ought not ever be used, and the changeling was filled with trepidation of the looming conflict and what they would have to face ahead. Finally, to Meri, Quintessa forces a slight smile that quickly fades away, silent footsteps bringing the woman to stand next to the lycan as she waits.

Mahri hates the cold, couldn't wait, even, to go back to the warmth of the Island the second she stepped foot on Frostmaw. Perpetual winter was not her idea of a nice place to live. Regardless, the she-wolf is here and somehow not at all surprised Hawkwood would be there as promised in the letter from the interim mayor. The nod isn't missed and the corner of her mouth quirked up with amusement. She still had that book. And, of course, she’s the last one to arrive. Is it another non-surprise that she knew if not recognized everyone? “Guess the mayor wasn’t kiddin’ when he said unassociated.” The wolf mutters under her breath. But, at least she wasn’t empty-handed or without information. “Tess, Meri – nice to see you.” Her head is inclined towards Jaxon in greeting.

Valrae || Hawkwood doesn’t seem disturbed by the lack of name passing, especially since he learned their names through secondary sources anyway, though a slight frown of annoyance has tilted his scarred lips downward. “Right,” He says to the strangely silent, mismatched group of people who have gathered in the gods forsaken cold. “If you have any clues as to what we’re going into, the time to share them is now.” He felt like he was repeating himself. “Quietly.” He adds, lighting another cigarette. He thought it might be the air of the wood, that perhaps it wasn’t only his paranoia and that the others could sense… Something near. “Onward then.” With that, the man began leading them toward the ruins. Once they set about the ever narrowing path through the pines, the forest grew unnaturally dark. It would press on the nerves, the thin and cold air nearly oppressive as the sense of unnatural dread rose with it. Strange objects dotted the branches surrounding them, at first small and spaced out. Teeth wrapped with cording in strange runed shapes, bottles filled with unknown liquids and shards of broken glass hung and clinking on the wind like wind chimes, loud in the snow covered silence. The closer they became to the ruins, the more crowded and disturbing the decoration of the forest became. There were cloth dolls, faces twisted and button eyes removed, covering a pine so thickly it was hard to spot the branches between their small broken bodies. “It’s possible we’re dealing with a coven.” Hawkwood frowns, running a gloved hand over his mouth. He was clearly stating the obvious. Skulls of animals and humans alike adorned trees covered in the brown of dried blood smeared in unknowable symbols. Soon, the scent of rot and decay rose up around them thickly. Viscera hung like one might drape tinsel and garland surrounded by the buzzing of many flies. Hawkwood’s brows creased as he frowned, slowing to a stop where he crouched to squint through the trees. They were narrowing, and just beyond the haze of white snowfall the outline of the ruins could be seen. It was dotted by small fires and ragged tents. There was movement all around, dark shadows of what could now only be witches moving as busy as ants.

Jaxson looks around the motley crew of assorted types that seem to have been given all the same letter for this meet and greet. He hardly knows any of them truly, even Hawkwood whom was hired recently. Still at the mention of a possible coven he nods his head a bit, more so to himself, as that seems to match the information he obtained when he snuck into Larket's Academy of Magic. He takes a moment to look once more around the group, before he'd take out a small bit of parchment and draw the coven symbol from memory that was part of the clues he found. "Anyone recognize this?" Is all he says, in relative hushed tones, though he doesn't expect much.

Meri keeps her usually extroverted personality reigned in, the blonde understood there was a time and a place for everything. Now was the time and place for focus and so Mahri is greeted with a simple nod. Same with Quintessa, even if that forced smile does not escape her attention. When Hawkwood issues the request to move onward, Meri follows but she waits for her niece so that the two can walk in stride together. The request for clues is heard, but this time Meri will at least speak for Hawkwood’s peace of mind, “I have no clues to offer, I’m just here to offer an arrow to the skull to anyone who might get in our way today. But I can tell you that it smells like nothing but death ahead.” The aroma would soon be obvious to everyone as they traveled further but to the lycan’s? Their sensitivities gave them advanced notice. The decor is observed as they pass by with only mild interest, maybe if the circumstances were different she might observe more details. Meri takes to crouching next to Hawkwood, studying the very same details that he was, doing her best to estimate how many were below, and using this moment to push her heavy fur cloak off of her shoulders so that she can ready her bow and make her hip-quiver more accessible. A brief glance is given to Jaxson’s coven symbol, a shake of her head in response, and then Meri refocuses her attention on the small camp that lay beyond and what the presumed witches were doing. The blonde was ready to barge in, not on the offensive, but to demand answers. “What are we waiting for?” Probably for people to reveal more of their clues, Meri, but the blonde is already inching forward past Hawkwood to the next tree.

Lanlan :: Hawkwood turns his narrowed golden eyes to Meri and studies her for a quiet moment. He didn’t seem to have a reasonable answer. “An in?” But there didn’t seem to be any other entrance to the camp. A deer suddenly lopes into view between them and the camp. Or, not a deer, but the crown of branching spikes on its head would suggest that it is. But it’s something else. It seems to stalk the group, drooling maw low to the ground as it approaches, heralding malice with a low toned growl that seems to sound much further than it should. Then it crosses behind a tree and is gone. Another one appears further along the path, or is it the same one? Much closer now; close enough that its clawed feet and uneven, pained looking gait can be looked at and wondered about. It disappears and reappears at different points of the journey, sometimes sitting on its haunches with its massive forearms bracing its heavy-hanging neck. Just watching. It appears again as the smell of rot appears. And still it isn’t clear what it is, but it is clear what it -was-. The antlered crown of a stag, stretching into the sharp-toothed maw of a great wolf. The rune-scarred forearms of a bear and the powerful hind legs of an auroch. The twisted anguish of each of the mutilated animals are the color of its eyes; but it does its duty. A shallow croak escapes its shaggy-maned throat as it plunges its rot-oozing claws into a tree and pulls it down. It was as much a testament to the monstrosity’s strength as it was to the curse’s rot that it came down so easily. Dryly splintering and tilting until it gave way completely to gravity, and the shedding bulk of it was now falling directly in front of the trackers’ path, halting their progress. It landed and that was the signal, or perhaps the distraction that was needed. Figures clad in haphazardly sewn furs and hides worn over jaundiced robes, appear to slither into being from some place far away, bringing smoke and haunting chants. The spell engulfing this place in rot comes true to fruition now, like a haunting wish. The snow that covered the ground and the trees melts and is absorbed into the permafrost below. The area turns into a boot-sucking soup that seems intent on grabbing and holding the tracking party, and a stench of putrescence far stronger than what could be smelled earlier covers the place in a yellowish haze. Plagues of many different types are released into the air from their dormancy, and the witches chanting seems to encourage their propagation. Hawkwood has encountered such things in his previous occupation, and frantically sifts through a satchel filled with various utilities until he finds what appears to be a pristine white cloth. In this place of rot and disease, it seems to shine like a beacon of holy light, and he ties it around his neck, being sure to cover both his mouth and nose. Even still, blisters and pus-filled boils can be found emerging just under the skin of his uncovered hands and forehead.

Quintessa forces a second smile at Mahri, giving her a silent greeting as well before she presses on behind Hawkwood, her mismatched gaze carefully lifting to study the various charms and fetishes hanging from the branches, trying to recall what she knew of them in her own practices of witchcraft. They were dealing with a coven indeed, one whom Quintessa secretly found herself admiring the work of. Had she been here under different circumstances she would have likely sought to learn from them, but now the only thing she could do was to settle for memorizing as much as she could here today so she could replicate it later. As they begin to see movement, the changeling lifts up her hood over her raven-dark hair, preparing to utter the phrase that would activate her cloak’s powers of invisibility and keep her hidden from their quarry. “I do not recognize that symbol, unfortunately.” Is all Quintessa has to offer in response to Jaxson before her attention returns upon the witches gathered just within eyesight. Or were they already seen? Quintessa could feel the presence of something wrong close by. Something twisted and corrupted. While they were focused on their own hunt something a thousand fold more terrifying than dark witches was hunting them. By the time that malformed abomination felled that tree and blocked their path, Quintessa was already halfway through uttering her incantation, a subtle pulse of mana emanating from her cloak before her form fades from view, utterly invisible to the natural eye. As the putrid aura of the spell begins to strangle her, Quintessa breaks off from the rest of the party and dashes as quickly as she can around the cursed thing, pushing through the bog-like terrain to approach the congregation of witches, leaving the rest of the party to deal with whatever that creature was behind her.

Mahri is wearing only the duster she favors, mostly because its pockets are deep and hold many things. The guild-belt around her waist has four vials tucked into loops, each wrapped carefully so they made little to no sound as she walked through the woods. “It’s a coven of corruption witches,” her nose wrinkles in distaste when she reaches into one of those pockets and pulls out the small book she’d kept from Hawkwood when they’d met to hold out for Jaxon and Meri to look at. Maybe Mer would know what it was, though the elven it’s written in is old. “They mesh living and dead flesh using magic to corrupt their forms.” Even as she is speaking, Mahri’s eyes dart around watching the horned and disfigured horrors move from place to place. Hairs rose along her arms and the back of her neck. A warning of danger she’d hardly ever ignored. Her weapon of choice is the silver dagger strapped to her thigh, but this might require a bit more than that. The druidic arts her mother had taught the wolf when she was a younger human girl readily come at her call, the unnaturalness of the cold forest and the creatures within it an affront to the balance of life and death, will not be tolerated. Even as the plagues begin to spread along with the noxious smell of death and agony from the horrors surrounding them and the fur-clad coven, Mahri is pulling her booted feet through the muck the ground has become, her slight form moving forward to the inflicted. Her healing powers are considerable, but detrimental to other living things around her and the one she’s healing. Her magic reaches out for the nearest life-force, dancing and skimming over those in the group to find what the she-wolf is seeking – the energy of an enemy – to spool that mysterious force into a tight ball with in Mahri’s chest, to be used when she brushed a hand over anyone showing signs of sickness, while thick vines, brackish with thick tar-like toxins dripping from clawed thorns lash out at witch and horror, wrapping around ankles, waists and throats where they could reach. The wolf had brought up the rear of the group, having been last. Between sapping the life out of the coven and the vines providing some defense, the lycan’s own strength slowly ebbs, causing an occasional stumble. Hawkwood, Jaxon, Meri and Tessa in turn will receive the benefit of her talents should they need it. Blisters and boils erupt on her own exposed face and neck as well as her fingers where gloves don’t cover.

Valrae || As Quintessa moved forward, she might be surprised to find the camp was much closer than it originally appeared. Soon, she might find herself to be moving unseen through ugly littered paths, ragged tents, and stone altars crowded with the tools of dark magic. A creaking laugh would seem to echo around her though. It could have been coming from anywhere, aimed at anyone, but it carried with it a sense of target and malicious purpose. The wind howled and the snow swirled as more unnatural darkness descended around them. It coalesced near to Qunitessa, forming the thin and ragged frame of a witch. Isobel was tall, with knots of long and greasy brown hair that hung around her gaunt frame in hanks of unwashed braids woven with teeth and bone. In her boney hands, she clutched the emerald crystal skull. Where there once were eyes of muddy brown on her sallow face, now there was only ruin and they matched the unseeing sockets of the crystal skull she held aloft. Though she could not see, those hollow sunken craters of scarred flesh seemed to bore into Quintessa. The emerald skull seemed to grin as she lifted it higher and a spell croaked from her lips. It burst from her like a thunderclap, the power bringing with it the smell of decay and the grave. A dark hand unfurled, reaching out clumsily to grab her.

Valrae || The camp, which had seemed so far behind the flurry of falling white, suddenly snapped closer and more vividly in view. Hawkwood missed it with a single blink. Magic filled the air as thickly as the scent of rot and blood. More of those misshapen, horridly puzzled together beasts belched from the shadows as an unnatural darkness fell. Magic most foul was afoot, and he drew his sword with a shout. Witches and beasts alike swarmed the small band of would-be liberators. No longer on the outskirts of the wood, it would seem as if they were standing in the heart of the camp. A trap? Some sort of magic? He couldn’t know, he could only focus on bringing his sword down on the next abomination. On twisting away from the foul hex that unfurled like maggot infested raven’s wings from a twisted wand. The sounds of battle rang out like a ship’s cannons, the snarling and gnashing of beasts teeth mingling with the rush of his heartbeat loud in his ears. His breath huffed out in a plum of frosty white as his feet pumped, pushing him forward so that he might barrel shoulder first into one of the creatures who had zeroed in on Mahri’s back. With a lightning quick slash of his sword, the beast fell. The passageways through the camp were muddy and thick with the same magic that sought to pull him down and into what seemed to be a living, hungry and devouring mix of both blood and mud. A blur of fur slammed into him hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He wrestles against the amalgamated form of what at once might have been a wolf or a goat. Grabbing it by the horns, he tosses the creature into the snow and impales it through with his sword with a grunt of effort. The path he’d landed near was devoid of the magic that twisted the others. It was seemingly less traveled and led off toward the side of the ruins. A single tent, nearly hidden by the darkness of the false night, stood alone. The heat of battle and the writhing mess of violence at the center of the camp stopped him from investigating further, or he might have seen the nine narrow spikes of iron staked toward the ground. He might have noticed how the pulsing heart of dark power beat with the small hearts that were pinned there to the ash covered ground, nine by nine.

Jaxson feels the world around him lurch forward as the terrain they just stood upon shifts as if by magic and brings them all within the very camp they were trying to sneak into. The sensation of the corrupt and vile weave being used assaults the sorcerer's very essence, his disdain for what is being done here clearly apparent upon his face. Having been with Valrae for almost two years now, he knows better than most the good witches can do in the world, but to see how dangerously corrupt they can turn things as well the man can't help but think that if Larket had come here first they'd of used this as a platform to launch a new inquisition upon all witchkind as the threats and blight they try so hard to make them all. But all this is pushed aside as the very real, and immediate, threats descend upon them all. The woman in the duster seems to be trying to handle the corruption, her vines twist about and make it hard for the creatures to close the gap so easily, and while it seems to be working there is evidence that time is of vital importance for her. The man, Hawkwood, shows able skill in dealing with one of the monsters that have been loosed upon them all, making the noble feel better about someone having the druid's back as she works her ritual to combat the rot spell. The other woman, darker in nature and familiar, seems to have vanished, but not much can be done about that, as three of the chimera like beasts leap in unison from different angles to eviscerate the Captain of the Guard with a ferocity the contrasts their undead like nature. It is here the Storm's Chosen sets his sights beyond this, and into the heart of the camp, where the emerald skull's magical energies can be sensed, and where that crystal skull is Valrae cannot be that far behind. So as the twisted abominations of the corrupted coven descend upon the sorcerer, almost piling upon him and spelling his doom, the forest is suddenly shaken by a earsplitting thunderclap as Jaxson unleashes stored up magical energies to release the potent tempestuous abilities that are inherent within him. The force of the spell sends the three beasts flying back, one landing on the stump of the previously pushed over tree, the jagged remains running it through. One other is hurled through one of the now exposed stone alters, smashing it in two, with the upper half falling and crushing the beast. The final one was the closest and took a much more focused blast, its face splitting at the seams and its head is torn apart by the sheer force of the spell before its body is sent flying in a heap of mangled flesh and bone several feet away. None of this seems to even fall into Jax's attention, as his focus falls upon the wicked witch who holds the Emerald Skull in her hands. "You." Is all he says, as he extends his hands skyward, and from the dark, storm filled skies comes the Trident the man has come to claim as his own. The weapon falls before him, sinking into the snow covered earth, before the man takes hold of it and yanks it free from the frozen ground. Within a heartbeat does the man call upon another of his abilities, a powerful gale of frigid winds propelling him forward as he'd close the distance between him and the witch with the intent of running the trident straight through her, screaming as he flies through the air. "Where is she?"

Meri barely gets a chance to really process the book’s goes momentarily wide-eyes as the trees melt into the ground and the snow becomes soupy, sucking her down into the earth ankle deep. The lycan woman is not stuck within the putrid rot for long, quickly using her telekinetic abilities to lift her from the gross goop so that she is levitating off of what was previously solid ground. If Quintessa has opted to remain near Meri, a look will be given to her niece and a hand will be offered so that she can help pull the changeling out of the grossness too. Alas, Quintessa has dashed off to deal with another problem the group is facing. The blonde does not give chase, she knew Quintessa was more than capable, and instead focuses on her own. The putrid aura was threatening to trap Meri in a cloud of disease, something that Meri was not prepared to deal with. As a lycan, she was not immune. So higher Meri levitates, hoping that she’ll be able to use height to her advantage to escape the disease all together. If not…hopefully Penelope has trained her healer’s well. Meri may need to pay them a visit when this is all said and done. Using her eagle’s eye view and the lack of trees on the combat area to her advantage, the lycan takes shot after shot at her opponents, doing her best to offer support the entire rescue team. If an opponent was in range, then Meri was taking shots.

Lanlan :: As the witches familiars– those horrid amalgamations, are summarily dispatched by the invaders, their purposes are well served. A potent distraction for the still-fighting members of the coven to cast another grand spell to destroy their enemies with. The circle that surrounded them before has pulled back, and formed another smaller circle, this one inside the camp with the rest of the witches, and where Hawkwood, Jaxson, and Quintessa have gathered. Meri and Mahri will not be far behind. Each of them has a rock shaped rather like a spotted watermelon in their hands. Black and gray, and cracked. The cracks pulse with power as the life force and potent energies lying dormant within these black dragon eggs is sapped and gathered by the coven to be used for their own nefarious ends. Their potential becomes a burgeoning smoke cloud of acrid green, fed by funnels channeled into one by the witches’ chanting. A many headed creature made of acidic green gas comes into being above the center of the circle of witches. It looks asleep at first, curled up into itself, as if even now it was contained in an egg. Then it stretches and splays out each of its heads. For a moment, it looks almost…sad. -They- look sad. The dead sibling dragons look at each other in despair to recognize what’s happened to them. But as the chanting continues, they lose themselves. Their forms are stretched out violently, smoky teeth bursting through their gums, hooking claws curling through their fingers. And they behold each of their enemies in turn and begin to lash out at them with coiling strikes from their many necks. The acidic smoke stretches out, billowed from the channeling coven and acting as fuel for the engulfing mass of the ever enlarging creature. Each head finds a different target to attack, stretching endlessly in a formless, flowing strike. The acidic smoke that comprises them would seek to devour its target from both inside and out, disintegrating skin and diffusing into orifices to melt flesh. Even Meri, high above the fray is not safe as the virulent acidic ghost of a clutch of black dragon eggs isn’t bound to a physical form. There is no life for Mahri to draw from it. Jaxson and Quintessa will have not only its mouths to contend with, but also its claws, as it seeks to rend their very souls to tatters with its ectoplasmic acid for daring to approach its queen.

Quintessa feels a shiver of terror run down her spine as the vision of the eyeless crone in her memory plays out a second time right before her eyes, the powers of invisibility utterly useless against a blind woman. When Isobel evokes the crystal skull, Quintessa finds herself flinching against its power, a half step taken backwards, not far enough to avoid the dark hand that grasps around her but just enough to shake free of the clumsy attempt.as it rips the cloak from around her shoulders, exposing her to the elements as she retreats another few steps. “Y-you!” Quintessa finds herself growling at the witch, her voice filled with venom as Jasxon echoes her words, joining them with his trident drawn as she reaches towards the hilt of her own weapon, the Jubaku no Kijo, resisting the dissonant whispers of the weapon. She knew drawing it meant it would have to taste blood, and Quintessa wasn’t content with killing anyone today. Not yet. Luckily the Ravencroft sorcerer would provide the perfect opening for the changeling to disengage from Isobel, moving out of the way of his attack as she pivots to reassess the battlefield. Already the diseased aura was starting to overwhelm her, boils and sores opening on her hands and arms as her mind swims with the horrible nausea that creeps up her throat, forming a hard knot as she searches for each of her allies, checking to make sure they were alright before something catches her attention, something that causes a more primal fear to sink into her chest and steal her breath; Nine iron nails driven through nine tiny hearts- but before Quintessa can ponder them or formulate a plan, a new abomination arrives for her to contend with, claws of acid and toxic breath bearing down on her with only seconds left to react. “Plisgyn iâ!” Her voice calls out with mystical reverbnation, a thick wall of ice manifesting between her and the Black Dragon abomination to absorb the assault of twisted saurian, keeping it at bay as she rushes away, this time in the direction of the nine dove hearts. “That’s it!” She cries, trying to catch the attention of the rest of the party, hoping they can see what she sees, recalling the details of her vision. “This has to be it!” But the closer she draws to the iron spikes pinning them down the more her fae blood screams at her to stay away. Iron was toxic to her, but would she let that stop her?

Mahri’s too focused on directing flora to notice that she’d left herself exposed to an attack from behind until it was almost too late. She’d only just started to pivot when Hawkwood slammed into whatever it was, a beast if one could call it that when no name would have been adequate enough to describe it. That’s when she realizes as well that the trees had disappeared and they were in the middle of a decrepit camp. All the smells she is picking up have made her scent blind. That’s concerning. It’s a quick decision then to sacrifice her clothing for a form more fitting for fighting beasts and abominations. Peripherally, the sound of cloth rending apart might be heard followed by a low growl as saucer sized paws and a dire-wolf sized lycan charge into the fight, teeth and claws ripping and tearing at limbs and tender bellies, spilling rotting guts into the blood and mud already intent on sucking the rescuers down. The taste left behind in the wolf’s mouth leaves a lot to be desired and in the back of her mind, the woman makes a note to do some better hunting in the future. The crack of thunder pins lupine ears to a square skull for a moment before a touch to her hind end makes the black beast twist around, jaws snapping and catching something to shake it hard, hearing bones snapping with satisfaction. Now that she’s not restrained by the limitations of her human nose, the wolf can smell more than just the blood and rot, there’s other scents as well she’s trying to filter through. Her ears twitch, the rhythm of beating hearts seeming out of place within the sounds of battle. And, even though Mahri has shifted, the vines have not gone dormant. Even more spring forth with beautiful deep red ombre petals that open and send a targeted spray of poisoned needles towards the witches. The old lady with the emerald skull can be handled by someone else, the wolf is too busy leaping onto the back of an antlered creature as it charges towards Hawkwood; it’s her turn to return a favor. Teeth sink into a thick neck as the thing tries to shake her off, reaching back to grab the wolf by the scruff of her neck and tearing out a chunk of its own flesh when it rips her off and tosses her like a sack of clothes to the ground. Mahri yelps when she lands. Pulsing power, magic, causes the wolf to shudder even as she’s struggling to her feet. Silver-grey eyes shadowed by black fur seek out the source of that power. The circle of witches holding dragon eggs didn’t seem like a good thing to her and she’s proven right as the energy pulsing from each egg is pulled and funneled into a green gas. Her nose twitches – that gas smells of acid. The sharpness making her sneeze just as it gathers into the form of a many headed dragon that grows and spreads, black smoke rolling along the ground towards the group. Mahri is coated thickly with bloody mud so she doesn’t feel the burn immediately, but as soon as it eats through that protective coating, she cries out with a sharp yelp, darting backwards before dropping to roll in the mud again. As she does, the beating of hearts grows louder in her ears. She’s closer to the unaffected path and circle of beating pierced hearts and also in Tessa’s path. The black wolf would go to the changeling, bumping her shoulder into the woman’s hip, inviting her climb on and hold tight if that circle of hearts is where she needs to go. The wolf can get her there, past the iron spikes safely and swiftly.

Valrae || Isobel’s wiry body is knocked back by the force of Jaxson’s power, the skull nearly slipping from her thin fingers. His arrival and attack distracts her from Quintessa. She does not answer the man, only croaks her strange laugh as she strokes the top of the crystal skull. The howling of his wind is met with her own, and suddenly Valrae’s voice cries out from all corners of the forsaken cap. She was screaming, wailing mostly without coherent words to be found beyond, “Help me!” Over and over, and those who knew the witch would know this was her voice. Was it a trick? Another play of black magic? But she was not idle after this small spell, no, she had more in store for the young Captain. She manages to avoid his attack narrowly, the trident sailing through the cold air just a hair beyond her waist. Her hand lifts from the skull as she turns to face him again and it is suddenly no longer empty, instead there were the small bones of rat’s skulls resting on her greasy palm. She crushes them in her fist, laughing all the while. Mana fills the air as black dripping ooze leaks from between her fingers. The black substance hits the snow and sizzles there, gray smoke rising and with it an outpouring of decaying rats. They swarm by the hundreds, multiplying so rapidly that soon they might reach the thousands as they advance on Ravencroft with malicious red eyes and gnashing teeth. Elsewhere, Hawkwood stood in the thick of it and was thankful when one of Meri’s arrows flew beyond his eyeline to find its home in the center of one of the witch’s foreheads. And then the worst happens. The ground at the center opens up, and something horrid rises. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing at first, and he had Mahri to thank for not being taken down in that mamonet. A dragon with many heads rose, and with that Hawkwood threw his sword to the ground. But not in surrender, no, he would be shifting. It took him painfully, his bones snapping and reforming to that of what was not man and not fully beast. Russet hair covered every inch of his misshapen body, ripping through his clothes as his legs reformed, then his arms and his face that elongated into that of a wolf’s snout. With a howl, Hawkwood threw his body into the center of the canting witches and began ripping with teeth and massive claws.

Valrae || Jaws were reaching out of the center of the camp, up into the sky to snap and snarl at Meri as she hovered over it vollying arrow after arrow into the witches and their abominations. There was a deafening screech as Hawkwood’s deformed mouth crunched down on one of those eggs. But he’s so focused on his task that he doesn’t see a witch aiming a jagged wand toward him. Inside the tent, where the miasma of ancient power was so thick it felt as if it might press into one's very skin, there was Valrae. She was no longer alone, as Lanlan had appeared several moments before the rest of them managed to storm the camp. But she was still suspended, floating above the ground as if trapped beneath black ice. Her hair hung in tangles, her arms twisted and bound with nine knots by braided Devil’s Gut that looped at her feet and her throat. An iron bar was protruding from her chest, running cleanly through her heart. It beat laboriously still around the cold iron, her lips blue and trembling. Her eyes open but glassy and unseeing.

Jaxson's flight across the desecrated landscape was the only reason he avoided the brunt of the rot plague spell that was in play, but the moment his strike missed its mark and his feet touch the ground once more does he start to feel the spread of the contagion begin to try to infect him. Just as quickly is he also met by attacks from various angles, a rising mass of undead rats rise up like a tidal wave, the rot plague itself from below, and the witch Queen herself awaits still before him. The man's attention is driven from Tessa's words pointing out the hearts, to the screams of Valrae, before the miasma of ancient power pulsates out like a wave of wretched emptiness, for the man to finally see the Red Witch in the flesh, suspended in air with an iron bar through her heart. The man nearly snaps, the result being an eruption of the tempest based magic he was born with violently erupting in the form of a destructive wave of thunderous power. The shockwave knocks back everything within six meters are thrown back by the force just as his feet touch the earth once more, the wave of rodents is scattered, obliterating a good chuck but sending the rest flying all across the camp. Lanlan's presence is welcome, even though every fiber of Jaxson's being demands he goes to her, the sorcerer knows she is in more than capable hands and its more important to keep Isobel at bay to allow the drow to work. And so, Jax's gaze falls upon the witch queen once more, who still holds the Emerald Skull, and the man's wrath finds its target. She must fall this day, nothing else matters for him. And so trust in those around him is given, as the heir of the Ravencroft name, Captain of the Cenril Guard, raises his weapon once more to single out the wretched coven mother. "Your filth will never again plague this realm, on this I swear!" And with that the man channels as much of the innate magical power as he can muster to bring down upon the witch, holding up the primordial weapon towards the heavens as if calling upon the heart of the storm itself. The clouds above them all darken still, gathering in mass, groaning as thunder bellows within before violently erupting right from the center to send forth the mother of all lightning bolts down upon Isobel. But Jaxson is far from foolish, and at the last minute the man turns the trident, which acts as a focus for the elemental blast, to send out multiple arcs of lightning towards the hearts closest to him. The lightning arcs out at blinding speed, before going to strike the hearts that serve as catalysts of the dark magic. Once the lightning is diverted, the man will use the momentum to spin around with a single fluid movement to send the trident (still humming with the elemental power it just housed) to try to slice at the hand of Isobel and free the Crystal Skull from her decrepit grasp. Between the hearts and the skull, the sorcerer assumes its all connected, and that to harm the witch may cause harm to Valrae, so Jax attempts to cut off the witch from her ritual by removing the anchors of the spell. Simple, right? About as educated a guess as he can take in the heat of the moment.

Meri has figured out quite a few clever uses for her psionic abilities over the years, yet ghosts remain a weak point for Meri. They are not tangible things for her to be able to manipulate, control, or even shoot at. So the tattooed blonde can’t help but mutter a nasty four letter expletive beneath her breath when she spies the ghost dragon. All Meri can do is try and dodge any of the acidic smoke that is spewed or snapped her way. She is not as lucky in this regard as she was in avoiding the plague fumes. Just as a plume of the acidic smoke heads her way, Meri pulls her fur cloak over her face to shield it, holds her breath, and then let’s go. What is she letting go of? Herself, really. No longer using her telekinesis to keep her floating in the air, gravity takes hold and Meri plummets toward the earth just as she is about to be fully engulfed by the acid smoke. This action means that she is only a little bit engulfed. It still hurts, causing immediate damage to the bear-fur cloak that was keeping Meri nice and toasty warm in this frigid region. The smoke eats lightly away at the armor beneath the cloak and finds patches of skin that Meri did not manage to cover, but the blonde lycan manages to hold her breath all the way down. At some point she intended to stop herself from hitting the ground, a trick she practices a lot at the treehouse. HIgh jump, stop the fall just before the earth. Today the pain that is caused by the acid proves to be too distracting for Meri to pull this off. The woman hits the ground with a crack. This is exactly why she is scared of flying, Magikrios. Good thing that Meri is not actually human, so she’s probably not dead. Just…give her a minute. Maybe she’ll be useful again. Or maybe not, because her bow was part of that cracking sound.

Lanlan is there inside the tent, bracing himself with a Xalious Wood staff of extreme magical power, twisted and gnarled in ways that seem both natural and yet bear an impossible symmetry. A white hot light glows from a seam twisting in a helix from the ferrule to the flower-topped head of it, and geometric lines of infintesimally small script barricade the entryway like crisscrossing chains. They form a barrier, a prison, that covers not only the open flap of the forsaken tent, but a hemisphere just under the hides that create the walls of the tent. Lanlan opens his mouth to speak. “You shall go no furth-” He’s interrupted. In a moment, he is undone, and disintegrates into snowflakes and smoke, until it's only his staff that’s still standing. Behind the illusion, the real Lanlan is here on one knee, projecting his will into his staff from a few yards away. Black veinlike protrusions rise under his skin over parts of his face, radiating out from beneath the collar of his coat. They seem to throb slightly, and when they do, he seems to grow even weaker. Valrae is next to him. The same veins of corruption seem to be afflicting her, though they seem to be receding. Each pulse in Lanlan’s corrupting black veins seems to draw the darkness further out of Valrae, and deeper into himself. When he saw who approached the tent, he found no further reason to put up the brave front, and let his illusions fall back to what they were before: ambient matter. They were saved. Possibly. As Jaxson destroys the iron spikes and the staked hearts, Lanlan can see that the fighting is not over.

Lanlan :: Outside the tent, the ghostly acidic specter of a dozen baby black dragons is being exorcized. One by one, the heads screech and twist away into nonexistence as the eggs that are the source of their cursed existence are shattered. Rotten slime covered dragon babies touch air for the first time, and die truly. As they do, the single remaining head of the monster shrivels backward in fear and loneliness, only the barest hint of understanding creeping into its consciousness. And then nothingness overtakes it. Witches that haven’t been torn to shreds or perforated by arrows from the heavens scramble backwards and rely on their individual talents. Rays of green and red and indigo fly from their wands as they muster up a fighting retreat into the woods. Each one promises a hellish and painful end for whatever victim is touched by one of these. Be it a violent flesh rending bacteria that begins in the blood, causing a target to bleed through their pores and orifices, or a swarming contagion that chokes them with lungs suddenly filled with maggots that choke and gag and strangle, or a sudden subcutaneous influx of stagnant fluid building up in the limbs, weighing them down and stretching their skin to the limits before horribly bursting it. Though they seem scattered, the remaining witches do gradually move toward a section of the ruins where one wall has collapsed against another. It forms a dark chasm; a long tunnel within which they can escape. No doubt beyond this they have some other hidden escape route, they wouldn’t pin themselves down. But the dank aura of the cave also promises cornered monstrosities barely disguised by their humanoid forms. Pursuers would find themselves bottlenecked here, and much easier targets for their horrid curses.

Quintessa is thankful when Mahri arrives just in time to aid her, throwing her leg over her back in order to ride her as she prepares yet another spell to repel the swarming rats, a free hand gesturing in a wide arc as she calls the work “Grym!” A loud shockwave joining the orchestra of chaos already unfolding, an invisible wave of force clearing a direct path to the iron stakes, but as her blue and hazel eyes focus on Valrae trapped in binds of devil’s gut, nine knots to match the arrangement of nine spiked hearts, she begins to feel doubt creep in her mind as of what to do. What if her instinct led her astray? It was too late to second-guess herself. As lightning clashes against some of what Quintessa assumes are the ritual anchors she is forced to tackle the rest directly, her magic utterly ineffective against cold iron. Even as she hops off of Mahri’s back and reaches for the first spike, her whole body contorts in agony as the ferrous metal saps her mana as if someone sliced a hole in a waterskin, both hands clenched around it as it slowly slides out of the ground and frees the heart, breaking the twisted spell binding this anchor down. The changeling flings the iron spike away quickly, as if it was red hot, the burns of its contact with Quintessa’s skin already blistering and rising to the surface- but she was not done. She moves to another, repeating the process, her screams soon joining Valrae’s as they drain her of everything she is, the iron damaging the fae woman’s very essence as she pulls yet another from the ground, and then another, her palms bleeding from the effort. Her voice was hoarse and strained from her screams but still she persisted long after her entire reserve of mana had been drained away. But would it be enough? Quintessa could hardly stand on her own two feet as she looked around, watching as the coven beat a hasty retreat back into their caves- surely this meant it was over, right? They only needed to break the curse and free Valrae. Giving chase now was a fool’s errand.

Mahri is leaving everyone but Tess to their own devices. She’d had no intention of letting Tessa deal with those spikes, so when she was gathering herself to jump over them, her stride is thrown off when the changeling is off her back and handling the spikes barehanded. Expecting to have had more weight when making that leap, she sails over spikes, Captains and Changelings, unaffected by the metal like Tessa is. Landing short of barreling into the magically protected tent. Tessa is ripping out spikes, Jaxon is destroying them and the wolf is stiffing around, wary of any other surprises that might pop up, so to speak. If needed, the wolf can be used to transport Valrae and Lan, and Meri we guess, back to civilization and healers.

Valrae || Isobel was thrown back, Jaxson’s power sending her with such force that she toppled over herself in the mud and snow. The spell of decay seemed to have no effect upon her grisled form and she stood weakly just as he called down such tremendous power that if she had eye, there might have been fear in them. Instead, those hollow sockets only twisted oddly as she looked up at what she assumed was her death. Her arms flew open wide in a triumphant laugh but it died when, at the last moment, the Ravencroft redirected the spell to the iron that held her captive. “No! No!” She squeals, stumbling forward as she runs across the ruined ground to throw herself at Jaxson. There was little time now. She could feel it, the spell was being unwound. The hearts were still, dying one by one by one on the iron spikes. Valrae’s own shuddered painfully at the shock of it, but the Devil’s Gut vine refused to release it’s hold and she was still trapped there, unable to move and unable to speak. Suspended between life and death.Isobel’s screams echo through the night as Jaxson’s trident severs her hands from her. They fall with a thud into the snow, along with the emerald skull. But she doesn’t stop, she throws her body at him, flailing wildly with her now bleeding stumps, aiming to hit him weakly as she sobs. No tears fell from the ruined hollows of her eyes, but the keening sound was akin to a petulant child in the throes of a fit.Hawkwood was blasted back from the rotting dragon eggs just as Meri plummeted. She landed with a crack near his twisted body and he had only a moment to finish his transformation. It was quick, the snapping of bone and twisting of skin. Replacing the inbetween form, a wolf far larger than what would normally be found in the wild rose up snarling. He was deeply brown and imposing, only the familiar gold of his eyes remaining from his human form. He kept the retreating witches off of Meri growling and swiping at them as they ran.

Valrae || Quintessa’s quick mind and sacrifice was not in vain. As each spike was wrenched from the frozen earth, the color and life that was drained from Valrae crept back into her skin. Her heart beat harder, more painfully around the iron buried deep in her chest as it too moved, as if being pulled from her by invisible hands. It was slow, but by the time the changeling had removed the last of the stakes the one that left the witch trapped there fell to the ground and Valrae crumpled down on top of it. The Devil’s Gut unwound and fell as ash around those in the tent, the corruption that had crawled over Lanlan’s skin vanishing with it. There was an awful howling on the wind then, all of that contained dark energy in a single spell now released. The world was quiet for a moment, and then it was madness. There was a loud scream. Isobel’s? Valrae’s? It couldn’t be known. Mana erupts and swirls around them so potent it shimmers on the air in impossible shades of black. Like a hurricane had descended upon them, the winds rushed around them and centered toward the camp. More screams rise up and are torn away with the wind, wails of agony and pain coming from all corners, even in the darkness of caves. Hawkwood could only crouch over Meri and press his body down, his claws buried in the frozen earth to keep them rooted there… And then it was over. Everything stopped. The wind died. Not slowly, but in an unnatural abruptness. The false dark faded, the ruined and muddy world was dotted with the bright whites of the snow drift shining in weak afternoon sunlight. Valrae remained where she was, unconscious but breathing on the cold ground. And in the center of the camp where Isobel had been thrashing, there lay a large glittering crystal heart. It was a perfect hard stone carving, anatomical and correct to every facet of the human heart, the appearance of something rotten as it was made of pure green and red dotted bloodstone.

Jaxson watches as his magic flows through the area, frying the hearts, disintegrating what spikes Tessa doesn't yoink herself, resulting in the ritual stuttering out and causing panic to rush through the coven. The retreat of the witches almost reminds the noble of Cenril in the Summer, when they used to have the fireworks go off, the colorful barrage of absolutely horrid curses and hexes would almost be beautiful the way they lit up the darkness in the area right before it was dispelled. He still avoids being hit and his attention is momentarily caught between watching witches flee into the cavern, to Valrae being freed from her magical bondage, this causes the opening for Isobel's stumpy assault to nearly hit its mark! If it were not for the terror stricken witch queen's own folly of tripping on her own hands, now laying atop a mix of sludge and snow that makes for a perfect slippery terrain. The eyeless coven mother topples over and out of instinct tries to throw her hands, which she no longer has, out to catch herself, only to fall face first into a pile of dead rats, acidic ooze and her own blood a foot away from the Ravencroft heir. He could end her right here, but the man knows Valrae, knows she'd want to deal with this and so he acts swiftly to do two things. One, the man takes out an enchanted cloth to scoop up the crystal skull from the ground, securing it from anyone else and to ensure Valrae gets it back. A simple spell later and the skull is whisked away back to a secure location. But now the sorcerer's magical abilities would be pushed as he goes to cast a spell he has never truly attempted before, This imprisonment spell is designed to contain powerful magical beings, one he has been tinkering with since his rise to Captain of the Guard to deal with threats a normal jail cannot hold. The words of the spell are spoken to add power, as normally the natural spellcaster has no need for verbal assistance like most mages. Ethereal chains rise up to bind the woman, even the stumps she now sports are bound in magical shackles, with the addition of even a magical gag to prevent her from casting again. Then, a prism of forms around the witch, arcane sigils and runic scripts run across the transparent walls that are formed, quickly taking the shape of a crystal like structure before rapidly shrinking, leaving the Witch Queen bound and imprisoned in a gem. Jaxson quickly snatches this up, and places it within a certain pocket on his person before he'd rush off to check on Valrae and Lanlan, a quick glance spared towards the others he doesn't really know to make sure immediate care is not needed, but his attention quickly falls upon Val and Lan and he closes the distance and says to the Archmage. " Is she alright? Do you have the strength yet to get her home?"

Meri is still for longer than she would like. Her mind is telling herself to get back up but her body is slower to agree to this request. She eventually pushes up to her knees, in time to see Hawkwood defending her from the witches who might try and deal any final blows during their own escape. While this knowledge is forefront of mind, her body will only allow for her to move so quickly and the first course of action Meri has is to shrug off the remains of acid-eaten fur coat. It is only after this is done that Meri manages to find her footing, pulling sword from scabbard just in case, only to be hit by that strong gust of wind. She was promptly knocked back down into the earth and might have ended up blown back to who-knows-even-where where it not for Hawkwood managing to keep them rooted. Once it was finally quiet, would have absolutely no shame in pushing the wolf off of her while simultaneously muttering, “Guess that is twice I owe you.” Meri would try for a second time to find her feet and this time she would manage to stay standing. Checking on Valrae unfortunately was not top of mind for Meri. It was not that she did not care, she obviously did. She was here. But Jaxson was present and it was likely better to leave the tending to people who had the knowledge of what to do and where to bring her. That was not Meri. At least not today. Which was fine, for the blonde had to own injuries to tend to….and off she goes to do just that.

Lanlan feels a rush of wellness as the curse is lifted, and pulls himself to his feet. He calls his staff back to him and tries not to look as if he’s leaning on it, though he straightens his collar and lapels with somewhat shaky hands. Not so much from the cold, since his salamander skin gloves do far more than enough to ward that off, but no one could know that. He addresses Jaxson with a surprising amount of manifested dignity for one so frightened and aware of his own mortality. “No, she isn’t,” he says solemnly, without looking at her. “But she will be.” He seems averse to seeing Valrae in this state, so frail and cold. More because he doesn’t think she would want him to see her like this. Promptly, he holds his hands out, and his own pair of gloves flies from his hands and onto hers. In seconds warmth and color return to her. “I could,” he says noncommittally to Jaxson. Perhaps he simply doesn’t want to admit what state he finds himself in, or isn’t aware of it himself. Abruptly he decides to give them some space apparently, and he exits the tent. Immediately he’s turned around. Nothing seems the same as it was a short time ago, when he first entered the tent. The dark and gloomy camp is now bright and covered in blood and scorch marks. But at least the witches are gone. He spots a strange disease-colored heart on the ground, made completely out of stone and pokes at it with the warding ferrule of his Xalious-wood staff. “Nasty,” he spits when it reacts to his magic. Somehow, he’s already found himself a new pair of gloves, though they’re pristine and white, and do nothing to ward off the frigid weather. Still, they’ll protect him from the greasy aura of this heart. “The things I do for my friends…” he says as he picks it up, filling up another page of his secret mental ledger entitled: Things I do for them, which they would not do for me. There was at least one loose end which still needed to be tied up. He’d find that still sleeping in a shaded tent. The smell would be familiar, too familiar. He’d return with a rather decorative wooden jewelry box, though its contents were decidedly against his tastes.

Mahri’s there, by that tent still when all that power disappears and Jax and Tessa go past inside. She follows along, exhausted, burned still sporting boils and blisters under the cover of fur, to sniff the unconscious witch and nudge her with a cold nose and soft whine.

Quintessa sits for a while in the sodden soil, the last iron spike she managed to pull resting next to her as she attempts to catch her breath. She takes this time to look around, searching for each of her allies, making sure they survived this rescue. When Meri finally rises, Quintessa lets go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding, struggling against her body’s protests to remain seated as she too pulls herself from the muck. Watching as the lycan leaves by herself, Quintessa slowly shuffles over to Jaxson, Lanlan, and Valrae, blood still dripping from her fingertips as she lays eyes upon the Red Witch, almost not believing their ordeal is over yet. There were many questions swirling around the young woman’s head, but the first one that came out was “Is she okay- will she recover?” to no one in particular. With that question answered Quintessa feels another wave of relief wash over her, one that allows her to finally yield to the fatigue that was threatening to overwhelm her. With one final look over Valrae, the changeling seems satisfied with leaving her in Jaxson’s hands, saying quietly to herself. “The debt has been repaid,” before following Lanlan out of the tent to stand next to him. “Take me back home too.” She weakly says in jest to the archmage.

Mahri's still there, probably finding space to lie next to Val and give over her own body heat to keep the woman whom they'd all somehow managed to be gathered to find. Silvery eyes peer between Jaxson and Tessa until the latter walks out by Lanlan. Huffing a sigh, the wolf rests her chin in her paws, perhaps suggesting it would be a good idea to stay a bit, rest up and let Val regain some strength before leaving. It's a long treck back unless Jax had some secret portal. Mah could also reach out to the ice dragon she'd bonded with years ago, fly them all out. She'd just wait and see for now.

Mahri snorts at Hawkwood as if to say, "Yeah, whatever."

Valrae || With the madness passed, Hawkwood decided now was as good a time as any to step back from Meri. She apparently thought the same though, and he was pushed squarely off of her before he could move. In his wolf form he huffed, it might have been a laugh. He shifted back to his human form quickly, standing naked as the day he was born in the muck and snow. His hands found his hips as he looked around the ruined area. His golden eyes stopped on the crumpled form of the Mayor and he nodded approvingly. “Seems to have gone well.” His eye was black, his cheek busted and blood ran from a deep cut under his left rib cage. It was already healing though, like the blisters the witch’s spells had inflicted upon him. The lycan limped just a bit as he crossed to where his long coat had been discarded. It was covered in all manner of grime but he put it on regardless. “Handle yourself well, Blondie.” He called to a retreating Meri, a twinkle in his golden eyes. They found Mahri just as easily. He swipes a hand over his mouth. “How’d I miss that I was standing with not one but two battle-ready wolves?” Was he flirting or muttering to himself? Hard to tell, really. He lopes over to the remaining members of their impromptu rescue team. None of them seemed quite so pleased as he did, which baffled him. “Unhappy rescuers, you lot.” But he pulls out a cigarette and a small magical talisman. “Portals for anyone ready to get home in a hurry,” He says as he cracks it between his thumb and finger. There was a release of magic, and then the whirl of a blue portal that would transport them back to Cenril’s mayoral estate. “Oh, Hector said there was some gold waiting for you there too.” While Valrae was beyond the waking world, her hand still managed to brush at the chilled fur of Mahri when she nudged her, and the witch sighed as if she were having a peaceful dream. With that, Hawkwood would leave Valrae to Jaxson and step through the portal to home.

Jaxson trusts in Lan's assessment of the situation with Valrae, a growing kind of understanding between the two in the ever growing encounters they find themselves paired together in forging a kind of trust. And as everyone else seems relatively fit to handle themselves, the Captain of the Guard scoops up the Red Witch as delicately as possible. She'd probably, in her magically induced slumber, mentally know this feeling from the many times the man took a tipsy witch home when she stayed up too late with her friends or worked herself into a coma in her office and passed out. Still, it seems a portal is opened back home, and the man would take the Mayor to be seen by the best healers, looking over hsi shoulder to say to Lanlan. "I hope you come too, I'd trust your insight with this matter, to make sure things go well." The both know magic, and they know sometimes things can go awry, but with war looming on the horizon, Valrae's recovery is paramount. "Please." Adds the noble to the other noble, a rare gesture between their lot. And knowing the Archmage would probably have checked on her anyways, the sorcerer takes Valrae home, making sure little Finn would not see his mother in this condition, the little man would be informed after his mother was seen too. Hector on the other hand would be a stop the captain would not be able to avoid.

Mahri watches everyone make their way back home, but she's exhausted. Between the small bit of healing she was able to do and controlling those vines, she needs to rest. The wolf closes her eyes with a chuff and falls asleep until morning. Then, she'll gather what remains of her clothes and other personal items and tie them in a bundle to carry back to Rynvale.

Lanlan is more than prepared to find his own way home, just as he’d found his own way here. Then he could nurse his wounds both physical and spiritual in secret, and none would ever glimpse his weakness. “I’m happy to see you, Quintessa,” he says, putting off her request for passage home in much the same way he did with Jaxson for Valrae. But then the stranger makes one for them, for all of them, and Jaxson personally requests his presence. “Of course. I’ll see this through to the end. Though I have my doubts I’ll be able to help in revivifying her, the type of magic that was done in that tent…” He stifles a shudder. “I’m afraid the person best equipped to undo it is asleep.” Still, he makes use of Hawkwood’s portal and regroups with the rest of them at Valrae’s manor.