RP:Rise of the Ossian Order

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

Part of the You Must Have Been Human Arc

Part of the The God of Undeath Arc

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Summary: The Celestial Celebration Ball arrives, and the gentry of Xalious descend upon the seemingly restores Xalious tree for an evening of fun and festivities. However, all is not as it seems, disatisfaction broils under the surface and after a over a thousand years in the shadows, the skeletons in the Guild's closets have come to life to reclaim their birthright.

The Xalious Tree

Karasu wears what is quickly becoming a resting face to match Veneficus Herzegler's own. After the recent discovery of apprentices being in danger, the demifeline had thrown a conniption to those superiors in charge of planning tonight's events, begging for the Celestial Celebration Ball to be cancelled. After excuse after excuse to keep the festivities going, it had occurred to her that at least someone, if not all, was a member of the subfaction hellbent on ruining the Guild's image. Having been unable to prove it or say anything, Karasu dropped the subject. The grassy knoll where this evening’s event is being held has transformed drastically from the war-torn state it was in just days before. The Xalious Tree looms over the area, a single white anemone flower blooming in the center of its charcoal trunk. The sapphire glow of arcane magic illuminates the area where the moonlight of Vaalane and Ahr’Nuk fail to reach. For those who stare at the tree long enough, there is just the faintest of white glimmers within the holy glow of the tree’s light. With Ahr’Nuk in its perigee, the twin moons shine bright enough that lanterns are unneeded; such decor would keep the attendees from being able to view the pearlescent glow of the stars between the moons. A large redwood platform extends over the area from where the street ends and the park begins to allow for easy access. Stairs at the furthest end, towards the tree itself, lead to a dais for speakers to address the crowd. Back towards the town well are a congregation of village residents who share Karasu's consternation, stopping anyone who cares to listen about how unethical it is for the Celestial Celebration to be held in a place where there was such a significant loss of life not even a week beforehand. To match what is apparently now her 'date's attire, she wears a simple black dress, slitted on both thighs to reveal plain black garter belts beneath. Though it cannot be seen in the moonlight, Karasu has her bladed daggers sheathed and attached to the belts, just in case. Her hair is pinned back in a sweeping bun, partially held back with a bronze and hematite scarab decoration. Hematite studs rest at the tips of her deep violet-brown leopard ears, which swivel around in anticipation for another figure. A black silk choker with a bronze molding of the Mage's Guild emblem rests against her clavicle, obscuring a dark discoloration on the back of her neck. From the discoloration, tendrils like veins reach up like fractals through the side of her jaw and stop just inches from her left eye. "Don't let your guard down." The Arcane Stewardess reminds her superior. Across the stage, Provost Kaaname Tsuji, having just returned from his stay at Larket to expedite the new Xalious-Larket Exchange Program between the two schools, greets his own students while maintaining his human disguise.

Magik arrives at Karasu's side. Dressing up was never his thing, even for his own wedding(s). He may have brushed his hair for tonight and put in some totes neat black shadow tunnels in his earlobes. That's all anyone gets. Veneficus D'Chath appears to be in a pleasant mood regardless. His boots are shined up just a tad to match his freshly purchased flat black leather pants with a simple belt. Those familiar to the Veneficus would recognize his signature white dress shirt tucked into his pant with the sleeves rolled up under a simple black vest. This black vest is just a little different though. The buttons are...gold! instead of silver. He speaks quietly to Karasu as a hand rests on the hilt of a dagger on his hip, "This doesn't feel right." A few students call out to the teacher and he offers each of them a wave, smile, and a compliment on their chosen attire for the evening while scanning those gathered for unfamiliar faces. Eventually he splits from Karasu to wander about on the search for something to munch on. Lanlan pushes the gilded door wide and plants one shiny black shoe onto the lower step of the carriage and going no further yet, reluctant to diminish himself by walking the same ground as these commonfolk. It's been a few days since this place was sacked by miscreants. Now the wreckage, the blood, the despair seems to be covered in a thick veil called 'festivity'. Thick, but as transparent as the water in the spring of vitality. Banned from the guild, and his secret identity found. Yet he'd never had more reason to be here. In truth there were two very compelling reasons. The first and most apparent, was that this was a public event, he needed to represent his people. And he did enthusiastically, expensively. Deep black over deep black. Velveteen breeches and cotton brocade. Ruby, stitched in designs that shimmered in the moonlight, swirled around his chest and back on the perfectly tailored dress clothes. They matched his eyes that scoured the people here, there was only one he needed to see. He was topped off with a black tricorn hat, pricked with everburning plumage plucked from a dying phoenix. Besides his fashion, manifested under the brilliant design of Hollow's most eminent seamstress, was a certain chip, nestled neatly just under the black fringe of his epaulets. He steps down deftly upon finding a likely spot for his quarry to hide, and taps a ruby topped adamantium cane against the golden onion. It pulls away.

Meri was cordially invited to this event and made the last minute decision to attend, if only to give herself a reason to get out of the house and abandon Fleur with Callum. This was a kid-free-mom-only night as far as Meri was concerned. Besides, curiosity had gotten the better of Meri. Were they just going to celebrate the night away after the loss of their precious tree? Meri needed to know, with her own two eyes. Even if this wasn't a last minute decision, the tattooed blonde probably would not have put much effort into making sure she follows the social norms for the ball. This would not be the first time that she has shown up sorely under-dressed...At least tonight there are no holes in her pants nor paint stains. Just as Meri enters Xalious proper, the blonde retrieves a hand-rolled smoke and lights it up. The idea is by the time arrives at the party, she'll be finished smoking. If not? She'll just loiter off to the side a bit before sliding into the party area. Usually Meri does not have a tough time spotting a familiar face, but that's not her top priority tonight. It's a kid-free-mom-only-night, where's the booze at?

Iintahquohae 's face is screwed up in concentration with the new voice in her head. It's low, gravelly, and infuriated. For two reasons: Odhranos is gone, and similar to the seamstress, S'erok wants to tear the area around them apart in an effort to find him. Secondly, some of the materials used in Iintahquohae's dress are incredibly offensive. A stream of ranting swirls in her head about how she shouldn't have paid to have some of his kin murdered for fashion and that there are better, less violent alternatives. He's right of course, and she has a difficult time talking over S'erok to apologize. Eventually her mind goes silent, her voice and thoughts only, but occasionally sprinkled with the dragon's voice commentary on oh how lovely those golden dragon scales would look if they were still on the body of the dragon that was massacred for them. It's difficult to ignore, but she does her best. The seamstress decided to skip most of her favorite silks, frills and lace for this evening's gown, in place of something that, while still graceful and feminine, is much more durable. Her ensemble for the ball is a representation of the brilliant Maro, Herald of the Sun. A white, floor length gown made with linen, recently altered to have a slit torn up the right left side to her upper thigh for ease of movement, felled into place with gold thread. Light reflects off of the material at every turn due to a mixture of silver, gold and white dragon scales sewn to the dress, with a cluster of golden scales sewn across the neckline. Gold pauldrons rest on either shoulder, more for fashion than for function, holding in place a cape that flows from her back to the floor. The underside of the cape is a carefully dyed and embroidered with metallic threads to be a vision of the night sky from which Maro shines, while the cape when looked upon from behind is split down the middle, with white feathers that look as if they have been dipped in gold attached to it in a manner that imitates a pair of great wings. About her waist, another addition; a gold belt that allows for Odhranos' golden sand cage to rest at her left hip, while at her right, concealed somewhat due to the size and darker underside of the cape, her iron baseball bat. She makes no effort to make the weapon match her attire. Braids have been undone for the evening, and the mass of black curls are pulled into a single braid with a length of color-shifting ribbon gifted to the seamstress by Karasu twined throughout, that drapes over her shoulder. Normally, the seamstress would use an event such as this to reel in potential clients, but tonight, she's keeping an ear out. Maybe she'll catch something regarding the whereabouts of the terramancer.

Even as the festivities are beginning, all is not rosy and beautiful in Xalious. Marching down the main street of the village, a small mob has gathered. At the head of this rag-tag group of malcontents, a single halberd rears its bladed point into the sky. Fritz Lang, wielding the weapon of his fallen friend, has returned to seek justice for his death, with the rest of the militia that survived the recent attack that ravaged Xalious and struck a crippling blow to the immortal Holy Tree at its heart. When the Xalious Tree comes into view, its azure splendour is apparent for all to see, prompting Fritz wrings the haft of his halberd as he stares up at this false image of beauty, his jaw falling slack with disbelief. How dare they? How DARE they? The gathered mob gawk up at this blatant attempt of the Guild to hide the consequences of their incompetence, and murmurs of anger and disgust bubble through their midst. Fritz gritz his teeth and goes to take a step forwards, lowering his halberd as he does so, fully ready to the nearest Guild member he comes across, but a hand on his shoulder stops him, as one of his compatriots shakes their head, halting the incensed warrior in his steps. No, she’s right, this is not the way. The Guild will answer for their crimes, but confronting them with violence would only provoke public sympathy. No, Fritz fumed, they would be exposed for their grievous neglect, where all of Xalious can see them for what they are. The jaded Xalious native squares his shoulders and sets off, his stone-eyed posse following close behind, their wills hardened as they march into the blue-tinged glow that pervades the restored meadow. This night will only end with one of two things. Justice, or uprising. It will be up to the mages to choose which.

Josleen is not allowed to go to Xalious these days due to the zombie problem. Huge risk to Queens. However, Arcane Steward Saruir Aedihle is here. Saruir arrives in a pearly white and incandescent amber robe looking unreasonably handsome, even by high elf standards. The Steward has long been known as a brilliant mage with a small but loyal circle of studious friends. Saruir’s social group had become one of those cliques that offends no one and is charming to behold due to their wholesome camaraderie. In the past week, Saruir’s friends have noticed a change. He is suddenly and off-puttingly cocksure and has taken to meticulous grooming. He’s uninterested in pop music and guild gossip. He no longer sings showtunes! (!) (!!!) He’s skipped study group twice and has taken up with a new cadre of vaguely sinister friends. He drinks port now. But outside of this clique, the changes in Saruir have largely gone unnoticed. No one notices how strange it is for Saruir to arrival at the ball alone, or the fact that the only people he seems to greet are also all wearing white.

Rilla was not one for entrances. She had heard of the recent happenings, but was removed from world-saving ventures by virtue of being unconcerned with whether she lived or died, it was mostly curiosity that drew her here. She came on foot, approached from the West and slipped in along the outskirts to watch. Loose auburn curls were let down her back, brushed again after her little mishap with the demon archipelago although a few inches shorter from cutting tangles out when she could brush it again herself. She wasn’t the type for fancy dresses, instead she approached hesitantly in all dark clothing. Black leather leggings and a semi-sheer navy blouse tucked into her waistband; crystalline gaze was surrounded with a smoke of eyeshadow. It felt foreign even to do this much after so long away, but she was adjusting. She moved silently in search of a drink, something to take the edge off of her nerves from all the sounds and smells that Rilla still struggled to tune out. No matter how may times the young vampire pulled her attention to the scent of jasmine that was dabbed along her throat, it kept getting pulled in a new direction at every turn. Who she was watching was up for debate, at the moment the priority was liquid courage.

Karasu greets her students of the Spellblade Corps, at least those that remained. Something gold glints from the corner of her eye, and she looks to see the golden Apprentice Iintahquohae striding across. Dang, she should have asked how much she charges for dresses. Her eyes travel down to admire the dress when she suddenly catches sight of something alarmingly familiar. The demifeline can barely contain her curiosity as she crosses to cut off the woman. "Apprentice Oohjmaeyik?" Karasu says, her brows knitted in concern. "Is that what I think it is?" Oh. She still didn't know.

Meri finds herself standing next to a woman who seems to put about as much thought into being fashionable as she has. It also seems this woman has the same priorities that she does. Blue eyes give Rilla a glance over, trying to place if she's ever met this one before as she elects to start the night off with a simple beer. She's supposed to walk back home at some point tonight, so she should probably take it easy. With her selection made, Meri flashes Rilla an easy smile, "What's your poison tonight?"

Magik picks through a special arrangement of sushi rolls shaped like the Xalious tree to place onto a small plate for himself. How nice of the Guild! Occasionally he chit chats with passing students but keeps tabs on Karasu and Kaaname while doing so..always watching..

Iintahquohae , spying Rilla, has the instinct to immediately beeline to her and attempt to rope her into helping her locate Odhranos, or at the very least, ask for her to help in some way. She begins to stride over to the other vampire, but stops short when Karasu addresses her. Her eyes stray from Rilla and refocus on the demifeline, left hand instinctively coming to rest atop the golden cage. It's all she had left of him. When the thought strikes her, she almost grimaces at how her thoughts must sound. In her head, S'erok snorts. To Karasu, she nods slowly, attempts to suppress a frown, and ultimately fails. With the arrival of a mob, the seamstress wonders if it's safe to explain what little she knows. Stepping closer to Karasu, she lowers her head to one of the other woman's ears to whisper.

Mesdoram and Nariv arrive quietly, though normally boisterous in the dramatics. Mesdoram’s normally battle-suited attire takes a backseat as he dresses as casual as possible for these surface dwellers – plain black pants and boots, few pieces of jewelry, but absent a shirt. Across the drow’s bare chest remains the healed scarred tattooed carved into his flesh – just a name “Karasu” in the feline’s native tongue. Though not looking for a fight tonight, the professional provocateur relishes in agonizing the surface people: his twin enchanted daggers rest comfortably along his waist. Nariv, on the other hand, appears cleaned up from the night of the Freedom of Championship fight as her clothes are now clean of filth. Was Mesdoram in a good mood or did he want his slave to appear proper in new company? Nevertheless, the elf slave seems to be in better spirits today. The two navigate to through the crowd and head for the nearest vendor of alcohol, awaiting for anything interesting to happen tonight.

Lanlan ::Among the various vendors, is one bartering books. In his brief stint as a wood elf apprentice, Lanlan came to know Haladavar's wife from a colleague's perspective, and she came to know him as one eager to learn about magic...and herself. ialantha had taken on the role of librarian at the Mage's guild, and would now take on a new role, he hoped. As one of its saviors. She was here, selling books which she had diligently copied to new pages in anticipation of this event. Her kiost was filled mostly with junk, written by Kyloriel. The Magister of Bureaucracy. There were some introductory texts as well, mostly available to entice the reader into learning more. The last time she saw Lanlan as himself, he nearly assaulted her in a rage after a brief and unfruitful interrogation. "Are you here to buy a book?" Lanlan responds that he isn't, in fact. He's here to save her, so she might help him save everyone. In her ancient, dead dialect, she curses, then speaks in heavily accented common. "You want the same thing you wanted last time. The answer is the same." She turns her attention to another, one who browses the junk. "That one is very good! But this one is better, I have read them all." Lanlan persists, leaning in. "He's closer than you think, ialantha. You can't stay -here-."

Karasu trembles with the realization. Karasu's stomach grows cold as she thinks. She had just seen him, he had finally found some semblance of happiness! How could this have happened?! With a shaky exhale, she whispers back.

Karasu nods to the apprentice and moves away to resume her search for a certain person in the crowd.

Lanlan spots Iintahquohae nearby, and something about her reminds him of one who he does -not- see present. "I didn't know there was more than one of those things in the whole world," he says, almost accusingly. He and Odhranos may not be friends anymore, but none but himself should've been allowed to harm him. "Where did you find such a thing?"

Terra arrived at some point but the arrival wasn't much to write home about. She was there, at the urging of Jacobo, who had presented the invite even though it had been addressed to someone else. It took some discussion, a snarky remark about attending for the bar and a team of people to make her look somewhat presentable after a long day at the clinic. It didn't take her long to find a familiar face though and she'd invite herself to join with Meri, quiet as she scanned the crowd for any others she might have been able to recall.

Rilla || At the sound of a nearby voice, Rilla pulls herself out of her search, one hand rests on her hip as she glances over at the other woman. A stranger, but seemingly harmless for the moment. A smile pulls over rose-tinted lips and she shrugged slender shoulders. “I was thinking about a nice red wine.” Rilla mused, toeing the ground with one boot as her attention is pulled away to a man by the snack table. Her brows furrowed and relaxed, perhaps not quite what she expected from Magik but then all she knew so far was that they were birds of a feather. “I’ve got business to attend to and don’t need to be drunk off my face. I expect food would be a good choice as well,” her smile spread and she looked back to Meri, “or at least it was the last time I drank.” She took a few steps towards the table, hyperaware that she was being rude. Rilla glanced back over her shoulder and offered another smile, “I’m Rilla, and I owe you a drink, but later.” She winked playfully and turned her back to approach the food table where she began putting together a plate of food that she certainly wouldn’t eat. She came just close enough to the strange man to listen in as he played nicely with what she could only assume were students. Listening in to the conversation more than anything else.

Karasu catches the eye of her father from across a crowd of electromancers and beelines for him. Kaaname looks over his daughter as she approaches with an expression of indifference that quickly changes to one of hope, possibly wondering if she had come around to trust him. The Steward simply whispers under her breath, "Start reading." The telemancer smiles at another Provost and quietly excuses himself to sideline with Karasu. Focusing his attention, he picks up on her thoughts, unheard to anyone but him. The spellblade relays Quintessa's warning sent before the destruction of her office in the tower, the disappearance of those in the Apprentice and Caminus Prentis ranks, and the discovery of something terrible near the Shrine to Coreliant. Kaaname's expression shifts from confusion to alarm as he probes her mind for information. Karasu finally speaks, "I'll tell you where the koto is if you help us find him." There is a pause as Kaaname attempts to glean the object's location from the depths of her mind, only finding a calm expression. The girl had trained her mind against him in such a short time? Or, was she wearing something to hinder his advances? "Very well." The disguised vampire says stiffly, clearly displeased with the developments and being put into a position where his weapon is the one making demands. He strides off to begin his search while Karasu raises a hand to rest upon the metallic beetle in her hair. "Oh, Odie, please be okay..." She whispers to no one in particular.

Iintahquohae nods to Karasu when she parts, but also visibly tense now. Her right hand rests on the handle of her bat now, checking to make sure it's still hanging from her hip. Lanlan's voice takes her out of her thoughts, the seamstress turning to eye him. He knew about the cage? Unfortunately for her, the seamstress is incapable of lying very well. She gives a vague answer. If Lanlan knew, then did he take part in Odhranos' kidnapping? “It was left behind. I took it with me.”

Lanlan flares his nostrils and inhales deeply. "He would not leave that behind." Lanlan doesn't know if this would work, but he invokes the inhabitant of the cage. "S'erok, what happened to your master?" He knew about the dragon's temper, and the pride of every ancient lizard. This was bait.

Magik munched on another piece of sushi as he wrapped up a brief conversation with a pyromancy student. As Rilla neared, he took a step towards her and started picking from the snack table to refill his plate. His words were a mere whisper to the vampiress, "Fancy seeing you here. If anything happens, follow the students heading to the south to the woods." Magik's expressions didn't match his words. His demeanor remained cheerful despite his words of warning.

Meri 's keeps a practiced smile held upon her red lips as Rilla is quick to excuse herself. It was obvious to Meri where she was headed off to next, the rogue woman was easily able to follow subtle cues like where Rilla's line of sight shifted off to. "Meri," says the tattooed blonde just before Rilla excuses herself. Meri was not left without good company, that practiced smile shifting to a more sincere one when Terra approaches her. "Hello, doll. Craving some free booze too?" she teases the vampire before leaning in to issue a few hushed words to Terra, "This whole thing feels a bit odd, all things considered." Meri let's her blue eyes shift toward the Xalious tree.

Fritz' party approach the formal edge of the ball venue and are stopped by a short attendant in voluminous violet robes, bearing a clipbook and a snippy personality to match. "Name?" The attendant inquired, with a nasal honk that could attract wild geese. "Huh? What?" Fritz is broken from his upward glowering at the restored tree and he looks down at this diminutive gnome, who manages to look down at him in kind, despite the three foot height difference. "I asked for your name, good sir, if you'd be so kind as to give it, I can check you off the list. You and your…" the gnome lifts his glasses and studies the rough looking mob gathered behind Fritz. "...friends" he finishes, evidently displeased by what he sees. "I-uh-Fritz Lang, I'm a local." The halberd bearer answers, somewhat knocked off his stride. The gnome gives him another once over then mutters as he checks the list "Obviously..." A few moments pass as the guest list is consulted, before the gnome's hawk-like beak of a nose bobs up again haughtily. "No, I'm afraid I don't see your name here, Mr Wang, I'm going to have to ask you and your friends to step aside now, to let the other guests past." Fritz stands, dumbfounded, before exploding into anger. "Now listen here, you vertically-challenged sack of-" Fritz is cut off by a white-sleeved hand that cuts him off. "They're with me, Vorsar, don't worry." An aged looking half-elf mage in pristine white robes waves a hand at the gnome who scuttles away, evidently mollified by whoever this prestigious mage might be. "Oi, what's the big idea?! We don't need a mage's help!" Fritz starts, before he is silenced again by the genteel wave of a hand. "Save your anger, my boy. The time will come for rage, but you need to learn the art of timing. Go, have a drink, get some pickies for your friends. Watch, and listen. Perhaps this event may suit your liking?" The old half elf gives Fritz a knowing wink, before sashaying away with his gently tittering accomplice into the crowd. Fritz grips his halberd all the more furiously, but the mage is right. He will need to time this well if he is to make any impact. "Get some food, some drink. Follow my halberd and if I start waving it, rally to me." Fritz imparts his orders, then watches as his dissidents disperse into the crowd.

Karasu has shifted from fidgeting with her hair piece to fiddling with the emblem around her neck as she moves to the bar. "Rynvalian Iced Tea. Double." She orders to the barkeeper that immediately questions her legality. "How old ar--" The poor barkeeper, who probably had hopes and dreams like the rest of us, is cut off as Karasu snaps coldly, "Old enough for your dad." She holds up a dozen gold pieces. The barkeeper is visibly taken back, but prepares the drink regardless. Money is money. "Bitch..." He mutters, giving her the drink.

Valrae arrives late, tearing into the festivities at an inappropriate speed, bareback on her smoke and fire stallion. Her hair is wild, and while she’s pulled together the strength to cast illusions about herself the length is off, and it trails behind her like a dark ribbon. Her face is pale, alarming and ghostly underneath the enchanted moonlight, despite her magic. Her attire is simple and practical. A cerulean cloak over tight cotton pants, tucked away in her leather boots, and a loose tunic shirt. The emerald skull was tucked away in her bag, it’s power alluring but now threatening only to those around her and not the witch herself. Despite her lingering weakness, Valrae has gained mastery and understanding of the dark power it carries. Her path carries her through crowds, shouting raising around her as she and Fury push through them, until she can no longer navigate the large beast through them. As the witch dismounts and Fury disappears into the shadows leaving only the lingering scent of smoke. She pushes through the crowds just as roughly on her own, ignoring the protests of those she offends or jars too roughly. Her illusioned eyes search for a familiar guildmate frantically. ‘Grace’ spies Iintahquohae in the crowd and attempts to near her, annoyance spiking when someone she didn’t recognize in white blocks her path and walks at a maddeningly slow pace. “Iintahquohae!” She calls, leaning on her toes to be seen in the crowd with little luck. In a burst of temper, Valrae shoves herself around the man and finally nears Inks. Anxiety and worry cloud her features. “Have you seen him?” She asks without greeting. “Has anyone?” The witch blanches when she realizes Lanlan was near and greets him with a single terse nod.

Rilla shifted her weight as Magik came closer, crystalline gaze flashed up to his face and she nodded. “I had a feeling it might be interesting.” She shrugged, tilted her head as she studied his face calmly, a quiet understanding. “Since you’re here, I guess I know.” A laugh softened her posture, focus shifting conversation to conversation in the breaks in theirs. “Are you going to fill me in on what anything you think might happen?” Rilla said under her breath, her lips curled in a smile and her posture soft despite the undercurrent of urgency.

Iintahquohae winces at the mental tug of war going on in her head. A distant, suppressive hiss. An ancient dragon's growl, her own internal shouting, drowned out by the other two. There's a brief flicker in her eyes as her hand briefly clutches at her throat, at the serpent tattoo wrapped around it. The dull brown color of her eyes glimmer just a bit, not S'erok's telltale gold but something else. S'erok wins it seems, and the voice that falls from her lips is distinctly not hers. It's lower in pitch, gravelly. "If only your legal team were as sharp as your tongue, Silvermane. Weaver bears me with my blessing, that's enough for you to know.”

Mesdoram || Nariv secures two drinks for her and Mesdoram from the purveyor, leaving the salesman the proper coin and her typical smile and bow. “Thank you kind sir.” She turns to her master and presents Mesdoram with his preferred surface whiskey. He takes the beverage without hesitation and swishes the liquid around the goblet. “Nariv my dear…” The drow pauses as he finishes his drink in full swig. “… tonight I’m in a good mood.” As Nariv begins to drink her own whiskey, Mesdoram quickly snatches it from her hands as a few drops spill upon the ground beneath their feet. “So…” The drow tosses Nariv the empty glass which she clumsily catches. “… off you go.” Mesdoram turns back to the vendor and signals with two fingers for 2 more whiskeys. Nariv silently sneaks off to go venture in the crowd in peace.

Lanlan overhears Grace's question to Iintahquohae, and at least comes to realize that she didn't murder him. "So he's gone." Grace was looking worse than usual, but this was not the time for pettiness. This was definitely not even close to the time for pettiness. From Lanlan's perspective, pettiness had no place here. In case anyone's thinking about acting petty.

Josleen :: Saruir watches the local mob from a distance and take particular interest in Fritz. He grabs a cocktail as a disguise but does not indulge, simply plays the part of a partygoer. He observes some mages more than others: Karasu, Magik, Iintahquohae, Grace.

Iintahquohae takes over again, just in time to hear and see Valrae approach. Her expression is solemn.“I haven't,” a pause follows, in which she looks the woman over to ensure she uses the correct name, “Grace, I don't believe anyone has..” Her gaze sweeps the faces around her in effort to locate Karasu. Maybe she knew something already. The seamstress assumed the demifeline must be sharper than she. In her sweep of the people around her, she also notices many wearing all white, similarly to her. “...What's the deal with them?” she asks. Maybe the Mage's Guild had fraternities or something. A nod is given to Lanlan. “He is gone. We'll find him.”

Magik turns to get a better look at the crowd. Noticing some unfamiliar faces slip into the crowd puts him a little on edge. It's probably nothing..Right? Magik lands a hand on a passing pyro student's shoulder. The short elven boy stop and his face lights up, "Veneficus D'Chath! You made it!" Magik laughs and 'accidentally' drops his empty sushi plate, "Oh my!" As he bends down to pick up the still intact plate, he quietly whispers to his student, "The spot." His voice returns to an audible level as he cleans up the mess on the floor quickly and returns to watching the crowd, "And that's why I don't drink as much..I get clumsy!" The pyromancer claps with a smile and rubs his hands together as he faces the table once more. His hushed words are directed to Rilla once more, "If I whistle, get out into the woods."

Terra knows very few of those that are in attendance. She did make an attempt at small talk when some of the students would engage or make introductions but for the most part she's trying to feel out what the source is behind all this tension. From what she gathered, someone was missing and the intersting Iintahquohae seemed to be involved in that. Meri remained ever the observant of the pair of blondes and called out her reasoning for attending rather quickly. "Yes, although I'm starting to think there will be dancing... just not the sort advertised." The elf's ears catch that strange voice and she sought the source, seemed startled when it was Inks. "My party trick isn't as good as that one," she began to Meri, "but I can make a drink disappear...Do you want the same as last time?"

Valrae’s lips tilt deeper into a frown and she nods toward Lan again. “He was taken,” She hisses angrily, guilt flashing in the depths of her eyes. She’d been powerless to stop it. “Do the others know?” She doesn’t elaborate on ‘the others’ assuming Iintahquohae would know she was speaking of only those who had already proven trustworthy allies. Her own eyes move about the crowd again, newly noting the unusual dotting of white within. Her unease grows. “We should warn them, something could be… Off here.”

Josleen :: Saruir spies Lanlan at last and -- his heart stops, could it be? Yes. Ialantha. Time slows. Memories and wounds older than Saruir's body flood into his mind. It would be foolish to approach Ialantha and risk exposing himself, but Ialantha has made him a fool for millennia. He strides over to the drow and the elf and says to Lanlan, "It's been a while," then to Ialantha he says in the elven tongue, "The moon has less power over me than thee." A reference to an ancient vow two elves once made to each other in a shaded grove. He disappears into the crowd before the stunned Ialantha can react.

Karasu || Kaanamae scours the grounds, initially displeased with his findings. He had quickly found one member with a mind full of malicious silence, and had moved to report the member to Karasu when he found another one. And another. The Provost moves through the crowds, picking up on idle thoughts here and there. Part of him wonders if this somehow a result of what had reportedly transpired earlier in the week. Looking to the Xalious Tree, his face curls into a scowl. Was a single flower really strong enough to weaken the magic of mages everywhere, enough for him as well to be weakened as a result? The man looks away as the image of the Xalious Tree skips ever so slightly. The telemancer continues his descent into the crowd before it finally occurs to him. Every single person that could not be read was dressed in the same type of attire. Ice blue eyes scour the crowd for a face, if not that of Karasu, then... The crashing of a plate snaps his attention to Magik. "Veneficus." Kaaname approaches Magik and Rilla. Lowering his voice to the pyromancer, he whispers hurriedly, "If you care about your students half as much as you do Mirshann, you'll get them out of here. Don't speak to the ones wearing white. I'm fully aware you want to kill me, but you will just have to trust me on this." Across the way, Karasu sees Provost Grace, Lanlan, and Iintaquohae gathered. Moving closer to them, she smiles. "Oh my gracious, Lanlan, is that you? I didn't know you cleaned up so well." Lowering her voice, she whispers just loud enough for them to hear, "Provost Tsuji is searching the crowd for Haladavar right now."

Meri lifts her chin in subtle agreement with Terra, the tattooed blonde was making many of the same observations. If there was dancing to be had tonight, it was definitely not going to be the sort that was advertised. Meri was also trying to piece together the source of the tension, blue eyes studying the various groups while she attempted to listen in on conversations. Even though the werewolf is mildly distracted with her observations, Terra is far from forgotten. Meri issues a chuckle and empties the remainder of her beer, discarding for the bartender to keep up. "One of my favorites. I'm definitely game for more of the same. We'll keep practicing our little party trick together." Meri smirks.

Iintahquohae dips her head into a slight nod to Valrae while pointedly looking in Karasu's direction once she has caught a glimpse of her. “I told someone, and I would not be surprised if they let others know.” She imagines Magik knows at the very least. Before she can continue speaking, Saruir approaches Lanlan. His words are completely lost on her, but no matter. She blatantly stares at him, as he's the first white-garbed individual to approach and she's just a little bit suspicious. “What was that about?” she asks, turning to Lanlan. Karasu's arrival and her whisper elicit a grin that partially belongs to her. The other two thirds belong to one ancient dragon and another proud serpent. Her hand falls to the bat at her hip once more. “Good. Thank you.”

Josleen :: Having risked exposure to early, Saruir makes a beeline for the stage. He forces his cocktail into Mesdoram’s hand as he passes her, without looking at or speaking to her. That’s when he feels Kaaname probing into Saruir’s mind. Blasted telemancer! The Steward has no time to lose. He whispers to a mage clad in white that it is time, gather the others. Spying Magik between himself and the stage, and knowing Veneficus D’Chath would corner him deftly if caught, Saruir whispers a quick spell under his breath. He disappears into a puff of mist and reappears in a second puff of mist at the bottom of the short flight of steps that lead to the dais. It is time.

Valrae feels relief as Karasu nears. She smiles weakly to the Steward, a polite greeting that does not meet her eyes. She similarly eyes Lanlan, waiting for an answer to Iintahquohae’s question

Lanlan doesn't even look at this lowly high elf. "I've never met you, knave," he says to the puppet, but then he's two-pieced. Odhranos has been taken, and he knows by who. And then this ancient language he's heard only in the company of two is regurgitated across him to one of them. His eyes lock on ialantha's and he sees her pupils dilate, and they're both hit by a mind numbing fear. He at least, is also overcome with nausea. He leans on his walking stick and clings to a bookshelf to steady his weakening knees. "Where..." he says gasping. "Where did he go!? That's...! That's...!" ialantha finishes his sentence for him. "Haladavar..." after the fear, her face shines in love, harkened back to a time before all this, when she had a family, a purpose, a life. Quickly, though, she became resolute. That was not the man she once loved, in appearance or in spirit. She realizes something maybe even before the rest of them, and addresses the wizards in this corner of the festival. "It was he who took your friend."

Mesdoram || Nariv eager enjoys some of her freedom – maybe a bit too eager. Not paying attention, she accidently bumps into a small child carrying his Festive Amber Amulet which now breaks on the floor. The little boy looks up at the elf, then back down towards the amulet as mini tears start to collect in his eyes. Nariv softly smiles at the boy and kneels down next to him as he picks up the broken pieces. An arcane mage in her former life, she picks up the pieces and places them inside the boys’ hands. Manipulating the boys’ hands so they are cupping the necklace, Nariv softly mouths a simple spell that makes the boys’ makeshift canopy glow a dim alabaster silhouette. The light fades away, and Nariv nods down to the boy. “Check it now?” He opens his hands, and to his surprise the amulet is fixed! Good as new! Without skipping a beat, the elf slave holds up her hand for a high five – the boy obviously obliges and give Nariv his best slap-five. Nariv stands up and dusts herself off, leaves the boy with a smile, and looks around for other things to do

Arcane Steward Saruir Aedihle steps onto the stage in front of the immense Xalious tree. Clad in pristine white and amber robes and gliding soundlessly across the stage, the Steward cuts a figure of power uncommon in one of his rank. Saruir raises his arms, spread wide like a pastor addressing the crowd as his flock. Several mages in the crowd, all dressed in white, begin to hush the crowd. "Ssshhh...SShhh. Ssshhhhh." The music stops, the crowd's chatter fades to silence. When only the soft breeze can be heard rustling in the Xalious tree, Saruir speaks. "My fellow mages, good people of Xalious, visitors from afar who have come to rejoice in the power of Arh'Nuk and Xalious, I come to you today to deliver salvation! I acknowledge your pain! For too long has this noble village lived in the shadow of the Tower that is run by inept and corrupt 'scholars' who claim to be your protectors and yet only protect themselves." Mages clad in white rush towards the stage to protect it from invasion by any who would dare cut Saruir's speech short.

Magik quickly reached for his dagger as Kanname's words were heard so close. He snaps his head to Tsuji as the grip tightens around the hilt. However, Kaaname's words confirmed his suspicions. The grip remained as he cooly spun back around without a sushi plate in his left hand, right on the dagger as his eyes darkened immediately. The Lyastri turns his focus to the stage. The moment between the music stopping and Saruir speaking was filled with a loud, ear piercing whistle. Surely some attention would be gained but Magik shrugged it off. "Oh. Speech. Sorry." He waved off anyone turned to him. Meanwhile, any students under Veneficus D'Chath's guidance would start slowly and nonchalantly making their way to the closest exit. The grip tightened on his dagger as his left hand started to bleed behind his back.

Karasu || Kaaname shoulders his way through the crowd as he looks for Karasu as a white-clad member takes the stage. "You all need to go. NOW. If your student is wearing white, leave them." Too little too late, he and Karasu turn with alarm as the speech begins. Karasu looks around and sees a fellow Spellblade Corps member, Ledrith Militus rank Aumaxra Kezef. The woman rushes over and pulls his arm down so the avian can lower himself to her height. Hearing her instruction, the fellow warrior nods and begins gently ushering his fellow students closer to the entrance. As Karasu moves to make her exit too, Kaaname grips her wrist. "Not yet, tell me what I need to know." Karasu curls her lip with revulsion and hisses, "I don't know where the koto is because it was never with her in the time I was with her."

Fritz mooches through the crowd inconspicuously, or as well as one can be inconspicuous with a twelve foot polearm in one's hand. Turns out, surprisingly well, when everyone is either inebriated already by alchemy-grade alcohol, or dancing it up with their colleagues. Mages are all a fusty bunch so when they let loose, they bloody well let loose. Fritz dodges past two Provosts with arms around each-other, singing what could have been a dwarven ballad, but just sounded like two dying seals howling. Spitting on the ground vehemently as he passes, Fritz can't help but feel the anger boiling inside him. How dare they be so carefree, dancing and frolicking on ground that not even a week previously was littered with the gore and blood of brave Xalious men and women who gave their lives in vain for something the mages were charged to protect. How disgusting. Fritz spits again, garnering some filthy looks from the party-goers around him, but all are soon distracted by the man who presents himself onstage. Fritz initially dismisses the speech disdainfully, until one phrase catches his attention. "I acknowledge your pain." In an instant, Fritz is hooked, and with each passing word from the mysterious speaker, his attention only grows. Xalious above, this man is speaking sense! Finally, someone else who sees the truth in their lies! Fritz looks around frantically, then he settles into a wide stance and begins to wave his halberd about, the bright flashing blade swinging about like a pennant in the air. The call to arms, brothers and sisters, our time has come! Let us voice our displeasure alongside this man! The time has come for justice!

Iintahquohae doesn't like the speech that is taking place, or how everyone clad in white seems to be gathering together. Being the only one clad in white that isn't joining them, she wonders...Could she play along? The thought doesn't linger long enough for her to really consider it, as Fritz and his polearm waving have grabbed her attention now. Angry mob. They're trying to incite a riot, aren't they. Well, considering with her outfit she can pass as one of these white-garbed folk, she walks away from Valrae and Lanlan to approach Fritz. While doing so, in her head, she tries to formulate something believable to help calm him and anybody that accompanies him down. She stands alongside the man and gently nudges his arm with her elbow. “Not yet,” she whispers to Fritz, silently hoping she sounds believable. Lying isn't her strong suit but this isn't lying, right? This is acting. Can she act well? We'll see. “Wait for his signal.” In effort to pretend that she is on his side, she opens her cape a bit, revealing the baseball bat she has not so subtly hidden there.

Lanlan steadies himself. This brazen approach was completely flooring. Awe-inspiring and intimidating. Such confidence and haughtiness Lanlan recognized, whatever grand scheme he had in place, it would imminently come to fruition. Lanlan didn't need to be present for this part. Two strikes from his staff to the hard stones underfoot. The sound seems to miss, but only because the taps were carried on ethereal winds to his carriage driver. He looks to ialantha. "Now. Will you leave?" Then he looks to Grace, Iintahquohae, and even Magik and Karasu. Though most of them seem to have their own plan. He returns his attention to ialantha "I have a safe place. On the surface. I'll provide asylum this -one- time, in light of the circumstances. Grace. Tell her she can trust me." THAT was a desperate gambit, telling Grace to lie on his behalf, but even she must know she hated Haladavar, and wouldn't want whatever was happening to happen anywhere else. It'll be a few minutes until the carriage arrives, and Lanlan was curious about his nemesis's plans. But he'd rather hear about it second hand.

Valrae || Ialantha's knowing statement has Grace stepping toward her, eyes dark and brows furrowed. She’s ready to interrogate this stranger who seemingly knows of Odhranos’s capture. But before she can focus on this, shushing rises around her. The witch casts a glare toward the nearest person shushing the crowd, savagely driving an elbow into his ribcage as she shoves toward the stage. She’s met with resistance and falls back, pushed toward where Lanlan and Iintahquohae were standing again. As Steward Saruir Aedihle begins his speech alarm trills down her spine. Knowing rushed through her. It could only be that the Ossian Order was behind this.. And it could be too late. She curses aloud. “We have to stop this,” Grace pulls the ash wand from her side, gripping it tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Her eyes search for Iintahquohae, no longer able to see her in the crowd around her. The weariness that had settled over her from her soul caging hasn’t relented, but she would fight through the sea of white alone if it would give her answers to where they’d taken Odhranos. Lanlan’s voice pulls her attention away from the stage. She’d hardly been listening to his attempts at convincing Ialantha to leave with him. There was a heartbeat of hesitation. Could she really tell anyone to trust him when her own faith was shaken? If it meant getting this mystery woman away from here and somewhere she could ask more pointed questions, the answer was yes. “Trust him,” Grace nods solemnly. “You need to leave,”

Terra had no real dog in this fight - sorry Meri - so she had been content to ignore what seemed to be growing to a climax. That was until there's speeches and sudden movement and worst of all, it's attracted the attention of the help who have paused serving libations! It, unfortunately, took until that moment to realize that the ball may have been a guise for some sort of trap but she's been down in Gualon so long that some of this unrest has failed to make its way down there. To Meri she'd look then, an eyebrow raised. "Are we staying for this?" If not, they may want to consider leaving sooner rather than later as it does seem like the crowd had started to disperse for various entrances and exits. But if they did stay, she needed clarification and she sought that with a hushed conversation with her fellow blonde.

Meri had not actually come to rejoice in the power of Arh'Nuk and Xalious, she was actually hear for the booze, the gossip, and the lulz. But...! That does not stop Meri from allowing her blue eyes to alight upon the stage momentarily. As she currently has not investment in this matter one way or another, as far as she is aware, the psion is mostly content to listen in silence. Soon Meri is letting her attention travel to the crowd, gauging their reaction and responses. The way Fritz seems to be inspired by the speech, enough to wave his halberd about, does not escape the werewolf's attention. Terra's inquiry had Meri lifting her shoulder in a shrug. Did they need to stay? No. Would it be amusing? Maybe. The blonde leans back in to answer those hushed words with a few of her own.

Rilla was quiet for a beat, brows furrowed at the unfamiliar name for Magik, still very much new here. For a moment her bright blue gaze burned into his face, looking for an answer she wouldn’t get with this many people around. She studied the crowd, unfamiliar with the normal attendants, on edge all the same. She swallowed and gave another nod as she looked away and grabbed a plate and a couple of assorted items to sit on it and give her something else to do with her hands. She was silent as a stranger approached with a similar warning to the one she’d just been given, looked from the new man to the people in white once again. Thin form tensed, coiled and ready to bolt, her head whipped around to the stage, hands on her hips. If she’d had more of her blades there would have been one in her hand already, but having decided to at least attempt to be normal for a change, it was no dice for the moment. The whistle made her jump, and she shot a last look to Magik, making yet another split second decision to trust him. She produced a throwing knife from her waistband, tucked it into one of his pockets on the way past as she too began her trip through the crowd. Thin form and a good elbow parting people when they didn’t move out of her way on their own, she spotted the student from earlier hesitating and a hand on his back guided him forward as well. “He asked you to leave, didn’t he?” She said under her breath, pushing him towards the exit before she turned, looked from the stage to Magik as she continued to gather those who appeared to want to leave and guide them wordlessly towards the nearest exist. The thin woman rose onto her toes, surveying the crowd from her place at the back of it, tucked away into a shadow. Following instructions was never her strong suit.

Kasyr , as opposed to Meri's indifference, is probably here to specifically flip off Ahr'nuk, in a manner that can only be dubbed fashionably late. To be fair, a fondness for booze will likely have him gravitating in similar circles- though the grim tidings that have lately held the mage guild hostage help to ensure that the Kensai doesn't indulge. That does absolutely nothing to curb the kensais hunger for Hors D'ouevres, however- as he stacks up a pilfered platter with an excess of them. And really, that's the most noteworthy element of the swordsman, given he's put absolutely no effort in dressing up for the event- considering he's wearing the same old beaten up trenchcoat as normal, and plain black trousers and shirt.

Josleen:: Saruir continues, "The Mage's guild has engaged in genocide, child kidnappings, and almost brought Xalious to war with another sovereignty. Worst yet, it failed to protect to Xalious Tree and lied about it! Behold!" Suddenly the air thickens with deep, primal magic that thrums deep within the chest of each partygoer. Fine granules of amber materialize seemingly from nothing and cling to Saruir's body. The Steward floats several feet above the stage. The amber dusting clings to every inch of flesh and robe until nothing of the mage is visible anymore. Dark brown runes glow on the amber body. The vision shimmers brightly like the birth of a new dawn. An amber body lifts away entirely from Saruir. The amber, rune-tattooed person is entirely nude and anatomically perfect (*yes*). The gorgeous amber high elf indulges in its first deep breath as the first of his flock gape up at him in awe. Saruir’s body drops onto the stage with a thud. He writhes in ecstasy, gazing up at the beautiful, demi-mortal, powerful being that is Haladavar. Haladavar easily dispels the illusion that veils the Xalious tree behind a lie. That puny magic is no match. Exclamations of horror erupt from partygoers and protesters alike as the true extent of the Xalious Tree’s damage is revealed. The top half of the tree’s boughs have been burnt away, leaving pitch black tendrils reaching up into the night sky in a silent prayer, perhaps for answers, for justice, or both. The trunk of the tree, once a majestic charcoal that shifted to a rich deep brown when rising upwards, has taken on a sickly pale grey. Bone white anemones and mushrooms litter the trunk where the bark has cracked away to reveal the sickly black sap beneath. "The guild lies!” Haladavar says in a melodious, commanding voice. “It lies to protect its corruption, it lies to protect its power. No more! The Ossian Order now has a moral duty to purge the Guild of its corruption and bring its criminal members to trial to answer for their crimes." The mages in white don pearly white masks as they move through the crowd to carry out Haladavar's coup (also seasoned in lies). "We do this for our fellow villager, for the noble mage, and for Xalious Himself! My brothers and sisters of the Order, you are hereby granted the power to arrest Odhranos Kerrigan, Magikrios D'Chath, Karasu Tsuji, Sarah Grace Harron, Kasyr Azakhaer, Quintessa Dragana, Iintahquohae Oohjmaeyik, and Enelys Ruza."

Magik orders any lagging students out quietly as he starts walking parallel to the makeshift stage. "Go, go, out, out, now." As the speech drones on any student is tapped and ordered out and away from the Xalious Tree. Pyromantic students exit in a hurry to the south where they quickly disappear into the woods. Knowing the wild bunch, they are just within the shadows of the forest and -not where Magik tells them to go for the thousandth- time. As that perfect...being...floats in the air, Magik's words get louder and louder as the apprentices rush by him. 'The guild lies!' threw Magik into full Dadgik mode. "STUDENTS, OUT!" Some hesitate, others do not. It's instant chaos as Magik's words boom throughout the area with some students making a break for the exit and others lingering. Hearing his name caused the Veneficus to ignite into his familiar black fire. A wicked smirk plays across his face as he reaches for the newly acquired dagger courtesy of his newest recruit, Rilla. Who will be his first target? Which OO member gets it first?

Karasu tenses as Haldavar is revealed in all his anatomically correct glory alongside the true damage done to the Xalious Tree. Is this perhaps some kind of divine punishment for staging a coup against Brenwyn? Kaaname looks at his daughter and makes an executive decision. Whatever these people were after, being denied his weapon was absolutely not part of his plans. He was certain Vakmatharas would commend him for what he was about to do. He takes the drink from the stunned feline's hand, shoving it into the hands of some apprentice, and pulls her into a tight embrace. Karasu, her face wedged up against the buttons of his tuxedo's shirt, looks at the other three as if to ask if this was really happening. "I know you're not going to forgive me for this, but it's going to ensure that you and as many of your little friends get out as possible." The demifeline's eyes widen in alarm. "Wait--!" Kaaname does the clasp of her choker and presses a hand to the mark on her neck. "Arise, Mhad'xlyn." Karasu shoves him away and grips at her neck, feeling the skin on her neck throb painfully. "What did you just do...? WHAT DID YOU DO?!" The black tendrils on her skin raise up, stretching her skin slightly as they worm their way up to her eyes. Kaaname turns back to face the rest of the Guild. "Go!" The whites of her eyes darken as if ink were dropped into the sclera itself. Her pupils turn from the stained dark pink to a red that glows in competition to that of Arh'Nuk's light. "...Here I was wondering if you had forgotten of our agreement." A gravelly voice that does not seem to be quite that of the spellblade says with a cruel smile. The bladed daggers are withdrawn as the army approaches. "For the glory of our Lord and Savior Vakmatharas." The possessed Karasu hisses, jumping straight into the fray. Even with her natural feline agility, whatever it is that has control of her moves unnaturally quickly, ducking and weaving to slash and hack at Xalious residents and white clad drones alike who attempt to stop her. With the creature's ferocity, Iintahquohae is missed only by way of a white-clad drow catching Mhad'xlyn's attention first before the rampage continues into the crowd. "In over your heads, all of you." The telemancer says with disgust as the Ossian Order surges past him.

Fritz continues to flag down his allies, and slowly from the far reaches of the party, they sift through the crowd, drawn to their leader's glinting banner as he begins pushing through the crowd to the front. When Iintahquohae approaches Fritz, she is quickly cut off by five of his accomplices, who stare her down with eyes aflame with righteous conviction. "Keep your distance, mage! Your kind have done enough damage as is, you don't want any more blood in your hands, do ya?!" Inks isn't given time to answer, as the spearhead of militia forces their way through the crowd, suddenly finding themselves flanked by white-masked and white-robed figures, standing out like a sore and grubby thumb in the midst of this stark white legion, and they are cut off from the stage by the same anonymous mages. Just then, a gasp ripples through the crowd, and Fritz and his companions look skyward, and are greeted by a horrific vision. Twisted, festering, scorched and decaying, but above all, truthful. Laid bare in putrefying grey and filthy white, the mark of the Mages' failure is exposed to the lights of Arh'nuk and Vaalane, and it is gruesome in its honesty. As terror and disgust grip the audience, Fritz can feel a change coming through the crowd. The sort of wave that one can ride like it were a breaker rolling in toward the Cenril beach. As the disarrayed mumbles crawl through the crowd, Fritz motions to his allies. He is hoisted up onto a pair of shoulders, and raising his halberd above his head, he roars out in a brutal harsh cry. "The Guild left us to die! They don't care about us! They don't care about Xalious! They deserve punishment for their lies and failure! Down with the Mages Guild!" Even as he speaks, suddenly the sounds of combat, as one of the mages unsheathes her daggers and throws herself bodily at the growing tide of white. "Brothers, sisters! See how quickly the mages turn to violence! They would rather kill than face the truth!" Fritz is emboldened by the sudden turning of the tide, and as the screams begin spreading through the crowd, he raises his voice to an eardrum-shattering howl. "XALIOUS STANDS WITH THE OSSIAN ORDER! DOWN WITH THE MAGES GUILD!!!!" eliciting a raucous cheer from the mob that has begun gathering around him, and other cheers echoed further out. Public opinion is changing, and as the fresh blood is spilled on Xalious' soil, dissent begins to fester, as the tree itself festers. Xalious, it slowly begins to seem apparent, truly does stand with Ossian Order.

Iintahquohae 's eyes are on Haladavar once he has -fully- revealed himself. That's who took Odhranos away. The chaos that begins to erupt around her ultimately becomes background noise, but that doesn't last long. Karasu's speed and the scent of blood that follows her after she has slashed someone nearby captures her attention – the blood, particularly. She swallows in effort to attempt keeping composure, while the tattoo around her neck slithers just so the serpent's head rests beneath her ear as it often has as of late. She did say she would rip Xalious apart in effort to find Odhranos again, no? That included its people, didn't it? They're nothing but roadblocks to Haladavar, to Odhranos...That glint in her eye reappears, and the serpent tattoo's scales glimmer. She blinks, shifting focus on the other occupant in her head. A question passes though her thoughts as her hand falls to S'erok's golden cage again. Can she use his magic, or at the very least act as a conduit for it? A low, gravelly voice answers the question posed. Point and shoot, Runeweaver. Point and shoot she does. Not at the crowd of Xalious villagers gathering together with Fritz, but toward the masked and cloaked individuals. As she has minimal control of terramancy, the results are messy. A spray of sand fires out from the cage in a powerful arc from the golden cage at her hip toward the people cloaked in white with the intention to knock them back, and if she is lucky and it aims high enough, blast Haladavar where the sun would be shining if the sun were out. But she's dressed as Maro tonight, so that must count for something. Without any real control of the sand, the force of the blast causes her to take a step back in effort to brace herself. Just one blast is made, and she turns, rounding on the villagers that decided to side with the Order. Fritz is her primary target, since it appears he is the only one brandishing a weapon that looks like he can use it properly. Predatory senses kick in, egged on with the bloodshed, and she runs straight for him at unnatural speed, taking the bat in her hands as she does so. She takes a leap once she is close enough to clear the gap between herself and Fritz, bat raised high over her head to slam down upon his, or any part of his body or the other's bodies she can reach. Where she can't hit, a hand reaches out to scratch, tug, pull any of the villagers she can close enough to sink her fangs into a neck or limb.

Lanlan :: Ialantha sees the exchange between Lanlan and Grace, and stares hard into the latter's eyes. It was her she was trusting, not Lanlan. For some reason, animosity or rivalry between Lanlan and someone else, always made the other person seem honest. Even if ialantha had only seen Grace in passing, she would trust her. So, for better or worse, Lanlan's gambit succeeded. She was putting faith in the gray elf. She didn't truly have anything to be worried about, though. If Lanlan betrayed her, she was more than strong enough to make him regret it. After scooping a couple things into a satchel, she plants a hand on the counter of the kiosk and swings her hips and legs over it. This was the first time in a long time that anyon could even get a tiny glimpse at the ancient runes colored into her skin, before her sleeves settle back down over them and conceal her marks once more. Lanlan leads her away with long strides and his jeweled cane in hand, using it forcefully to part the crowd on his way South. He stops momentarily to accost Grace once more. "I do expect you to tell me what you know." Then he hesitates, adding more quietly, "And I will do the same." He commences his getaway. The cadillac of carriages arrives in its gilded glory, and the door opens at Lanlan's approach. Yet as much as he knew lingering was a mistake, he couldn't help his curiosity. This man ruined his body, ruined his relationship, probably ruined his [ex] guild. And as Lanlan watched, he could see he was living his dream. Apotheosis. Or at least that's what it looked like. Color was wrong. "In," says Lanlan, and he and Ialantha load into the comfy carriage. Then he appears at the front, alongside his driver. The shrouded man awaits instructions, colleagues, conspirators, and local militia were before him, engaging in a battle both melee and magical. "Go," Lanlan commands callously. His armored horses would trample bodies and the wooden wheels would crack bones. It didn't matter, at this point there was almost no one he knew he could trust. The carriage lurches forward. "Wait. I know these." Some of the apprentices he knew as prisoners were among those in front of him. People he fought with and rescued. "Get in," he shouts to them. "As many as can fit. Let's go. Now." Several hesitated, but not his cousin, Khavra, who was as pragmatic as he was. "We'll be back for the rest," Lanlan lies, swaying the righteous. Lanlan had little care for the Xalious tree. Once it enjoyed the use of a branch, but he never needed it. His power always came from within. He summons it from his core, and a vast amount coagulates in his backbone, baby blue clouds obscuring him, traveling up his spine, through his bones and into his hands and eyes. At once he activates it, and a wide inferno overtakes the enemies in the path of his cart. And probably some friends. They panic and writhe, and the carriage pushes through them, over them. The smell of burning flesh and smoke fills the lungs and senses of many nearby, but not Lanlan, because he knows it's all a ruse. He grips the guard rail at the front of the chassis for balance, but the marvel of modern engineering that this blessed chariot is, the ride is mostly smooth.

Valrae nods to Lanlan, giving him a wry, mysterious smile that seemed terribly out of place for their current circumstances. And then the witch can feel rage rising from her belly, burning her throat, as Steward Saruir Aedihle is revealed to be Haladavar and he lays bare the crimes of the guild. His nudity is noted distantly with mild distaste. His speech terribly paralleled the one she’d given at the commencement ceremony that seemed to have happened lifetimes ago. While he wasn’t wrong, he was twisting and turning the blame from the very Order she’d quickly come to believe to be behind them. The magic that pours out of him reverberates in her chest and fear dances along her spine at it’s familiarity. The shock that she feels from the revelation of the Xalious Tree’s true state of damage does little to dull the razor sharp edges of her anger. When her alias rings out among the crowd, along with her allies within the guild, alarm nearly replaces her indignation. The emerald skull shudders with anticipation at her side. Everything within the illusioned witch was tense, crouched and ready for violent and bloody confrontation. Distantly, she was aware that some that might try to apprehend her could be innocent, guilty only of following the wrong voice, but she was weary and on edge. Mercy would be hard to appear at the tip of her wand. Chaos erupts around her. Finally, Valrae gives into the waiting power of the crystal skull. The dark power gathers around her like a storm cloud, rolling out in a heartbeat of warning to those around her before it bursts out, stagnating the air with its hunger. Valrae feels it coarse through her with dark pleasure, emerald fire bursting from her want and fingertips to devour the white cloaked mages that rushed her. Lanlan’s retreat is marked with his own inferno and the fires mingle, the voliotale magic rising toward a towering wall of flame. Heat rolls around her in waves. Screams and the cloying scent of burning flesh rise to mingle with the scent of freshly spilled blood. Distantly, she is aware this is a battle that cannot, and more to the point, should not be won here. There were too many innocent people, primed and ready for the slaughter, standing between the guild and the corrupted Order. Grace sprints further into the fray, risking herself by putting her body between a vampire and her next intended meal. “Iintahquohae fall back!” She moves quickly, Fury springing forth again to stand between her and a wave of white robed attackers. She mounts swiftly and with a single leap, leading him to cut off the advance with the thunder of his hooves, attempting to buy others time to retreat, spreading the fire behind her like a barrier.

Terra had to concur with Meri's last remarks and that is made apparent by the way she continued to hang back to watch it play out. Something felt ... wrong about all of this. The speech sounds good, it's a cause she could rally behind because again - she doesn't know this mage's guild from the local choir group. From what little she could gather, the charge of protecting the Tree and the magic here fell to that guild and they weren't able to do that, judging by the state of things. She could understand the rage, the anger but, where was it? Why was she not being swept away in the mob mentality given the sheer volume of the white-robed beings? "Something isn't right." Understatement of the century there, Terra. Any more obvious statements or would you lilke to make a decision? "I'm betting the guys in the white are the bad ones, badder? Baddest? Forget it." That was all she could offer to the conversation before she's joining the fray in a similiar fashion to the Inks - all teeth and vampiric strength since she didn't exactly come prepared for a fight. Her target was -only- those in white but should she come across a misled Xalious villager, she'd almost gently shove them far, far away.

Meri 's name was not among those listed and thus no one in white really had any interest in her...but Meri has developed a sudden interest in them. While Meri had initially been itching for a fight, the speech was almost enough to sway Meri into leaving. Maybe the Mage's Guild did need to answer for their negligence. Their response to this accusation was only seeming to bring more harm to the village of Xalious. She was about to convince Terra to leave, when Terra declares that something is not right and jumps into the fray herself. Meri stops forward with a hard roll of her eyes, making a point to keep close to the vampire, even though Terra was demonstrating that she was more than capable. Meri grabs the first block dressed in all white that she can see, taking him by the shoulder and yanking backward roughly. Once her target turns to face her as anticipated, he's greeted with an attack that begins with a fist straight to the nose, followed by a knee to the gut to knock the wind out of him, and if he crumples all the way to the ground as Meri hopes he might? The tattooed blonde will be kind enough to deliver a swift kick to the ribs. More people enter the fray, things start to burn, everything turns into utter madness, and at some point Meri calls out to Terra, "We need to go."

Rilla was, for a moment, surprised into stillness at the sight of what she’d stumbled into. The strange, perfect body and all of the chaos that erupted to follow. She would have liked a hood and maybe a few more weapons on her person walking into some sort of revolution, but not-a-dress would have to do for now. The young vampire produces a dagger from within her boot, tucks it into the band of her pants for easier access. A wry smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she straightens, moving around the outskirts of the crowd, stepping into them periodically, lobbing a smooth handled throwing knife towards the ones in white, though with her speed came a certain level of risk. The scent of blood was tugging at something animalistic in her. She got Magik in her sights, perhaps a part of whatever unspoken agreement they may have come to whether he knew it yet or not. Her body tensing as she fights for control or focus or whatever else there was. She’s only partly aware of what triggers it, the hunger that she couldn’t control. With four of her remaining five throwing knives lobbed firmly into the backs, fronts, or whatever other body part of a complete stranger, she gives in. Her whole body so tense she was nearly buzzing as she springs into the crowd, grasping at the first flash of white she spots and pulling it to her. Sinking her teeth into their throat and tearing. The taste of copper fills her mouth, bloodlust threatening to overwhelm her with it’s white-hot hunger rising in her throat, drowning out the sounds that she always found so overwhelming. Releasing the body, she flashes back away, weaving in and out, dagger in hand slashing at those who come too near as she searches the crowd for a familiar face. Her face and hands bloody, she stumbles by Magik, overstimulated and wild. “Get out, it’ll only get worse.” She calls out to him with a passing glance, sinking her blade into another over-excited brawler and twisting, sweeping a kick under their legs to knock them off balance and to the ground.

Kasyr is perhaps the absolute worst person to be in this situation, if only because of one belief- that he plays a pivotal role in helping salvage the continent from several apocalyptic events. In the face of that conceited concept, the white robed figures and villagers amounts to little more than offal. It makes justifying the rapid manifestation of his summoned swords a non issue- the blades jamming down in a defensive perimet about the Kensai- quite intentionally poised to skewer through flesh, sinew and bone alike in that initial strike. Shock and Awe is what Kasyrs' counting on in this moment, if only because the mention of his fledgeling has his attention shifting towards where he can detect her presence. In tandem with his steps, the blades are drawn up from the fleshy moorings they'd prior found, if only so one can find it's way into Kasyrs hands, and the rest can be sent spiralling about his person in an effort to decimate the forms of anyone that gets in his way. "Ostil De Tabernac de Bapteme De Batard."

Josleen :: Haladavar in his buff, amber glory gestures serenely at the violence that takes place beneath his feet. He is largely still, save for the occasional evasive maneuver to avoid a projectile blast of sand or fireball. “Look how quickly they turn to violence! They fear the long reach of justice. They refuse to face a judge because they know they are guilty! Apprehend them!” The Ossian Order fights back, and their ranks are noticeably more powerful than many of the mages present. The attack on the Xalious tree dealt a blow to the arcane power each mage in the guild wields. The Ossian Order, however, is less dependent on the tree for power. Their arcane shields withstand blows effectively, their lightning bolts singe with a ferocious intensity. To make matters worse, each Ossian mage is able to dual wield with alarming ease. They can maintain an earthen shield with one hand while blasting magical missiles with the other. They can summon a fey spirit while healing an ally. This makes them both difficult to hit and difficult to evade. An ice spear is launched at Iintahquohae’s vampiric heart. A magical net thrown over Valrae and Fury to subdue them to a state of unconsciousness. Twin acidic darts aim for the back of Magik’s head. A trio of black rubberized chains are flung at the well-known lightning spellblade, Kasyr. An air elemental is conjured before Karasu’s rampage to trap her in a whirlwind and send her flying towards the stars (yeet).

Karasu || The creature that calls herself Mhad'xlyn continues its assault. Members of the Ossian Order are kicked in the face and thrown around as the possessed woman slashes wildly. As the smoke drifts to her, Kaaname looks around. This would have to do, and he very well couldn't allow Karasu to leave his sight with the creature activated. Kaaname snaps his fingers the moment another humanoid goes down at her hands, one that Karasu would recognize the moment she comes to herself again. The tendrils recede, and her eyes resume their normal color. Whipping around to see her mentor turning into smoke, the spellblade gasps, her chest tight as she looks behind her. Laying at her feet, eyes wide with gasping breaths and a flower of blood blooming from his chest, is the sweet Duisteph "Dusty" Fengrax of the Spellblade Corps. "Mur...derer..." Dusty hisses at her with the last of strength. Tears well at her eyes. "What did I do, Magik what did I do?!" Karasu trembles before being swept into the whirlwind. The spellblade spirals into the air with a scream. She shouts out, "Gravitas!" Activating the gravity spell sends her slamming back down to the ground before coming into contact with the smoke, disappearing into it as well. The smoke with two of the eight declared war criminals rides the winds as sails straight for the forest of Kelay-Sage.

Fritz has time for another roar of support before Iintahquohae, and three feet of high speed lathed steel bears down upon him with the force of a charging bull. The halberd is raised to try and defend, but still being on his accomplice's shoulders, Fritz has no opportunity to mount a defence. The baseball bat descends, and with the most horrifically visceral of crunches, caves in the upper half of his cranium, killing him instantly. The disgusting squelch rings around the meadow clearer than any bell, and the onlookers scream and cry as one, many turning to vomit as a brave and righteous man is brutally murdered right before their eyes. If there was any doubt in the eyes of the gathered mob, there is no longer anymore. "Monster! She's a monster!" One party-goer roars, and the crowd erupts in a blistering barrage of insults and foul language, hurled at both the Guild and Iintahquohae in particular. "Murderers! Murderers!" Adding insult to fatal injury, Magik's knife slams into the side of what remains of Fritz' head and his battered corpse tumbles from the shoulders of his aggrieved comrade, prompting another wave of animalistic howls from the crowd. Whatever dithering there was going on in the members of the public that remained, their minds had just been made up for them. This Messiah that has come among them speaks the truth! The Mages Guild are a host of abhorrent villager slaughtering scum! They have turned a blind eye to their actions for long enough. "Larket should have burned their Tower to the ground!" "Down with the Mages! Ossian Order for Xalious!" "Kill them all!" Suddenly, the entirety of Xalious village seems to have turned, and is baying for the blood of the Guild. The point of no return has been crossed and what was before a gathering of civilised villagers is now a tide of catastrophic proportions, rushing the Guild from behind with a wave of bodies, pincering them between the mob and the approaching white-clad inquisition.

Iintahquohae finds joy instead of discomfort at being referred to as a monster by the villagers that decided to take the Order's side. Let them. Her affiliation with the guild hasn't been for very long, so if they need an out in the future, she'll take the blame, she thinks. Their cries seem to her like challenges, that she gladly takes them up on it and begins to slaughter. She knew she became indiscriminate when the taste of blood came into play. Everybody with a heartbeat is a potential meal now. Body count didn't matter. Only their blood. The magic she asked from S'erok is entirely shelved, as she relies on her speed, strength, and teeth alone to rip limbs from torsos, snap necks, and feast. One of the villagers that she managed to ensnare is given a shove in the gut so they double over by her baseball bat, then beaten in the middle of their spine with the bat once she's swung it over her head and brought it down enough times until she heard the crack of a broken bone. The body, limp but still clinging to life, is hoisted up overhead after she drops the bat, and thrown at members of the Order to knock them back. She turns back to the likely fleeing mob of villagers, jumping to the nearest one to tear into their flesh and devour their blood. Her clothes are thoroughly stained red, all sense of propriety and composure gone from the seamstress as her instincts and Sacred's influence) take complete control. As she is about to sink her teeth into someone's arm, Valrae steps between her meal and herself. There is a struggle instantaneously. She knows Valrae, she's a friend, not food – but she has such a strong heartbeat. Blood flows through her, she's freshly alive agai- “St-stay away, I can't,” you can, a voice hisses in her head, which she quickly shakes, “– your smell,” she manages to stammer out. Kasyr is nearby. Her sire. He can make her stop. “KAS!” she screams, while at the same time taking a dive at the witch, but she is too late to reach for her. The broken, alive body of a Xalious villager that the witch prevented her from eating is still there, on the ground with a mangled leg. She lifts the person in time to continue eating, but the ice spear hurtling her way makes her abruptly turn to face it, body-turned-meat shield in hand to take the hit. She drops the corpse and staggers back. As much as she'd love to shout at the villagers, “Hey, they killed one of yours too just now,” she doesn't. Instead she scopes out Haladavar in his nude, magical glory, as he is the key to finding Odhranos, lowering briefly to pick up her bat and walk directly toward him. Apparently, she missed Grace's direction to fall back. “GIVE. HIM. BACK.” she shouts at the floating figure, and prepares to reach for S'erok's magic again.

Lanlan is gently bumping and speeding for an exit over a black, blue, and red road when the axles on his carriage suddenly split. The whole thing bumps and drags on the ground cushioned only by the tumbling broken bodies of some misguided militants. The culprit stood portside to the carriage, wielding magnificent power in twos. From one hand, it throws mystical blades of force, the other is wreathed in black fire. After a graceful spin and dip, the Ossian agent hurls a planar disc of light, butting through the wool-wrapped neck of Lanlan's driver and dissipating before it can reach the militants on the other side. As the driver's head does a flip and hangs by a stretch of skin, blood flows generously like out of an overful cup. The agent pivots and throws it's hand forward, funneling a stream of flames the color of the midnight sky at Lanlan. Inches and a jiffy before he's consumed, the gray elf holds both hands open before the blaze and conducts with his eyebrows which new form the magic would take. Fire funnels into Lanlan's white gloves and bubbles float up and over instead of burning. "Khavra," he shouts to his cousin while countering the spell, "Levitate the chassis! Apprentices! Water, wind, thunder!" Just like last time. The dualist mage is drenched by a globe of water, frozen by a chilly wind, and finally shattered by a sonic boom. Chips of frosty gore scatter to the earth where a man once stood. From behind, a crowd of militants intends to take them, and Lanlan takes all the bubbles he just made and turns them into bowling balls, and they rain painfully onto the fools. Lanlan continues his escape with a smoother ride than ever, as the levitation spell lifts the gilded onion off the ground.

Valrae reels from her near miss with Iintahquohae, nearly shuddering with her deeply ingrained fear of vampirism, but she pushes it from her mind as she flys through battle on her mount. Through the chaos she senses the net a heartbeat too late, turning Fury quickly to escape it’s falling path. It brushes just behind her seat, searing into her mount’s hindquarters. Fury rears up and she clings to him desperately. The stallion dances back, tangled in the netting, and finally disappears in smoke. Valrae falls forward, landing painfully on her hands and knees in the blooded earth. She curses loudly but the words are cut off, the wind rushing out of her lungs with an ‘oof’ as a boot meets her ribcage. The witch rolls, springing up onto her feet to send a blast of furious fire toward the villager that had attacked her, realizing too late he was not part of the Order. As he screams, Grace turns heel and runs. She can hear Iintahquohae screaming over the symphony of battle. Steeling her courage, she slips through the struggling crowd and sprints toward the vampire. “We have to go!” She shouts, reaching out to touch her arm. “NOW.” The witch shakes her with surprising strength for a human woman. “Please, we do no good for Odhranos if we’re dead!” She can see a clear path where her fire has burned through the battle. Valrae makes one last attempt to push Iintahquohae toward it before sending a final, baleful glance to the floating, nude menace. And then the witch flees, cradling her wounded ribs as she calls forth shadows and slips into the night.

Terra heard Meri and would be forced to agree with her. Whatever was happening here was far beyond what she had anticipated. It doesn't help that her dress is ripped, she's lost a shoe and her nose is bleeding from the brief tussle she did engage in. Xalious is not her city and it would not do her well to align with any side without further research and just as quickly as she had involved herself, she excused herself from it and likely left behind a confused dance partner. One student had been finding a way in and out, stealing those he could away and he'd find Terra's hand and drag her the way he had snuck in, "This way Miss~". If she was near, the vampire reached out to grab a tattooed arm belonging to Meri and would drag her the way the student was indicating. Just in the nick of time it would seem as everything was quickly unraveling and descending further into chaos, threatening to swallow the empath into it as well. Since she was not on that list nor affiliated with the guild, her getaway was far easier than some of the others. Unfortunately, between the rage she picked up from the crowd and her own inability to stifle the hunger that had not been satiated during their brief foray, Terra is a danger to Meri and would choose to leave her, for both their sakes. Once things had calmed down, she'd find her again at one of the old haunts.

Meri was just about to reach for a plane looking stone necklace that dangles about her neck, a quick escape plan that her long time comrade Eleanor provided once upon a time. She was about to grab hold of Terra's hand to utilize this easy out, when a student appears. Terra wants Meri to follow, and Meri is happy to oblige. No grandiose displays would be coming from the psion during this battle, there was too much going on and Meri did not want to risk the life of someone wholly innocent in any of her endeavors...but her telekinetic abilities are employed while Terra and Meri make their escape, deflecting any rogue projectiles or spells that might hinder either of the two women. Once they are distanced from the battle, no offense is taken when Terra decides to part ways. The werewolf has a deep understanding of these dangers.

Rilla eyes the escalating scene cautiously, relying mostly on instinct as she weaves through the commotion. Between Inks losing control while a human tries to get her back, and the villain who was naked for no apparent reason, her entire being on high alert. This wasn’t her fight; she was simply loyal to a fault. The sounds and smells served to only overwhelm her, the taste of blood in her mouth just made her want to be more reckless. Pushing her hair from her eyes with one bloody hand, leaving behind a crimson smear across porcelain skin. She spots Magik wrangling the seemingly possessed woman, watching carefully until the smoke began again. His disappearance solves the last thing keeping her there, and with that Rilla moves to take her leave as well. She breaks into a dead sprint away from the crowd, moving unnaturally quickly to avoid the spreading fire that threatenes to block them in, dagger still tight in hand in case of followers. She weaves, trusting that no one would bother with her, and heading North-East, the young vampire is little more than a shadow as she pulls herself over rather than around rocks and trees in her path. A fit of adrenaline for her to run off before she would come to rest again.

Kasyr is not often given cause to tap into the full extent of his prowess- but this complete calamity serves as a more than adequate reason to shed any semblance of fair play. Murderous intent emanates from all around himself- serving as an invasive cacophony to the empath, to the point that it blots out the casters actively targeting him until their peculiar chains are sent hurtling out towards him amidst the crowd. And frankly, Kasyr doesn't miss a beat in worsening the guilds reputation- one of his summoned swords simply directed between the legs of a villager to pop them up in the path of the nearest chain. The next chain serves to rob the Kensai of his rotating wall of serves- as the Kensai sends his spiritual weapons forward- effectively allowing the cluster of spinning weapons to entangle the weapon, an unspoken command sending the spiraling mess of stell and rubberized material spiraling through the crowd in a destructive arc. The third, however, provides some degree of resistance- for when the Kensai goes to impart a jolt of lightning into his weapon, so as to draw it swiftly and cleave it in two- there's a distinct resistance. While it still bears the enhanced momentum, the odd alloy defuses the lingering sparks. It's not enough to prevent the empowered strike of cleaving through the chain, given the swiftness of the arc- but the manner in which it comes to a rather abrupt halt serves as a sobering experience. They'd -trained-, they'd -prepared- to take down the members they were targeting. And their ambush was still in full swing, their best cards yet to be played. A tension ripples through the swordsmans arms- but he manages to keep hold of the weapon in his hands, and his bearings in the direction of the seamstress. "Inks. Get Over here." There's so much care taken in that order- to avoid simply halting her in the midst of this fray. To help close the distance as he passes by villager and OO alike, the ferocity in his movements gaining by the moment as he continues to forego any semblance of restraint. By the time he reaches the seamstress, there's an overpowering scent of ozone in the air, and a sanguine paint coating his arms- the simple result of his continued invocation of that raw elemental force that seems to come from within him. Only, it's furious cannibalisation seems even quicker than before- resulting in a general lack of warning when he goes to reach out towards the seamstress. His goal is simple, really- as he seeks to take hold of her, and then channel every ounce of electrical energy he can conjure up in that moment to send them riding a bolt of lightning out from the clearing- and leave a suitably charred crater of corpses in their wake.

Josleen :: Haladavar smirks as Iintahquohae focuses her attention on him. His scouts informed him that this one was overly, perhaps even romantically, involved with Kerrigan. Their assumptions seem to bear out. "Odhranos surrendered himself to me. He didn’t want to risk becoming a monster like you. It was only a matter of time before -this- happened." He gestures at her blood-soaked golden and white dress. The magnificently and powerfully endowed magical being snaps out of existence. He is nowhere to be found.

Magik and Karasu take a large loop away from Xalious high in the sky. When out of sight the smoke trail turns back to Xalious but dips close the ground. They fly through the park and to the pass south of the Xalious Tree. With the adrenaline wearing off quickly, Magik loses focus for just a second. The two materialize and Magik clips a tree. He loses Kara's grip and they both go tumbling through the woods. Magik slides on the forest floor until his back comes into contact with a thick based tree. Before Magik can look up, he's quickly surrounded by his students all armed with their individually different colored fireballs in their hands. The Veneficus is quick to open his eyes and rolls onto all fours. He's winded but manages to communicate, "Find Karasu.." A couple students stay behind to help their mentor to his feet. Magik whispers to them quietly, "Elven camp in Sage. Look up. Tell the others." One apprentice runs ahead to the group searching for Karasu to spread the word. Magik begins the slow trek back home with his students just feet behind him.

Karasu is sent flying when Magikrios smashes against the tree, rolling to a stop somewhere in the rocky terrain. Her dress is shredded and bloodstained. This is Trist'oth all over again. No, this... this is even worse than Trist'oth. Odhranos was gone, had they outright killed him? The spellblade gasps and feels at her head until the cool bronze of the scarab is felt below her bloody fingertips. Karasu sits up with the fingers against the memento, triyng to remember what had happened. The second they had been declared prisoners, Kaaname had brought her in for an embrace, a sensation that still made her skin crawl and then suddenly one of her students was dead below her. Dusty had been so sweet and meek, how had someone like that joined the Ossian Order? Karasu feels bile at her throat and she stops to retch. The approach of footsteps in the grass makes her jump. Standing before her are two members of the Spellblade Corps: Aumaxra and Ondrel Redithas, weapons drawn. Karasu suddenly gives a single shudder before lowering her head. "Make it quick, before this thing comes out again." She laments. To her surprise, what touches her is not steel but flesh as the avian kneels and pulls her into a tight embrace. "Don't be ridiculous. Are you the future first spellblade Archmage, or not?" The high elf says, taking a cursory glance around. Karasu trembles, knitting her brows down. She hadn't called herself that since she was a teenager. "Stupid..." She says, lowering her head. Aumaxra helps her to her feet just as the pyromancy students emerge from the thickets. "Veneficus D'Chath said to meet at the Elven Camp." One of his students says softly. Karasu hesitates and looks back in the direction of the Xalious Tree, its burnt branches still reaching up into the light of the Ahr'Nuk for salvation. Odhranos needed her help, but there was no way she could do it in her condition. She had to rid herself of whatever it was that was inside her. "Hang in there, Odie." She whispers, feeling the hematite scarab in her hair. The defectors of the Mage's Guild disappear into the woods.

The mob of incensed villagers barrels on, its ranks decimated, but it's collective fury unabated, while behind them, the few remaining members of the militia are left to once again pick up the pieces, though now, there are more to bury than there are living members to bury them. Leaving Fritz' companions to their grief, once the remaining members of the Mages' Guild have fled, the white-robed legion turn as one and march cleanly from the meadow. Thanks in no small part to the brave sacrifice of Fritz and his militia, their losses were minimal, and they have gained something far more worthwhile for their efforts. Security, support, and above all, dominance. The Mage's Guild flees, scattered and in pieces, while even now, the Ossian Order consolidates a thousand years of planning and preparation. The Promised Day has finally come and soon, the Enlightenment of Xalious shall begin.

Iintahquohae has a torn arm in her hand. Don't ask how she got it, because she doesn't know. Probably from one of the villagers that gets too close and she pulled to hard on the limb to bring the woman in and take a bite. She's waving it at Haladavar, though. “Come down here and face me instead of hiding behind your masked minions, you COWARD!” Valrae's pleas to fall back do not go unnoticed as well as the rough shake she is given, but she can't do it. She can't listen. The seamstress can't die, a voice reminds her – not the hiss of Sacred, but her own voice, the wellspring of confidence within her, that encourages her to continue. The witch's shove does make her step backward a bit, but she tries to resist, unblinking gaze focused on Haladavar's form floating in the distance. Her grip on the bat's handle tightens with one hand, while the other rests on S'erok's cage, preparing to call for his help to fire off more sand. Her sire's voice cuts into the blood lust and fury that clouds her mind, issuing a command that she cannot ignore. She obeys, but walks backward, glaring down Haladavar the entire way. A stream of likely ill-placed insults and curses leave her bloodied lips, considering she's walking away from the being and to Kasyr's side, but they falter at his words. ...He thinks she's a monster? In an instant, she is deflated. No more blood lust, confidence – it's gone. The blood that she drank feels as if it has run cold within her, and it's as if her vision clears. Apparently actions have some consequences. She forgot. “N-no,” she mutters. “No! You're a liar!” Is he though? Does Odhranos really think that of her? He couldn't...Her gaze falls to her bloodied hands, the mangled bodies she left behind. He could. She doesn't realize it, but she has reached Kasyr's side, full of blood but drained from over exerting herself. The words from Haladavar hit her like a wall. She practically crumbles, leaning against her sire for support. Tears well in the seamstress's eyes, but a hardness sets in as well. She'll find Odhranos, and make sure to hear the words from him herself.

Lanlan kicks his dead nearly-headless rider out of the driver's seat and takes off, speeding down the road with a floating carriage full of apprentices and a very, very old librarian. When they've mostly left behind the madness, Lanlan notices a militia-angrily gripping the floating chassis and trying to pull his way onto the frame. "What the-" He stands up, grabs his jeweled adamantium cane by the ruby and starts ruthlessly jabbing it into the man's face. "DisGUSTING." Damn humans. He smudges off the grubby-oily handprint before returning to his gentle cruise. They land in Cenril and take refuge in a castle of death. It's okay though it's undergoing renovations. He'd have to reach out to the others at some point, regroup somewhere. His former and again and again-former guildmates were of equal standing with him now. They notably named Odhranos on the list of refugees, even though they obviously pinched him already. But they were impersonating justice, did that mean he would have a trial? He grins wickedly at the karmic justice, but then a frown chases the smile away. Odhranos could just die before Lanlan ever got to tell him the thing he needed to tell him. Maybe he was dead already. "Probably is," he says to himself. "Loser."