RP:Retribution

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: Valrae and her rebel cohorts launch a daring plan against Larket and its witch-killer Eirik. The whole city stands on-edge, and violence nearly erupts between the two sides. But for Kahran, any opportunity to sow the seeds of chaos is a good one, and there's no riper place for it than the conflicted kingdom of Larket. A legion emerges from the mysterious Shadow Plane, and all at once, Larket is a slaughterhouse. Eirik rallies Larket to arms whilst several others -- among them, Kreekitaka, Gilwen, Callum, Meri, Raevyn (Nasada), Ansel, Cadence, Krice and Artia -- do everything in their power to help save the day. Ailill spots brothers from his own lycan pack within Kahran's legion and also stands against this madness. The situation is made only more complicated with the arrival of Chisel, working under Kahran's sway to dispatch her terrifying flora giants to the battle.

Kahran appears in spectral form as a fire starts to spread throughout Larket. His forces kill the camp's torturers and save their witch prisoners, and he speaks directly to Valrae for all to hear. This startles many combatants into questioning Valrae's true allegiance whilst serving only to steel Eirik's resolve against her. Valrae, torn between the words she's hearing, the helpful things she sees Kahran doing, and the oblivion she watches his legion spread, finally snaps. Retribution is on her mind, and she won't stop until she has it. Her companions perish in the fighting, but her strong magic combines with her even stronger feelings to leave Eirik crippled by an immense wave of sudden empathy for all the dark deeds he has done against the witches. Nevertheless, Eirik's rallied forces and their many heroic allies are successful in preventing the total destruction of the city, and Valrae herself is captured. Kahran retreats, boasting that he's brought the fear and chaos to the city that he'd intended. There's no denying Larket is left in a terrible state for it all, but perhaps he only truly retreated in the wake of such a rallied defense.

PHASE 1: THE RAZOR'S EDGE

Lionel | Larket’s fortunes have turned. Not long ago, it had been reborn as a thriving city-state under the shady guidance of King Macon and the complicated Queen Josleen. Its military boasted might enough to repel Frostmawian forces at the pivotal Battle for the Bridge and its economy kept the merchants’ imports flowing. But now, King Macon may be dead. Queen Josleen has been imprisoned. And the citizenry can only brace for what comes next as they scurry about their business, heads down and mouths sealed, focusing on the doldrums of day-to-day affairs rather than taking a hard, honest look at the big picture: a fog of uncertainty has seized their home. Among them, many still fear witches and buy into the propaganda: that they are wicked, and not to be trusted, and it is for the good of Larket that they be looked-after in the concentration camps. The screams that can now be overheard within the high walls of those camps? Surely, they’re a necessary evil.

Lionel | Others wonder, with no small agitation, whether the Resistance has had the right of it all along. Folks who have lived here all their lives, whose parents and grandparents called Larket their own, have begun to realize that their Larket is dead and no prior prosperity can make up for the crimes now committed here. Tonight, those witches’ screams seem all the louder, for the city streets are so quiet that the only other sounds are the shuffling of townsfolk feet and the marching of guardsman boots and the steady cawing of distant crows. “Who are you?” A torturer demands, within her private chamber at the barracks built into a camp. No matter the answer she receives, the witch’s torment will not cease. But the witch knows that some answers will go easier for her than others. She could say that she is no one, that she is scum, that she is cursed with a terrible affliction and that she bows before her betters. She could. She won’t. “My name is Torri,” she replies in defiance. “I am a person. I will not be…” Whatever else she might have said is cut short with an anguished cry as the torturer slams her gauntleted fist into Torri’s face. The screams continue. The townsfolk pull their hoods up over their faces against winter’s chill and the chills in their own thoughts. Larket is not what it once was. And whatever it may be in the days to come, tonight it will continue its course toward oblivion.

Gilwen hadn't visited Larket in over a year; Kelovath was still a prominent figure in the Kingdom, and the citizens had been infected with a plague. Last time, many were dying of sickness, or killed by fermin; this time, innocent people were condemned to harsh and brutal treatment due to misplaced fear. She grimaced with each pitched scream, begging voice, or tortured sobs that escaped the camps. How could the King and Queen allow this to happen? While she had been ignorant to the growing situation for months, the current state of things had been brought to her attention recently, and while she knew the likelihood of saving all those mistreated, perhaps she could bargain for one, as cruel as that might be.

Callum :: It’s difficult to eat your dinner when screams are filling the air just to the left of your house. It’s difficult, to bite into a bit of steak or maybe potato and think about all the work you’ve done to get where you are. It makes it even more difficult to think about whether or not promising an antidote to the Queen was the right thing to do. Sure, it’d be easy after the tests were run and the poison itself was determined. Sure, Josleen was innocent of -this- crime. But while she sat in that jail cell, rotting away, her--and Macon’s-- true crimes were being made known to all of Larket through the screams of those witches. It boiled his blood, the things Callum Rochester had to do to keep the income he so very much deserved, to keep Meri and her mobster job in the city safe, to allow them to live comfortably. It boiled his blood, and that anger that he’d been having trouble with lately rose and made itself known, much like the screams, but instead through the clatter of his fork and knife falling to his plate and the abrupt screeching of his chair as he stood up and pushed it back. He was done with this. How many times had he offered to help Valrae and her people? How many times had he said that she, or they, could take in either this house or the other that he kept in Sage Forest? Despite the fact that she took job he’d offered, she’d still seemed untrustworthy; friendly enough, but she’d kept her distance.

Callum :: Enough was enough, and he made sure to verbalize this to Meri as he walked away from the table to the hallway where his coat was hung up, grabbed the article of clothing, and headed out the door. Meri was free to come along with him, of course, but he’d damn himself to all seven hells and the wrath of Selene if he was just going to sit idle another night and try to sleep through this mess. He’d made his way close enough to the clearing where the labor camp was and survey what was going on, but remained far enough away to not get into it with any of the guards, furthering whatever sort of cover he could give himself in the darkness by pulling up the collar to his coat. Well, he -knew- what was going on, but he was damn well determined to do -something-.

Valrae | It was a good plan. A dangerous, bordering reckless plan that could go wrong in countless different ways and involved too many working parts and still... If it they could pull it off, it could be a brilliant plan. Valrae had kissed her husband goodbye and tried to pretend she didn't see the pain in his eyes when she asked him again if he remembered what was to come if this was the last time they'd place eyes on each other alive. The witch had taken her mount, head high as she pulled her crimson hood over the top of her golden head, and set Fury off at a thundering pace. It was agony to keep her dark eyes on the road ahead, to leave her heart and home alone.

Valrae | Outside of the labor camp, tucked far enough away into the surrounding forest that they wouldn't be spotted by any of the guard, a small group of rebels had gathered. Valrae slips from Fury and the hell stallion dissolves into the shadows. Tychus was standing in the middle of things, as usual, giving a bolstering speech to the rag-tag group of witches and pro-democracy rebels. He and a portly man to his left, a stonemason named Cassius, were wearing the guards uniform. Valrae waits for Ty to finish his braveheart moment behind the circled crowd. His finishing words were lost to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Finally, he breaks away and approaches her. His face is drawn, almost pained as he pulls her into his arms. When he pulls away he's still holding her by her arms. "You're ready?" He asks, low enough that only Cassius would hear. "It has to be you then?" Valrae nods, trying for a smile that was sure to seem more of a grimace. "We both know the answer," She teases. The three of them pretend not to hear the tremble in her voice. "C'mon, this will work. We've got a plan. We've got the element of surprise... And we're right." The witch put heavy emphasis on this last word, knowing it would rile Tychus. She needed his fire, his usual confidence and youthful optimism right now. Facing Eirik, the witches bane, and the camp where she'd left her people screaming was a difficult thing. As the trio broke away from the rest of the rebels, she felt fear sink in her heart like a heavy stone. But she walked. They took a long path out of the forest, walking until they were near a lesser guarded part of the path. There, Valrae pulled her hood farther down and Cassius bound her hands, loose enough that moving her wrists could easily allow her to free herself. With each footstep the wails of Torri and other witches grow louder and Valrae's heart shudders with each cry. And still, she walked. Tychus and Cassius pulled themselves up, pushing and herding her down the path as cruelly as they'd seen from the more zealous guardsmen. When they're near enough to the entrance of the camp, Ty grips Valrae's cloak between her shoulders and shakes her. "I've a witch here," He calls loudly. "Claims she's the one who killed the king," He shakes the witch again for emphasis. "Say's she'll only speak to Eirik."

Valrae | While the trio move down the camp path, the group of rebels move through the dying wood. As Valrae is being paraded in front of the gates they take positions near the felled tower and the wall that surrounds the barracks. They wait for a signal.

Meri knew when she moved here that Larket had a reputation building, but the state that it was currently in left Meri frowning. It's not that she had much sympathy for Macon or Josleen, it was the screams that could be heard from the camps that seemed so much louder than normal tonight. Needless to say, it made dinner tense and uncomfortable and Meri was wondering if Callum was feeling the same way. Wondering and just about to vocalize these sentiments to Callum when he beats her to it. He was not okay, he was going to do something about it. He. Callum Rochester. Was going to do something about it. Talking Callum out of this was not something that Meri was going to do, she sure the heck was going to follow after him. As if she would knowingly let Callum waltz head first into a dangerous situation while she sat around and ate dinner. There was some amount fussing before he was allowed to leave, something about wait a second for me, let me grab my sword. I mean who just has their sword sitting next to them during dinner? Probably Eirik, but not Meri. Either way, Meri would only be seconds behind Callum. Together they would survey and watch and...was that Valrae being paraded in front of the gates right now? A look goes Callum's direction. Do they jump in and do something? Probably not yet…

Ailill had accompanied the wolves, the pack that was nurtured by Eirik into the wee hours of the morning, only once his need to eat had been sated by a full belly did the young white leave off and trail to his own once more. He ached, and was still likely to be worthless in anything more than the most brief of dust-ups, yet the young lycan trekked far and wide until his paws lead him home; almost. No matter how much he tried, he could not compell those paws to lead him north of the city, could not fight the voices that kept him from home, or the nightmare that remained there. Thus, he had shifted ifonly to find himself stranded in the dark abyss of hazy shapes outlined only by darker or lighter spaces. It took the youth near an hour to dress himself and that meant the meager things he'd used were rather haphazardly worn and decidedly varied in fitment. Several hours later and he had managed to grasp a broken long-pike and begun using it albeit rather poorly to navigate the stench and the screams that filled a city which in his youth had been far brighter. The sounds and smells made him edgy and there was no real missing the blonde youth in tattered rags, carrying a broken pike with an angry punk scar slashing across now gray-cast blue eyes. He could shift back, no doubt, but as a pony sized wolf or his hybrid, he wasnt sure of the reception he would gain. The witches, he heard more than he should have about them as the hours stretched by and despite his own agony at losing his sight Ailill felt a pang of sympathy for the beings in these camps. Unexpectedly his meandering has wound him back near Eirik and that pack, the scents were noted but it is the bump; the pushing of his form gently out of the way of Valrae and her compatriots draws his attention. The sound of a pounding heart, rather several was audible to him. Ailill could feel the tension, and in this moment even blind, he could smell the lie before him as it played out. More beating hearts arrived, the thrum was steadier, but this one, Callum oozed decorum and all the same, rage. His accompaniment was more of that fearful tension. This much fear was setting the wolf further to the edge, and he winced as the beast broiled beneath his light flesh, the pike halft creaked in his hands as they clenched, another Scream beating at the chains holding the animal... This seemed wrong to him…

Eirik is not in Lycan form, and slips into his tent where he continues to go about his work. Ailill is free to do as he pleases. Sigrid and Bjorn stay nearby the boy. However, the berserker finds his attention yanked from a journal at the announcement of the King-Slayers capture - who merely waits at the gates. Truthfully his investigations had not gathered much. A brow lofts at the concept of this killer being handed over so easily. The Berserker dismisses the guard who had brought him the news with the wave of his hand - a single glance extends to Brynna and Henry who are nearby. Could it really be so easy? Would this killer just fall into their laps? And why would she only to speak with him? The duo mentioned are members of the Steel Collective. The former a healer and the latter a warrior under Eiriks tutelage; if such a thing were possible. "Let's go see what we have." The Northman stands and exits his tent, whilst Brynna and Henry follow in kind. The Lycan finds the gate in only a matter of minutes, and by extension, sight of Tychus and his prize. A single digit extends to point at the witch while he speaks. "I am Eirik." His scowl only attempts to discern Valraes identity, but can only focus on how that red cloak seems familiar. "Take her into the camp. We can speak there." Larketians finest, would escort Tychus into the compound, where Eiriks tent had been set up. If Tychus refused, they would escort her themselves. "If you're seeking a reward," the Northmans attention moves to Ty, "You will have to take that up with Roald, after we've been able to prove your claims." Truthfully, Eirik had no idea if one had even been offered for the capture of Macons 'Killer'. Without further word, Eirik turns on foot to head into the camp, presumably to follow Valrae and the guards.

Nasada :: Raevyn wasn't lost tonight, for once. After that strange ordeal in Chartsend, she thought it better to stick closer to home and partake in only two things: Study, and getting to know the local area she traverses so often. The western sector of Larket was a place that Raevyn had yet to explore, her only path often being that main road that lead her north to the Ranch she first called home just two years ago. As she happened upon the trail to the camp, she spied a bit of a solemn crowd, soon growing curious as to what the commotion was about. It was the sounds of screaming echoing out that caused the young woman concern; And so she merged with the body of citizens, slowly pushing forward amongst the gathered until she could better see the gates beyond. From here she watched as a woman, Valrae, was lead to the barrier separating a kingdom from its 'peasants', her interest in the matter only growing. Draped in ebon from head to toe and using her newly aquired malachite scythe as something to lean against, Raevyn asks aloud to whomever would listen, "What is going on?"

Ansel might have earned the terrible father award as he left his two boys at a sleepover with the Rooman brothers, but tensions were high lately. The returning man was curious to make sense of Josleen’s city. He had heard the rumors, and Ansel had attracted his way back to the drama after being away for two years. The drama turning into dominance, the wolf had disagreed with the way the witches were treated in the concentration camps: a Queen who Ansel once been fond of was now a nightmare? The whispers were true. The screams made the healer ill with the sound of torture reverberating in the background. Although his disappearance would have made no impact, he could not help but feel shame for the witch and warlock community – maybe some were evil, but all of them? The man finds himself nearing the camp with twitches in his hands; shrills increasing volume in the wolf’s ears. The man intently listening to the horror beyond the gates, he tries to play as cool as possible now noticing Valrae approaching the gates. Another witch? It would not end. With his magical abilities, he could end up just like Torri, bashed and thrown in the camp with the others, or Valrae.

Cadence :: It had been quite some time since Cadence last set foot in Larket. With Queen Thea gone, Enchantment was vulnerable. Secure, for now… But, vulnerable. The uncertainty of Enchantment’s future weighed heavily on Cadence, for quite some time. For weeks she allowed fear to creep into her heart, naivety playing on her insecurities. “Someone will soon lead us through these tough times. We must be patient.” She’d tell herself, deep down knowing it was a fool’s dream. she could no longer sit back and hide amongst the trees praying for someone to take the lead, hoping that her family and friends would have nothing to worry about. The pixie had to figure out what to do, not only for herself but for her people. With no acting queen, relations with the other cities were ----. That would be a good place to start. If she were to somehow restore Enchantments previous alliances, maybe it would be a step in the right direction. This lead the pixie to set her sights on Larket. The two lands were once allied, but silence between them was longstanding at this point. Cadence had met with a council of elder pixies, and with their blessing made way to Larket. As she approached the city, before the screams were even audible something felt -off-… The array of colorful butterflies that always nested in her long black hair even fluttered off. This didn’t bode well—and that sound… That awful sound. Screams? What was going on in Larket? The pixie questioned, fear creeping its way back into her chest. She shook it off though, this wasn’t about her… This was for her people… But, maybe Larket’s people were the ones needing help.

Artia and her cursed daughter appears walking during their casual nightly stroll or so Ava called that as an excuse to follow her mother. The once months old child now a beautiful sixteen with long back curls of hair bouncing at shoulder length, one grey and one blue eye. The child looking like a complete mix of Odhranos and Artia, looking at this that gathered seeming something was a foot. Artia felt something a going on hence rushing back to Larket, looking to Ava, “Go home, lock the doors do not low. The door, stay in your room. Do not come out unless certain people you know who I speak of cone for you.” Placing her plump ruby lips to Ava forehead sending the child running home, what ever was going on here, Ava did not need to witness. Artia protected her innocence as much as possible. Arti a was fearless, easily to rage if she wanted too, but with Ava around she had to remain calm. Walking into the ground to stand beside Eirik, cyan blues scanning the groups. Each scream echo into her true roots, a witch. Something she denied herself of being, keeping a stern face on. But inside her human side, her witch side was screaming to her to help them. Save them, they are your true self, this is not you. You are not this, clenching her teeth she ignored the inner voice. She loved her daughter, if she continued her old roots she would lose the new her. The less vulnerable, the less used for her gift, used just like Draiman and a few others used her. She wanted the told her to die, she was reborn as a vampire. She advanced to a rare gift of nercobotany, but inside her remaining humanity cried for her to use her new gift yo free those captured in a camp. Pushing the humanity side of her away as she growled to herself no others, the other witch's always snub there nose at her since she was a born witch. A powerful witch but two other witch's Talyara and Lanara who she would fight to her last bit of strength to protect above other witch's. The other witch's to her had what they had coming for ignoring her and treating her like dirt. No matter how many curses the others placed on artia to laugh with the other would find they weren't strong enough. Closing her eyes for a moment to collect herself, center herself in the now. She saw Irenic new bride, being paraded along. With head held high, the former savior of Larket. saved it from the diseases, the fermin, helped lead a war band against the fermin. In which Macon had drove crazy to get them to follow him, he was the reason the once Larket Apothecrary and Council lady did not advance to the throne or did the innocent kelovath. Artia was at the point of enough, papers were ready, scrolls were ready to be mailed the next morning if she switched sides. At this point seeing how Larket was doing with the traitor Macon being King, was the breaking point. Another close of her eyes, she didn't give a sh*t anymore. No matter what happened to her she knew Ava be safe having made the pack with Larewen and other secret deals to assure a plan a, and a b. As she walked along the gates her hand grazed them, placing a summon black fog sparkling with acid. If she decided the gates would melt into dust freeing the witches. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, as the guard tried to stop her, she grabbed him by the throat making him look into her vampire eyes of cyan blue with expanding gold. “Do I look like a witch? I am here for my brother Eirik.” If he didn't let her in, slowly she would drain his lifeforce to make his sight blurry so she could pass in

Artia going directly to finding Eirik. A sneer on her lips, determined to now raise he'll, and enjoy every part of it. She couldn't let Item of suffer, like she suffered when she thought him dead. She knew her actions might cost her her brother now. But she knew what was right, Macon should not been on the crown. It should been her or Kelovath. If Macon doesn't die tonight, he will later, even if meant losing her friendship with josleen. People were suffering, she couldn't let it continue. Soon she will arrive in same room with Eririk while the gates begin melting by the acid she placed there. None would know it was her melting the gates to free the witch's from the camp, As she was here with Eirik.

PHASE 2: THE BRAVE AND THE BOLD

Lionel | The legion gathers. A few hundred strong, with armored orcs and powerful lycans at the vanguard and towering club-wielding trolls behind them. A small number of drow mages has taken formation at the center behind the trolls, clad in black robes slashed with silver and decorated with the sigils of forgotten or forsaken houses. Past the drow are the slaad, great toad-like vaguely anthropomorphic beasts with poisonous tongues and claws as sharp as steel. And behind the slaad, a pair of beings so grotesque that even hardened warriors will fight the urge to faint in their presence. Their slender humanoid forms are made up of maggots and worms. There is no flesh, only insects. Their whole bodies are always writhing with the motions of these things which have built them up from mere skeletons and into abominations. Yet powerful arcane magics have come together in their making, enabling them with an unearthly resilience and terrible strength. They oversee their small army with sickening red orbs where eyes ought to be. The Worms That Walk, they’re called, for no other description seems possible. They hiss like wraiths and lift their black blades forward, signaling their charges to ready themselves for a spell. Nervous orcs glance about at their surroundings as the spell starts. Here in the Shadow Plane, bizarre and ethereal approximations reflect Lithrydel and beyond. At the Shadow Plane’s image of Larket, only ruins stand, tall and jagged and somehow moaning. It seems… fitting. The spell concludes and the army and their monstrous commanders all emerge on the other side, upon the main thoroughfare of the ‘real’ Larket, where downcast denizens suddenly have a great deal more to worry about.

Lionel | Anyone closeby is cut down at once. The orcs squeal with excitement, letting the bloodlust guide them as they steal hunks of meat from their victims. The lycans might know bloodlust better than any orc, and they’re eager to prove it. A mother frantically shoves her young son down a nearby alley which serves as shortcut to their home. The mother is easy prey to a slaad’s long venomous tongue, where she will experience a slow and agonizing death. Her only solace is the grim knowledge that her son’s fate is at least faster; he’s brought down with a troll’s club to the back of his head. The legion scatters, breaching the walls of shops and inns and houses on this street and those closest by. The Worms That Walk raise their blades again; this time, their direction points to the camps. Within those camps, the screaming stops as beatings are cut short by the murderous sounds of vile creatures slaughtering the innocent in the city proper. And now those torturers will have a taste of the pain they’ve so dutifully inflicted. A smattering of trolls and slaad take off in gallops and leaps, tearing down the camps’ walls with their crude weaponry and cruder teeth. A few of the slaad even jump directly over those walls, landing on ill-fated guards and devouring them. Their mouths seem to smile for it. Once the trolls are through, they pursue the captors and set fire to the camps. Drow step through opened gates, unchaining witches wherever they go. They offer no explanation -- only freedom.

Gilwen was in the habit of taking what she needed and dealing with the consequences later, and it was for that reason alone she approached the internment camp in time to witness Valrae turn herself over to Eirik. Was this the reason Pilar hated him? Was the rumor of his brutal killing of a witch actually truthful? She watched and waited, working through the pros and cons that would come with storming into the camp... and then, what? And then Artia was there, demanding entrance to the camp, threatening the life of a soldier stationed at the gates... Was it truly that simple? Minutes, or maybe seconds, later, the screams of the witches that had peppered the air were suddenly joined by the uncanny sounds of a massacre. So consumed by a daydreamed attempt to rescue witches, she hadn't realized the sudden presence of the horde of creatures that spilled forth from the Shadow Plane, and her reverie had only been broken by a brutish troll's club battering down the walls of the camp. Perhaps she had been just out of sight of the Slaad when they came to assist their comrades with the breach, or perhaps they, too, had been so consumed by the idea of destruction that they hadn't noticed the elf. This was good though- this allowed her duck inside the camp, armed with nothing more than a long bladed dagger, to ensure that those prisoners inside, at least the ones Gilwen could get to, could be protected from the legion of creatures. Their true intentions weren't known to the elf, and considering the slaughtering of innocent residents happening a little further into the city, it could have only been assumed that each witch here was marked for death as well. When none of the witches were murdered however, and instead released from their bonds, Gilwen found herself at an impasse. Was she to help the drow release the witches, or was she to attempt to offer protection to them from the creatures who offered them freedom, but cut down the other citizens of Larket. She hesitated a moment longer before sprinting from the camp to battle those from the shadow realm who sought to cut down innocent people.

Callum :: There was a witch? And she killed the King? Callum fought off the urge to venture further as he saw Valrae being pulled to the middle of the camp, and Eirik called for. Cal wasn’t a stupid man; it didn’t take much for him to put two and two together now: Valrae took that job so she could kill Macon. With the very herbs that Cal himself grew with sweat, blood, tears, and even a little piece of his soul. That rage of his grew, but still he didn’t move to do anything else just yet, the bitter taste of betrayal on his tongue serving to keep him firmly rooted in place for the moment. But then the rebels showed up, laying in wait for whatever Valrae might’ve had planned. And then the Fire Nation attacked. Okay, that’s a lie. This was worse than that. The same sort of legion that had attacked Cenril, and was stopped in Chartsend, was here now and there was only one person’s whose name he felt was appropriate to curse, “Goddamn it, Lionel.” The storm mage sighed heavily, taking off towards where that child had been shoved, a barrier of lightning (that looked seemingly like a net) summoned up between him, Meri and anyone else. “Come on!” was said to Meri before he got too far, though perhaps he didn’t even need to say that.

Callum :: Get to the kid, get to the witches, get the frak back home, lock the doors, and never come out again. That was the plan running through Cal’s head right now, but whether or not that plan would actually play out was a different question. Especially because he was dodging attacks left and right from all of these horrid creatures. If it was even possible for Cal to be any angrier right now, well… he was. He thought Lionel was dealing with this. He thought he knew how to take care of it. One battle wasn’t enough to beat this and Cal should’ve known that but damn if he hadn’t been hopeful. The raven-haired Catalian finally made it to that damned kid, his mother now lost to the horde, but it was soon discovered that the child met an equally worse fate. The lightning barrier soon disappeared and a bolt of the very same energy sent to the nearest slaad. Callum Rochester had finally hit his breaking point and now he unleashed electric hell on Kahran’s forces instead of trying to protect against them, his path leading him towards where Valrae had been taken.

Valrae | The world seems to move too quickly for Valrae under her hood. Unaware of the crowd that's been drawn, she's lead into the camp with her heart pounding in her throat. Tychus is suddenly summoned away from her before they've reached the center. Panic grips her. She is unaware of either Callum or Meri's presence outside the camp. She is unaware of Artia or the acid she's placed on the walls. Cassius is joined by another guard as they near the post and the witch can feel the plan unraveling under her feet. The other guard moves for her false bindings and Cassius makes noises of protest. Suddenly, the explosion Tychus meant for the entrance rocks the camp, just as Kahran's forces bleed into Larket. Valrae jerks away from the guard nearest her and shakes free of the rope around her wrists. Cassius uses the palm of his hand to make the bridge of the other guards nose disappear into his skull. Through the smoke and noise Valrae searches for Tychus. Kahran's forces flood into the camp and the claws of helplessness assault her chest. They were doomed. She's frozen, her mind stalled in disbelief, when Cassius shakes her. "They're freeing the witches!" He shouts at her before charging into battle.

Valrae | The rebels that had been lying in wait for Tychus and his signal had charged in from the forest, though some turned to flee at the sight of the slaad and trolls who fell the wall with relative ease. Those brave enough to face even this force charged forward still, dragging newly freed witches from the wall and sending them off into the night before joining the fight against the Larket guard. They fought with simple swords, some with whatever tools they'd used for working, and with curses flung from bloodied lips. Spell after spell falls from Valrae's own lips as her eyes search through the madness. Everything is slowed in the heat of battle. The sounds of war so loud around her that they fade, as if her head were plunged under water. The guard are fighting on two fronts now, as witches and rebels seek revenge or fight for freedom, uncaring of who or what might be behind this unexpected force of deliverance. The true enemy is clear. A guardsmen flies toward her, blade swinging, and Valrae lifts her arm and pushes her magic through the charmed shield bracelet on her wrist. His sword bounces on her shield of energy and she hurls a ball of cerulean fire into his chest. She leaves him screaming, charging farther into the battle to defend her people. Callum's lightning flashes in her peripherals but she assumes it's the work of another witch. A crone to her left, Mab is struck down by a guards blade.

Meri was entranced in what was going to happen to Valrae, especially now that she was speaking to another familiar face. Who....is still anti-witch, which comes as no major surprise to Meri. The psion's mind is turning over what it is they should do to interfere...Meri does not have the same knowledge of Valrae that Callum does at this moment, and even if she did...I mean, Macon...those witches. Thought discontinued lest Josleen take her 'safe by association' pass. None of it really mattered though. It takes Meri a second to realize it, but screams are coming from an entirely different direction now. Meri's blue eyes transfer away from Valrae and over her shoulder toward the commotion that increases in volume as the legion grows closer to her and Callum's current position. The raven-haired Catalian is just as aware as Meri is and is acting quickly, throwing up a net of electricity between the oncoming legion and Callumeri. That would only hold for so long though and Meri knew this. Cal's 'come on' was actually needed, because Meri's natural reaction would not have been to distance herself from the barrier but to hold her ground and put her blade to good use. Cal's 'come on' jerked her attention back to the male and her booted feet would soon carry her after him. Of course when the net would fail Meri would do her damnedest to fend off any attacks, if not with her sword then by putting that telekinetic ability to good use. Meri was not entirely sure what Cal's plan of action is but he is going to learn that his warrior woman is not going to be all that willing to run back to their home and lock the doors, hoping that it will all go away. But they weren't to that point yet, Meri would be there every step away to assist Cal with saving at least one of Larket's children....to no avail. It comes as a surprise to Meri when Cal actually attacks another living being but this is kind of not the time or the place to fret too much over the man who usually is a pacifist -- lest they both end up dead. Cal was off in the direction that they last saw Valrae and Meri was hot on his heels to try and keep him covered. And they would have their work cut out for them...there were plenty of beasties to encounter as they make their way from point a to point Valrae.

Ailill || Eoghan and Aodhan were giddy, still drunk on the bloodlust and the death brought on their own hands. This was a touch of their new 'partner' a taste of his power and the pair of lycans were enthralled with it. They churned with the army, battling with the Orcs for their own pound of flesh. Screams of prey, because now everything was prey, is what drive the pair. Blood soon coats clawed hands and furred bodies. Their hulking timber-hybrid forms tower between six and seven feet in height. A familiar scent seems lost to the blue-eyed demons as they rush through Larket. A former home, the pair deal death to anyone too slow to get clear with almost casual familiarity of the streets until splitting off; one towards the camp, the other towards an alley with promising screams of terror. He notes the Lightning wielder, and the blonde with him, a target which, upon a howl he calls those wolves still loyal to he and his brother towards. It's not many, four at most, but the bloodlust fuels these lycans, and now his brother seems intent to rejoin as a howl responds. Now these six lycans seem determined towards the pair embroiled in the thick of this fight, pushing towards them as a single blood-letting unit.

Ailill was still enthralled, at least upon the offset by the arrival of Eirik, and his ilk. It was almost a sad thing when his hopes at intervening or perhaps even distracting the commander soured as swiftly as they were raised. He seems inclined to step forward, even taking the first pace nearer the gated of this torture-filled camp if only to have the literal incarnation of hell break loose behind him. Blinded in this form, the screams and the stench of death and other things is what clues him in, perhaps too late as he is bowled over by one of the many faster drow. Cast into the grimy streets, blood and death permeate his senses, the clatter of the broken pike as it lands yards from him in the gutter forced his rage to snap. The young, blind human explodes into a violent spasm which rocked throughhim before his body erupts into a shuddering change which leaves an angry, pony-sized white wolf in it's wake. Blue eyes, seeing eyes turn to survey the turmoil and the young lycan's heart siezes with it, Aodhan is the one he spies first, his eldest brother, no doubt by the scent accompanied by Eoghan. But those blue eyes shift from the death his older brother deals to another helpless human, and his fear outweighs his common sense as he shudders there, staring in horror until the much older sibling picks his new targets. Callum and Meri. The howl calls to the youth and he is forced to fight against the call, but manages only to not obey before shifting into his own hybrid form. The wounds on his face and abdomen are more visible, more like recent wounds than simple angry red scars against the pristine white of his fur. He is shorter than his traitorous, murdering brethren, still growing and yet he charges forwards, a clawed hand and pivot across slick stone pavers allowing the lycan to nearly gut a over-balanced orc as he tried to close the distance between the pack he used to know, and the pair in their sights. A shout comes from his throat, mangled by vocal chords not quite meant for words, made deep and bellowing. " Hey, Black hair! Blondie! Get back!" He wouldn't reach them before the pack, but he would try, his wounds made him too slow still, too weak to take them all alone and he didn't care, his pack's legacy wouldn't be tainted this way, not if he could try and stop it.

Eirik is on his way back to the camps, following behind Valrae and a clutch of guards, not particularly in any room per se. Though any sign of Artia that he might find, fades away. He himself is almost knocked sober in the statement that Valrae -and- Kahrans forces have made! The explosion, and the sudden assault; it's enough to frustrate the Berserker! That damned witch would get what she deserved! Those that had performed her escort are overwhelmed in her surprise attack! Luckily, Roald is within earshot, and the Northman yells, "Roald! To arms! Help me defend Larket and its' citizens!" His attention abruptly shifts to an oncoming orc, who's blood thirsty nature would have the taste of flesh. It's cut down in an instant, fiery brand which has replaced his infamous Brann Forbruker, scythes through the belly of the beast. The sight of its' intestines spilling forth inward bile, and noxious fumes of blood and acid. The northman places his foot on the chest of the fallen beast, and skewers its neck with that flaming weapon; a gurgle of blood hisses against the searing heat. Again, he scans the scene looking for Valrae, but the chaos of battle obscures his vision! "Henry," Eirik points to the main pathway, "Gather what guards you can and form a line! Let none pass!" The healer, who stands nearby also looks to Eirik awaiting her own command. Though that freckled lass waits no longer, snagging a sword and shield from a nearby corpse. She might not be the best warrior, but she'd be damned to go without a fight. "Brynna, stay close to Henry!" Larkets witch-hater has suddenly turned into one of its’ defenders. For now, Eirik would let the guards take care of the minions, whilst he focused on witches who were trying to flee, hacking any down that he comes upon! Traitors. All of them! The first he finds, he remembers quite well! In fact, she had recently called Queen Josleen a bitch while they chatted at Pilars stall.

Eirik || Roald couldn't believe what was happening, thankfully he had listened to the Berserker! His eyes widen as Eirik shouts at him, twisting to meet the commotion of invaders. Shock is apparent upon his visage. Where did all of this come from? Is this what Eirik spoke of? "Infantry, form up!" In well-practiced unison they adhere to the call of their commander. "Sound the alarm!" Horns blare, sending a shockwave of noise through the great city of Larket. "For Larket!" He has no diplomatic speech to profess to the community. No words of grandiose to bolster the morale of his fellow combatants. In the heat of the moment, he can act or stand indecisively. And if he did not act, more would fall to the abrupt battle - to the carnage of this villain Kahran. Even to the witches who were, by now, showing the world even more reason to distrust them! It seemed some stood against Larketians and their laws, some were for it, while others simply ran. Roald begins to march his battalion into the epicenter of battle. He hoped it was enough to defend what lives they could. In truth, not all of Larkets guards had joined beneath Roalds banner. Some thought Eiriks description of Kahrans might, too far-fetched. Now they would all see it for themselves. They moved down the streets, attacking any beast folly enough to attempt at slaughter. Small squads entering single buildings to clear out, and extract any citizens they could! Arrows rain down nearby, sending a wake of iron tipped weapons into a clutch of Kahrans minions. Though they gave out death, they were also dealt such by the monstrous armies might. Some guards simply tossed through windows, as orcs leap out after them! Others become meals to the walking worm-men. Still others were caught in battle against the mighty Trolls of Kahrans forces, and swept aside by their massive clubs! Everything stands in chaos!

Nasada :: Raevyn could not catch a break. Twice in less than the span of a week, she would be thrust into chaos with the invading forced from the Shadow Realm. With the sound of screams and agony filling the air, this time much closer than behind the walls of the concentration camps, she whipped around to witness absolute carnage. She watched, helpless, as the forsaken armies oh Kahran began to decimate the quiet town of Larket, the grotesque manner in which people were dying causing the woman's heart to nearly stop beating. She watched as people scattered in all direction. She watched as the opposing forces clashed with those terrifying creatures. She watched as some strange man cast a rather intricate lightning spell to protect those nearest to him; And in tow a woman that looked extremely familiar. She blinked once, before both lids reached high for the heavens, the dead-blue of her gaze unshielded as the young necromancer found herself again in a state of shock. Blood speckled all across her pale features when when club of an orc crushed the skull of a hapless man to her left, and that seemed to be the action to finally snapped her out of it- Which was probably a good thing, seeing as the large brute was eyeing her next. Instinct kicked in and the necromancer lifted her palm as if to ask the creature to stop what it were about to do, when an apple-green bolt of flame erupted forth, striking the Orc in the chest. The beast lumbered back, loud gutteral screams of agony and the scent of burning flesh filling the immediate vicinity when the cloth of his armor ignited. Maybe that practice was finally paying off. Before the woman could celebrate, however, she suddenly found it quite difficult to breath. She turned then and spied one of those drow magii with his hand extended in her direction, fingers shaped as if her were grasping someone around the throat. As he moved toward her, Raevyn was pushed to the ground, sliding back toward the gates of the camp, all the while struggling with everything she had to break free of his psionic grasp. With the scythe still firm the grip of her left hand, Raevyn tried once more to send a bolt of fire at her attacker, only to watch as the mana fizzled against his stronger telekinetic shield. The girl's body stopped against the wall of the compound finally, and her face began to flush deep with purple while she continued to struggle. That maniacally grinning Drow would continue to walk toward her with the morbid intent of watching the life drain from her eyes.

Ansel has his own point-of-view and hears the sounds of orc and other lycan from a distance. The sound of feet stomping closer and closer. The wolf is stealthy and he moves behind a nearby tree in the dim lighting as he watched a familiar woman approach the gates of the camp. Artia? It had been years since he rested eyes on the woman. The boyish charm that Artia once knew had changed entirely. She might not recognize him, yet either way, the mob begins to form. He watches the burly creatures beat down the walls of the camp as others jumped over. It was a raid, and the wolf was ready to make his move behind the elf who enters through the gates with the long dagger – Gilwen (sorry about the personal space). He has nothing but himself – no weapons. No one would recognize if he had to bring out his “beast-mode” wolf form. He was there with healing hands in search for wounded witches that were yelping through cages or whatever laid beyond the gates. He was not sure whether the creatures were here to harm the witches or not, but he was there to also protect their kind. Ansel is running with adrenaline, but he has not spotted a clear victim – too much going on (amiright or amiright?).

Ansel | The wolf skids to a halt as he hears a whispering panic behind a barrier. “Help, help, help. I’m gonna die,” a girl with tattered, dusty, and knotted brown hair and a swollen cheek bone. Purple and yellow. Her body was thin and frail - Ambrie. Her eyes are tightly shut and she is grasping her hair in panic as if she has been defeated entirely. “You run, you run like mad and get out of here until you find the woods. As deep as you can go, tell as many as you come across.” Meaning the witches, of course. He wanted to find them later to aid them as much as he could. His eyes glow an amber hue and fingers tightly grip the barrier she is behind before he huffs and pulls backwards. “I’ll try my best to keep them off! Go!” His voice is growing husky due to the wolf crying to rage out, but he keeps his calm as he moves close by her. It takes her a couple breaths to move, but she goes, although a guard behind her with a sword. Ansel takes the leap to grasp the guardsman’s wrist and stops the almost-tragedy from occurring. Except the guard now turns on him, and he has to start his own little wrestle. At least until an orc comes and starts swinging towards the guard. Thank Sven. Ansel was not about the whole fight thing, and now Ambrie was trapped within the line of troops that Eirik was beginning to form. She begins to scatter backwards towards Ansel again with a couple of other witches nearby watching the horror go down. All of them might have been doomed, including Ansel.

Cadence found herself frozen with terror. Creatures from an unseen world had suddenly ravaged Larket! She wanted to run, she wanted to scream along with the rest of the civilians, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her eyes welled with tears, and for a moment she was a child again. A child, all alone, with no one to protect her. No mother or father to cry to, just the blood curdling death screams echoing around her. Her eyes fell to the ground, tears now streaming down her cheeks and falling to the ground, “T—this can’t be real, why? Why is this happening… Why did I--- Why did I come here!? No… No, it’s not real. It’s just a dream. Please… Please let me wake up from this nightmare…” The girl continued to babble incoherently for seconds that seemed like hours. Such sweet sorrow would not go unnoticed for long, though. The sweet sadness had caught the attention of a slaad, more than ready to taste her with that sickening tongue of theirs. it encroached on her, towering over the (currently) 5’2 woman. Cadence lifted her tear-filled eyes, her fate all but sealed. In the back of her head, the will of all living beings screamed at her, “Cadence, move!” and finally her will to live awakened, her hands shot out in front of her, commanding vines to rip through the ground and entangle the Slaad, just long enough for her to leap out of range; It’s tongue narrowly missing her. Her mind fell silent as instinct took over. The small woman leapt over the slaad, it’s claws just out of reach as what was once flesh was quickly being covered in fur, claws and fangs. The pixie had taken the form of a large obsidian wolf. Her claws collided with the ground, now firmly planted behind the Slaad. And just as quickly as she landed she lunged at it’s back, planting her fangs deep with the back of the Slaad’s neck. It’s vile fluids filling her muzzle as the monstrosity collapsed underneath her. The wolf ripped her fangs from its flesh, snapping fiercely again and again at it until its flesh was no more and its blood covered her muzzle and coated the ground around them. A bolstering howl filled the air from her, a call to arms. No longer would she run; There was never any room for fear on the battlefield, and no longer was there room for it in this pixie’s heart! She charged in swiftly dashing between the armored orcs and barely slipping through the trolls, using her large body to slam into some of the drow, interrupting their spells for just a moment. This would be useful to the others but now she was directly in contact with some of the most dangerous in the legion.

Artia had heard the new arrivals outside, by now the acid the vampire rubbed on the gates had set the gates to ash by now. Looking around she found a witch laying on the ground crying. “Run, the gates to the south have been melted. Spread the word, scatter as far as you can..as I will be hunting you later.” She knew her brother Eirik and her would be hunting them down again, but for now she could at least free them. With a growl the vampire was breaking through the ashen gates of the south. Using her vampire strength to launch herself upon one of the new arrivals killing innocents to dig her nails inside its neck, with a green light glowing and flooding into the orc until it lit up green. In return a gold light climbing th e ladder of green light quickly making the orc fall to his knees screaming out I pain as if someone pour molten lava upon its flesh. Once it was down, Artia stalked to the next Orc screaming to the once Larket Army that helped her fight the fermin army. “If you love Larket, which you sworn upon get everyone out of here!” She hoped they had still respect for her, she saved the innocent before from Macon during the fermin war working with nagas to save them. The vampire hoped to all hoped they would hope, she would get back up. Orc by orc Artia drained of its life, each dead Orc she called forth dead flora to become undead flora. Animating the now dead Orcs to her command of protecting Larket and its innocents. Soon undead fauna came into the seen attacking the orcs and drow alike. Whilst her own personal army was called upon Artia ran back inside in search of Valrae refusing still for Irenic to feel how she felt when she thought he died. He was finally happy, she would do her best to keep him that happy. A smile escaped her lips as she saw many of the witches running and escaping while her undead orcs and army protected those escaping. As she leaves the scene in search of Valrae, her now undead Orcs begin assaulting the enemy's trying to kill innocent. Some of the Larket Army remember Artia and begun fighting along her personal army. Exploding outside of the chai she was reborn into commanding. One of the orcs appears to defend those from Meri and Callum, bull rushing and striking fist to and fro. Attacking the lycan now intent on the duo.

Kreekitaka needed to speak with Josleen about… well, several things. The spa near the sinkhole, for starters. He hadn’t had the opportunity yet to resume construction, and he needed to get her permission to continue. He also, now that he was back in town, needed to find out why in the name of Hyu were so many people being tortured so close to town? Certainly, a good torturing was always good for morale in certain circumstances but never in a sustained fashion like this. It was lucky that he happened to be riding through town atop Vindicator at the precise moment when Kahran’s forces invaded. Paddles slammed together, jerking up and down flat, all at once—a loud curse in his native tongue—and drew his jawblade from its holster, arming himself as well with the skull of an armored fish that use used as a shield. The huge sea scorpion needed no encouragement—it remembered its enemies from before—and lurched into combat, foretalons lashing out and tearing an orc in two, while its trident-stinger jammed downward into a troll’s throat. Kreekitaka knew his mount had the fore covered, and so he focused on repelling attacks from the sides, smashing helmets and deflecting weapons. Over his shoulder, he gestured with his tails for the caster riding behind him to start a ritual—anything would do, at this stage. The uyeer hesitated for only a brief moment before beginning a storm dance. Rain would bog down their attackers while keeping their gills wet, allowing them to ditch their water tanks. It was a good move. It was also not doing a darn thing. No rain. Not even additional cloud cover. Just an uyeer making a fool of himself in the backseat of a battlescorpion while his king fought to save his life. The arrival of undead forces slamming into those of Kahran’s gave him only a bit of pause, but not much—as far as he was concerned, those monsters could be ripped apart as well. The pair surged forward, albeit slowly—an island atop a scorpion, indiscriminately slicing through the chaos.

Chisel ||| The guardian of the forest has returned! On normal days, the local dryad is a sight for sore eyes, the nightmares that she brings to children and adult alike made people hate her. She never harmed anyone… yet but as long as she has lived within the city, people have been protected from bandits and wild animals. The forest has guarded Larket for the few months she has lived there. Appearing by the Eternal Forest, the dryad walks past the guards who are too busy defending their posts. The beacon of light that she carries with her lantern made her easier to spot, catching the attention of most even though a number of them are trying to run home, hide within the safety of their walls. The city has been breached and monsters are pouring out from the Shadow Plane, she heard news about this, Cenril. She left for Frostmaw the following day to find more power and protect her lands from destruction such as this. The soldiers are gathering weapons and armor, readying themselves to charge to the enemy, to repel this invasion. She could feel the stress in the air, panicking, fear. It was so thick that one can actually see or smell it. The screams and shouting of the innocent, soldiers barking order or squirming in pain as the battle continues on. Sad eyes as she extends her wrist before her, breathing onto it as red mist began to fill her immediate vicinity, expanding further and further as it fills the air with calming scents, like roses or lilac. It wasn’t mist, it was pollen, soothing the nerves to allow soldiers to be more focused; to alleviate fear from the weak… perhaps. She then snaps her finger, the metals upon her marionette hands causes as spark which triggers a chain reaction, causing her surroundings to detonate, surging to wherever the mist have reached. Whoever gave her new powers… clearly has a use for it in mind. This in turn opens the northern pass; the scorched land that Chisel has made brought enough illumination to pierce the darkness by the Eternal Forest. Dozens upon dozens of Flora Giants came into light and began to walk toward the city.

Krice had been in Chartsend since his involvement in the battle north of that city, many days ago. Now, as the screech of a wyvern soared overhead with the beat of its wings carrying it away from Larket's own battle, the warrior slipped through the crowds, from street to street, and alley to alley. He was swift and pointed in his movements, seeking more discreet, stealthy kills to not only lessen the injuries he might sustain, but also to keep the victims of Kahran's attack as safe as possible. Moving along the flanks of the city, he raced toward the screams rippling out from the internment camp. He could see Valrae up ahead, a woman with whom he wasn't -too- familiar, and maybe she'd catch a glint of light flashing across silver before he was ahead of her and out of sight, a shadow silhouetted by firelight at the flanks and rears of the monsters - figurative and actual - slaughtering the other witches. He was in the middle of trying to figure out how best to scale that large wall around the concentration camp when an explosion did the work for him. It was both terrible and fortuitous. On his way toward the camp, Krice dispatched whoever stepped into his path, receiving superficial scratches and cuts for the sake of avoiding more troublesome injuries. He recognized some of the other fighters in the immediate and more distant areas, but opted not to engage them. His focus was on killing as many torturers as he could, whilst working his way in to save their victims and then ultimately escort them to as safe a location as possible without having to abandon the battle. Words of reassurance were spoken to them, hoping to bolster their morale so that they could at least escape on their own from then-on. Once the witches that he -could- help were out of immediate danger, the warrior moved through the crowds of fighting and dead to continue his assistance, cutting down foes with efficient attacks to their exposed throats, or vulnerable underbellies, compromising only where necessary. He helped where he could, moving outward from the centre of the battle to dispatch stragglers around the flanks on his way out.

PHASE 3: VALRAE'S VENGEANCE

Lionel | The bell of a great cathedral crashes down into the stone of ancient roads, crushing fleeing clergymen. Up at the top of the cathedral, the orcs responsible for slicing the bell’s rope leap inside the building from above, pouncing on terrified folk who had hoped to hide between pews. Through ornate stained glass windows, the massacre can be gleaned from outside. Down that same road, Larket’s premier emporium is suffering a similar fate. The gargantuan shell of some mythic snail, anchored upon a crab carapace just as colossal, is where Kreekitaka’s Fine Imports is headquartered. Its service personnel are being cut down like livestock as they flee, and a few of the drow spellcasters work together to summon a great wind which uproots the shell from the carapace. The shell, in turn, soars wildly through the city, tearing down residences which had only recently been reinforced in the wake of this year’s earthquake disaster, until it hits the ground and skids into the arena. Enough force is driven into the arena that the shell rips it open and continues along its course, finally coming to rest dead-center upon the sand. A crowd had gathered to watch a gladiatorial match; now the match has been cut short, the gladiators’ bodies a bloody pulp, and some among the crowd have joined them in the dying. Trolls with torches have sought hay bales and wooden houses with ruthless efficiency. Larket is beginning to go up in flame.

Lionel | The rallied guard, however, is doing well. As is Kreekitaka -- and Callum and Meri, and Cadence, and Ailill, and all the rest of them. Orcs are ambushed in alleyways, slaad are shot full of arrows, and more than a few of the torchbearer trolls have their own ankles cut out from under them before they can light their fires. Larketians have one natural advantage here: they know this city better than their foes could ever hope. The Worms That Walk, patrolling the city along tight paths and overwhelming any guards they find with slick movement and a masterful command of their black blades, watch many of the freed witches take the fight to Larket. The red orbs in their eye sockets gleam almost playfully at the sight of it. No action is taken against the witches, who have unwittingly made themselves allies of these dark creatures. But when the Worms come upon Eirik and Roald, espying them from the corner of a burning tower, they glide across the battleground and arrive before them on either side, clutching their blades with maggot-filled bony fingertips. They swing, and then they swing again, and with each passing swing, their level of technique seems to increase. Men duel monsters amid the shouts and anguished death rattles that have overtaken Larket.

Lionel | From somewhere deep within the Eternal Forest, the spectral image emerges of a black-robed man whose face is burned and disfigured. He meanders through this hell he has conspired to create, moving straight through his troops as well as his enemies. Whether he’s even really here, or this is some ghastly image of his person, Kahran’s footsteps can be heard. They seem to echo, loudly enough to match even the flames and the screams, from one corner of Larket to the next. When he speaks, his voice raspy yet somehow scholarly, his words are heard by all. “The gods are what we make of them, Valrae. Our god is vengeance. Our method: retribution. They abused you. Defiled you. Made you less than human. But you are more than human, more than they could ever hope to be. And now they go to the gods of their own making.”

Gilwen 's foes had a handicap; the elf had use of but one arm, and her ability to call forth the vegetation that would otherwise be at her beck and call refused to listen- instead of growing lush and strong, sentient and imbibed with righteousness and the need to fell Kahran's army, it withered and died away. The elf had sustained a few superficial wounds fighting off primarily drow (racism exists), and the slaad, but it was the realization that Kreekitaka and his giant eurypterid mount that distracted her from her next foe; the fear of the uyeer was real. Despite her current 'fight' mode, the sudden urge to flee, and the distraction born of a sudden bout of anxiety, gave a nearby orc time to swing his axe. It bit through her meager armor, and sliced neatly through her side. She felt the wound dealt to her, but adrenalin muted the immediate pain, and allowed her to pivot, lurch forward, and ram her blade through the orc's throat, skewering him through. He dropped his weapon and clawed at his throat while dark blood bubbled past his lips. A vicious twist of her dagger, and then a yank to free it, ensured that she was sprayed with the gore of her victim. And though she be but little, she is fierce. She chose in that moment to retreat towards the camp, cutting down enemies that provided an clean and easy defeat (those distracted with their own victims), or simply running past. While Eirik might be the monster Pilar said he was, he was the only person here that she had entrusted her life to; so it was he she ran for. She'd cut down Kahran's legion, sparing witches, until she could no longer fight.

Callum was nearly taken out by those wolves, but thanks to the heads up by Ailill and the help of Artia, he’d managed to grab Meri and drag her off away from where the lycans had left their mark. More enemies are electrocuted with Cal’s magic, temporary walls of water made here and there to help protect him, Meri, and anyone else in the vicinity that might need it. “Valrae!”, he shouted, trying to get her attention, hoping to get her to their side. He might’ve been pissed at her for stealing his plants, but he wasn’t going to let her just die to this mess. Hell, he needed her still as an assistant! “VAL--” His pleas to the witch are cut off as Kahran makes himself known to all, but especially the witch. This is the first the Catalian has seen of this man, but he recognized him from the whispers he’d heard in Cenril and through Meri’s own tale of the attack that had befallen the port town. This was the man who aided Catal’s demise. He may not have liked the people that lived in Catal--some of the nobility there was just as corrupt as the ones here; his own parents included--but it still had been his home. Without hesitation, lightning and small, but forceful walls of water are sent in Kahran’s direction, the storm mage hoping to Selene that it might actually do some damage while Kahran was clearly distracted by the blonde witch. Lionel hadn’t been able to deal with him, so maybe Cal actually could.

Valrae || Cassius is at Valrae's side, cutting down who he can with his limited swordsmanship skills and defending her from the brunt of the battle. The glimpse of light from Krice was fleeting and mistaken for the flash of magic. Was that Meri's face she'd caught a glimpse of? Callum too? Worry for her friends runs like ice water through her veins. She surges forward with Cas, trying to reach them as Cal calls for her. "I'm here!" She screams, but Eirik is regrouping the guards now, sending them after Valrae with renewed vigor and the pair are being overwhelmed and cut off. Cassius is brought down when a blade glances off of his own and lands squarely into the side of his head. The guards are on her like flies now, even in the midst of this war with Kahran's forces. Cassius's blood is warm on Valrae's face and a strangled cry escapes her. While she struggles to cast curse at one man, another is behind her. He snatches at her and manages to grab the hood of her cloak. She's wrenched back by it, the clasp at her throat digging painfully into her skin until it breaks. He releases it and charges for her again. The witch coughs, her curse dying on the forced exhale of her breath. The other guard charges forward and all three of them fall into the dirt. Valrae claws her way from between them but one of them manages to grab a hold of her by her braid. He jerks her back and she cries out. An orc, presumably a helpful one, swings his jagged blade down but he misses the man. He slices through Valrae's braid and she’s freed. She crawls through the dirt, away from the orc and the guard he was disemboweling, and she tries to stand again. Someone falls over her and a boot meets her temple. Her vision blurs and she can taste blood and dirt in her mouth. Jagged strands of golden hair fall into her eyes. Kahran's voice is echoing in her mind, the rest of the battle falling away. Something inside her heart starts to burn, the embers of rage awoken by Kahran's words. She stands.

Meri :: In the heat of battle, one thing that Meri is not going to respond to is 'blondie'. There is far too much going on for Meri to hear those words in particular and too many could fit that description. Case in point: Valrae. Both women were blonde, did you want with the one with the green eyes or the blue eyes? The one with the tats? Cal has apparently heard the warning though and grabs Meri by the arm just in time, yanking her into a protective barrier of water to shield them. Meri's own psionic abilities would work to support Callum's endeavor's. He was left to focus on the defensive strategy of keeping that wall up while she would telekinetically assault any being that was threatening them. Wolves. Worms. Orcs. Whatever. And then Kahran makes himself known. Cal may already have a decent idea of who this man is but Meri's reaction may further clue him in, there is a definite snag in her attention. Her blue eyes jerk straight for that voice...that was addressing Valrae? Meri's stomach turned. Initially Meri had thought that Valrae's presence at the camp and the attack had been nothing but timing....but Kahran was speaking to Valrae, so did the witch have something to do with this? All of this to save her witches? Would she? Meri hoped not but the thoughts began to consume her mind and a distracted psion is not a very useful one....and then the next thing she knows Cal is attack Kahran. Meri might have been feeling sick before, but now she is going to go pale with nervousness. The more logical part of Meri knows that probably she should follow this up with an attack of her own, because the more launched at Kahran the better? ....but logic is not winning out at this moment.

Ailill || Became aware of the white wolf with the screech of a dying orc and a bellowing laugh is what echose forth as he continues the path of destruction towards the Lightining mage, and his feminine compatriot, if only to find themselves thwarted, the chaos of the battle and some of their own, namingly an orc that goes hurtling past his frame to land in a heap on the cobblestone path with a scrape and a squelch. But Now the wolves and their Alpha's have turned to spy the young Ailill. " Baby Brother!!! Where is Eoghan's Gut-hook, you didn't lose it did you." There is a dual meaning there, a gleam in callous eyes of the hybrid timber and the other elder stalks up to his side. "Atta- - " Whatever command is shut off by the arrival of another orc body, launched rather unceremoniously by a Gigantic crab-island (Kreek made me say it.) to crush two of those wolves in question. Then Kahran is present and the wolves hold, uncertain for a time as they glare at the now outcast white lycan.

Ailill managed to warn them, thank the gods for small favors. Yet he was left to glare them down, at this point it was a bluff, and when he's aided by the strange creature from afar. The words of his older brother, as well the arrival of the other seem to bring pause in the rage-filled white. His body tremors, barely contained rabid-stupidity is there, just a few straining threads from breaking him into the pack his brothers corrupted and destroyed. This new arrival though, this 'commander' keeps them so close and yet, so far. To keep innocents safe though, Ailill remains in the way of his pack, holding the unsteady line between serenity and insanity; if only for a moment.

Eirik hisses as he spots Valrae, while ignoring Kahran, “Seize that witch!” His eyes furious over her escape, how could he have not realized that it was a ploy? And now she seemed to work -with- Kahran! As for Roald, he hacks at the living worm man, but to no avail! The weapon he had grabbed was not magical, and only seems to sever a few worms from within its formed body! Suddenly, Larkets loyal kingsgaurd finds himself cut open. A splattering of blood smears over a few of his nearby troops. His face goes white, pale in sudden realization. And then, he is devoured. A ghastly sight to behold! However, the guards at his side use oil and torches to light the mythical creature up. It wails in agonizing pain before it too, is char! Eirik finds himself in a similar confrontation, though quelling a rampant irritation in his mind! Damnit all! Witches and Kahran! Blast! The worm mans weapon, slams into his pauldron, slicing up bits of its leather and digging into his right shoulder. His longsword arm is suddenly useless and numb. He stifles back a cry of pain, and puts the Ice enchanted tomahawk to use. Each slash, sending waves of ice particles to freeze up his attacker, until, he renders the creature dead. A clutch of nearby guards dive after Valrae. Though Brynna, Eiriks healer, finds herself impaled on an Orcs blade during this attempt! She too, is another friendly lost to this battle. Henry, and others follow up on Eiriks command to capture! Valrae would only have moments before a plethora of guards amidst the chaos come down upon her. On the other hand, she too could easily spot the Berserker! Even Gilwen would find Eirik, just beyond a line of guards that had been formed behind him. Truthfully, he is a hard man to miss, killing Kahrans minions and screaming like a madman at particular witch.

Eirik | Larketian guards begin to swarm from all over the city, reacting to the attack from their respective patrolling and stations. The horns were enough to warn the city of impending doom, but much of the damage has already happened! They swarm Kahrans minions with their newfound allies. Their only mission? Survival. Destroy the threat, save Larkets sons and daughters. Protect the innocent. When a new threat emerges from the forests, they seek to put Chisel and the giants down with arrows, axes, and swords. Many fall to her initial attack, but many more are on their way! Even Mages from the Academy have finally arrived, throwing up magical barriers to protect citizens here or there. Tendrils of magic snake outwards, as many work in unison to counter the flames which begin to sprout all over the city. Many guards die, but Larket would not give in so easily. Clutches of citizens are saved from certain doom, while others are protected from it entirely. However, even an innocent child, watches as his own father is struck down by orcs. How could anyone be truly prepared for this assault?

Nasada :: Raevyn had no idea what had happened, exactly. One moment she were forced up against the wall of the compound while being strangled by the psionic will of a murderous drow, and the next she was free, gulping deep pockets of air after being denied it for so long. The drow that had been on the attack was laying upon the earth, an arrow sticking out of his skull. Lucky break. The first instinct for most at this point would be to run away and never look back. She wasn't a warrior. She wasn't a seasoned magii. She was just a girl thrust into a situation that she really didn't want to be in. Yet, even as she finally found her footing and hoisted that scythe onto her shoulders, the young necromancer found herself unable to move; And so, she stood, much like she had the battle prior, unable to do anything but watch while the world around her fell apart. It was the arrival of Kahran that caused a change in Raevyn's demeanor, if only briefly. Where once fear was wrought on her face, now lie an expression of admiration. Her lips curled in the corner, and those pallid eyes began to swim in inky black. Just like that fateful day in Xalious with the Shade Nightmare, something beneath the surface was lurking. The battle still waged on, and all around death and decay, yet Raevyn seemed lost to it all. There was something about this mysterious stranger that entranced her. When Kahran spoke, her gaze shifted to the one that he addressed, curious now what exactly she had to do with all of this.

Cadence froze as she heard the echoes of Kahran’s footsteps. Was he the one commanding this army? She was filled with a sense of dread, as if she could sense impending doom from the words he spoke. It made her fur stand on end and her legs tremble. What did that man have against Larket? Was he an ally to the witches? The ones who were being tortured behind the walls of that camp that once stood, now toppled? But if that were true, was he the evil here? The people of Larket stood by, listening to the wailing of those poor people right beside them… They did -nothing-. Even if the witches were evil, torture was an even crueler act… Even still! This legion of monstrosities killed man, woman, and child alike. No remorse, no regard for any innocence at all! They must be the bad ones… right? Cadence was utterly confused at this moment, her paws planted firmly in the ground as she awaited Kahran’s next move… Maybe, just maybe it might move her to action of her very own.

Kreekitaka saw the weapons bite into Gilwen’s side and flared his facial crushers in dismay. He felt like he’d seen her before, and he decided that he wasn’t going to see her killed today. As she started to disappear back into the crowd, he realized that Vindicator wasn’t going to get to her in time. He snapped a command to his caster—stop with the worthless rain dance and take control of Vindicator. With that, he charged back onto the scorpion’s tail and ordered the caster to aim for the spot where Gilwen was headed. Another command had that tail snap forward, launching Kree into the air towards her. He braced his jawblade and fired downward at an angle, the shockwave unleashing a deafening clap of thunder and accelerating him further, hurling him through his foes like a cannonball. It wasn’t until he’d landed and righted himself that he saw his beloved shop sail through the air and crash through multiple structures. His brain, at that point, short-circuited. Every cell of his body was consumed with white-hot rage all at once, which was made worse when Kahran began speaking. His claws reached for his belt and dumped the entirety of his potions into his tanks all at once. It took a moment, but soon silver fire began to erupt from his joints, and his body started slowly swelling in size, carapace darkening. “Kahran!” he bellowed, swinging his jawblade wide, ignoring any wounds he might receive as the potions healed them immediately. “Io syay you myseff, you TAH!own-murDAH!ering--” The following dialogue has been determined to be inappropriate for all audiences and has been removed. Poor Gilwen. The crab is scary enough as he is, and now he’s starting to hulk out while charging your direction and screaming profanities.

Chisel ||| Legions of flora giants emerged from the forest and continuously to flood the northern entrance. They are slow, lumbering beasts but their numbers are far too great to be matched with swords and arrows. Has anyone actually killed a plant with arrows? Any giants that have fallen would have easily been raised back; either growing parts back themselves or melding with other giants. They groaned and swing their powerful arms around, trying to swat away pests out of their way. While a number of them held the line, a couple was attacking homes and buildings. Placing their hands against these structures and watch as their roots and vines dig into the rock, causing walls to weaken and homes to crumble, these citizen has no place to hide, all they could do is run. As mages began to appear, bombarding her giants with spells and actually, effectively killing them, it was time to move on. For so long Chisel stood on her spot, motionless but one moment she vanished as if out of thin air. Then, another explosion… south west, Larket Gardens. The place where Chisel lived for months, a forest within the city walls. From there, Chisel’s second attack emerged, giants, fewer than the one from the north but still wrecking havoc. The explosion however was not aimed toward any civilians or military personnel; it was for the garden itself. The sealed off section of the garden was a place for dangerous plants, toxic, poisonous pollen began to mix into the night time breeze. Like Death’s breathe itself… She has done enough damage for the night. She didn’t want this, but it is a price for her to pay.

Krice spoke words of reassurance to the almost-victims that he rescued, hoping to bolster their morale so that they could at least escape on their own from then-on. Once the witches that he -could- help were out of immediate danger, the warrior moved through the crowds of fighting and dead to continue his assistance, cutting down foes with efficient attacks to their exposed throats, or vulnerable underbellies, compromising only where necessary. He supported the squads of guardsmen patrolling the streets, though even -he- couldn't save all of them. Some soldiers fell, a few screaming while others were killed before they hit the ground. Moving further away from the damaged concentration camp, Krice drew closer to the forest from whence a familiar shadowy figure emerged. As the warrior cut through the muscular, slimy neck of a slaad soldier, he advanced on Kahran, moving in for a tight swing of his katana through the man's--or the illusion of him--side. He was aware of the prospect of other fighters attacking the genocidal maniac and moved to ensure that neither he - nor they - got in each other's way.

Valrae || The fortunes of battle start to change. Valrae moves through the storm of movement and blood toward Eirik. Her dark eyes cast down to the twisted faces of witches and guards alike frozen in death. Her hope had only been to free her people. Now? With Kahran's voice still echoing in her mind, louder than the orchestra of war and death, she was coming for bitter vengeance. She was fighting for some sort of justice. A group of guards descend upon her and she raises her hand. A wall of flame erupts, it spreads in a circle around her, catching three not lucky enough to stop their forward motion as Brynna dies by the blade of an orc. Others charge toward her from all sides, held off by her wall of flame, and she swipes at the blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. The jagged ends of her hair fly around her, most of the mismatched ends shoulder length now, tossed in the gale of her power. There is a sudden stillness in her. Her eyes find Eirik at last, the witches bane. A sea of writhing bodies struggling for life parted between them. "I damn you!" She screams, as guards close in around her. "I curse you with your own humanity. I curse you by all the blood you've spilled. I curse you by the blood of my people. I damn you!" Her power rips from her, brings her to her knees. The curse, fueled by rage and an ocean of blood, grows so strong that it manifests itself in a blinding emerald light that hurdles straight toward Eirik's chest. With her magic drained, the fire snuffs out. The guards hesitate for only a second before they're on the witch. They push her into the blood and the dirt. They beat her, in battle lust and rage, until her consciousness starts fade. Only then do they begin dragging her away from the battle field.

Eirik has no time to react to the spell cast at him. Even if he did, there is nothing he could do to prepare for the onslaught of such workings. He finds himself in the stillness of his mind - the battle before him no longer even registers. Left hand clutches at his chest where he had taken her attack. Within a single heartbeat, memories flood his mind. He is helpless! A veritable torrent of anger, sorrow, regret and disgust fills him completely. He can’t come to grips with what is happening, filtering through all of the hard lessons that the witches here have suffered through. Every torturous deed he has committed flashes through him. He can feel all of their agonizing pain. Sense the damage his foul tempered nature has caused. Tears well up in Eiriks eyes as he drifts through all of their emotions. He can’t contain it. Even amidst the chaos of battle, the berserker cannot control what’s happening. His left hand drops the ice enchanted tomahawk, while his vision returns to Larket. Eyes seek to gaze upon the palm of his hand which is covered in a proverbial blood that no amount of scrubbing would ever remove. He starts to feel ill, sick with disgust over his actions. Mortified over the atrocities he has committed in the name of his self righteousness. Collapsing to his knees Eirik begins to mutter incoherently to himself - droplets of sorrow freely streaming down his scarred features. “I… Hanna.” The overgrown brute had become putty in the wake of Valraes empathy spell and wretches; spilling hot vomit to the ground before him. Meanwhile, those who followed Eiriks previous command, seek to drag Valrae off to the dungeons to stand trial. The rest of the guards and people seek to put the fires out and bring stability back to Larket. However, a few minutes pass and the Berserkers voice can be heard screaming in the wind. “Kahran!”

Eirik | While Chisel tactics have changed up, the military might continued to focus on the threat at hand. Kill Kahrans forces, defend what they could. More Orcs and trolls find themselves under assault from squadrons of defenders that have rallied this night. They continue to work in unison with those who have appeared to help defend, but it becomes apparent that more is on the way! After some begin coughing and spewing bile, it becomes apparent that another threat emerges from the gardens; toxic gases. More citizens, guardsmen and alike fall victim to this attack! Some affected more than others. Again the arcane casters seek to quell the threat in unison, placing what they can in a magic bubble of sorts, and calling forth a wind to sweep such disaster away.

Lionel | Whether burned or frozen, The Worms walk no more. Eirik and the guardsmen have proven the mettle of Larket and her allies. Without their commanders, the orcs seem abruptly fearful. Their attacks are less coordinated, and less frequent to boot, and the Larketian defense force pushes them back before they can reach the richest sectors of the city. Meanwhile, the fires ravaging buildings in the market and other districts continue to blaze, and some have only seconds to leave their livelihoods behind and flee into the night, praying they won’t be struck by the lycans and trolls whose aggression has only amplified in the wake of their masters’ defeat. Others are not so fortunate, choking to death on the billowing smoke or burning in agony.

Lionel | The spectral image of Kahran continues his leisurely stroll through the city, stepping through burning structures as if they were as immaterial as he appears to be. His voice booms anew: “I’ll be candid with you. I expected more. Where is the heralded King Macon? Where is Queen Josleen? He is dead and she is rotting in a dungeon cell. Your lethargy disgusts me. That you would disguise your weakness by torturing the gifted among you disgusts me even more. You’ve...” He pauses, awkwardly, as a burst of water passes straight through him. Kahran tilts his head, somewhat flustered. “Shouldn’t you be dead with the rest of your fallen nation, boy? Or did Lionel spare you so you can suffer the final fates of -two- realms?” The image materializes, only briefly, and in that brief moment Kahran’s wicked scythe severs the head off of some nearby man. “Ahem. As. I. Was. Saying. You’ve tasted fear. Now you understand your place. Now shall we leave you to your fates.” Kahran may have said this because he believes his point has been made. He might have said it because the defensive forces Eirik has rallied, combined with the vigor displayed by Kreekitaka, Callum, Meri, Cadence, Raevyn, Artia and Ailill, has proven tougher than he’d expected. He might have said it because Krice is charging toward him just as he concludes -- surely the flicker of amusement in his sky blue eyes at the sight of the warrior’s rush means something. Who can say? He turns his back to Krice, whose fabled katana cuts through his image to no avail. He ignores Eirik’s scream wholesale, as if it is beneath him entirely. If Eirik wants Kahran’s attention, he’s going to have to scream louder.

PHASE 4: THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

Lionel | On cue, Kahran’s surviving horde begins to disperse. Some rush toward the Eternal Forest, whilst others are siphoned up through the green magical tendrils of their teleportation spell, no doubt back to the Shadow Plane from whence they came. Larket is still aflame, although the fires can be put out far more rapidly now if the fighting should happen to stop. Will it stop? The kingdom and the rebels have come to open blows in the streets in the midst of this disaster. Larket was on the brink and breaking. Is it now broken? Time will tell.

Callum had been so wrapped up in his onslaught on Kahran’s spectral form that he almost didn’t register the explosion that came from the southwest end of Larket. There’s not much over there besides--oh. Oh no. No. Please don’t let it be the gardens. He went a little pale at the thought, but Kahran’s words pulled him back to reality, though there was a pang of sadness in his heart as he tried not to dwell on the possibility of his babies--the plants that is--being utterly decimated. Sadness shifted to anger and anger to hate as the storm mage glared at Kahran. And then he was gone, and his forces retreated, and Valrae had placed that curse upon Eirik. Some people--namely that lycan--had gotten what they deserved, but the rest of them were now getting ready to deal with the poison that seeped through the forest. A gust of air magic is summoned up, and sent towards the closest portion of poison. The rest of the poison and the fire, however, would be dealt with by rain itself as it started to fall from the heavens, though it would soon turn from a light drizzle and into a storm, mirroring Cal’s sentiments towards what had taken place and Kahran himself. It’d be some time before Callum and Meri went home; there were things to tend to here and then, well, he had some studying to do in the offensive magic department.

Cadence would stick around after this, ‘Kahran’ had vanished. He’d raised quite a few moral questions in her mind that she needed time to mull over, yet this wasn’t the time. Larket was up in flames and there were injured all over the city! Cadence poofed out of her wolf form, returning to a tiny yellow winged pixie, dashing around the city helping any injured in need of healing, as well as sprinkling a little pixie dust on the ones who simply needed rest. It wasn’t soon before the little pixie was pooped! As the fighting died down and the people worked together to put out the last of the fires Cadence took to one of the few trees that wasn’t destroyed (TREE KILLERS! ALL OF YOU!) to rest her little head. Much work would need to be done in the morning, but sleep was quite overdue.

Eirik finally finds the strength to stand on shaky legs. Valrae's spell still stuck to his mind like an obnoxious fume he couldn't fan away. He still -felt- everything. Henry ducks low to snatch his commanders' weapons, and then offers him help moving into the crowd of guards who seek to finish quelling what remains. There is a certain safety in numbers, and before long, Eirik and Henry were gone from sight. The northman had a feeling that things within himself, would change.

Gilwen's prowess over life and nature had completely altered for the worse since infiltrating Trist'oth, and knowing this, she didn't dare attempt to heal herself or those falling in battle around her. The simple fact that she was unable to rescue those in the grips of death gutted her, but she fought on. Slowly, death blows turned to major wounds, then into superficial ones, until finally she was forced on the defensive and could merely parry attacks. Exhaustion plagued her, and she stumbled under the ferocity of her opponents, escaping death by mere luck at this point. Were it not for Kreekitaka dispelling Kahran's forces, Gilwen, and many more Larketian soldiers, would be lost to the battle. And while the elf had reason to thank the crab, his rage born from the state of his store, and the consequent rampage he found himself on in the wake of the realization, caused Gilwen to almost faint from fright alone. Silly isnt it? She could cut down orcs, kill drow, steal from the first house of Trist'oth, but the one true phobia she shows signs of having is Kabourophobia. The world is strange. Perhaps if it were not for Valrae's attack on Eirik, and his response following, she could have succumbed to the fear. "Eirik!" She shrieked, expecting the worse to have befallen the beserker. Were those tears? As soon as he hit his knees, she darted forward, using herself to shield him from the attack of a slaad. As soon as its tongue lashed out, a careful slice of her bloodied blade severed the muscle in half, leaving the separated mass to wriggle in the dirt with the last twinges of its life. Her dagger was thrown in the moment following, point over hilt, and sunk into the right eye socket of the toad like creature. Before it could hit the ground, Gilwen had turned to help Eirik to his feet once more, to move to safety. Thankfully Henry is there as well, and the tiny elf moves off with them.

Nasada :: Raevyn seemed to return to her frail, uneasy self when Kahran vanished from the mortal plain. Whatever held her interest seemingly followed that exit. Now, she could only look on in horror at the leftover mess of the battle that had just plagued the town. Unlike Chartsend, this fight did not seem to end as well. From face to unfamiliar face she glanced, sorrow and heartbreak displayed as she watched civilians tend to their dead. If there was ever a positive in all of this, is that she herself, for the most part, had no family to worry for. The young necromancer cast her gaze to the north with a sigh, realizing that perhaps staying in the town of Larket was no longer a safe bet. She weighed heavily the option of returning to those dreaded woods on the outskirts of Vailkrin, where very few darked to roam, let alone armies of a shadow realm. It was perhaps at least safe, so far out of reach from society. yet she knew, deep down, that doing so would mean going back to a life of isolation and lonliness- Something she did not want. Raevyn drew her hood up and over her features as she pushed off of the outer wall of the camp, the scythe in grasp used as a makeshift walking stick to help guide her along the now bloodied streets of Larket. Perhaps she could actually pitch in and help those in need for the time being while she thought it over?

Krice suspected that his sword would hit only illusion, not the flesh and blood required to damage - or kill - Kahran. As the shadowy image flickered around his curved blade, the warrior grimaced in frustration but wasted no more time attempting to fell the evil creature. The eruption of magical fire from Valrae's conjuring drew his attention and he ran toward it, not to stop her but to dispatch any monsters or guardsmen drawn toward her by the release of power. He was delayed by a separate group of guardsmen who ran in front of him, trying to fight and flee from a handful of slaad soldiers. The enigma changed his direction to intercept, cutting at the legs of the leader of the frog-beasts to fell him in front of the rest. A couple of them stumbled over their fallen leader, but they were skilled in their own right and managed to get to their feet relatively quickly despite their size. Krice was ready to meet them all. Whatever Valrae's issue with Eirik, and whatever the Larketian guardsmen's intention with Valrae, it would all have to wait. The silver-haired warrior was busy with this troupe of frog-beasts, cutting until they were dispatched, and suffering the wound of a jagged blade to his right side, just above his hip. He grunted as he killed the final slaad creature and fell to a knee, huffing out a breath until he could rise just a few seconds later. With Kahran's forces spreading out and retreating, the warrior had to hope that someone else would get to Valrae, whilst he turned his attention to the escaping enemies. He would cut them down as he came upon them, killing to keep the other peripheral citizens of Larket safe.

Kreekitaka found himself losing enemies. Oh no. Not today. Not. Today. Gilwen was easier to get to, however, now that they were thinning out. And he could tell she was weakening. So he charged forward, shoulder-checking a troll out of the way, and reached out with a massive claw to scoop her up under his arm. When asked about this later, Kree would cite his battlerage as to precisely why his reasoning failed him. At present, he had two objectives: get to and protect the girl, and grab one of the enemies as he was teleporting out, so as to invade the shadow plane and continue his crusade. The thought that maybe diving into an even bigger pile of enemies in an unknown location was -not- the best way to take care of Gilwen didn’t even occur to him. If he managed to pick her up, he’d then charge sideways at an orc or troll, whatever was closest, reach out with a claw—and snap it closed a half-second too late. “Curses!” he raged, but by this point the enemy soldiers had seen what he was up to and were giving him a wide berth. He made a very… very strange noise at this failure, and locked up for a moment—then remembered his other objective and turned his attention to Gilwen. “Are you okay?” he asked, trying to settle down, despite the adrenaline and potions surging through his system.

Gilwen had expected to retreat with Eirik and Henry. But Kreekitaka clearly had other plans for her. She felt the strange sensation of his crustaceous arm curling around her waist, and she grunted in sharp pain due to the pressure against the freely bleeding wound at her side. Confusion marred her features, and though she hadn't time to truly register what was happening to her in that moment, she -did- understand that Kreekitaka was holding her after glancing over her shoulder. Her lithe figure was already experiencing the numbing effects of mental and physical exhaustion, and the pain of her multitude of wounds was no longer muted by adrenaline. So as soon as she realized the situation she found herself in, fear once more gripped her, and this time, she truly fainted.