RP:The Day I Tried To Live... And Failed

Part of the The Day I Tried To Live Arc

This is a Necromancer's Guild RP.

Summary: Khitti, Brand, Lionel, Bradyn, Onyx, and Esche meet within the Dark Forest to start the ritual needed to complete Khitti's cure. Part-way through, Facilier shows up and things take a turn for the worse...

The Black Pond, The Dark Forest, Vailkrin

The Black Pond. It was here that Khitti was forced by none other than Larewen herself to help resurrect a death knight, not long after Khitti arrived in Lithrydel. Khitti had completely despised the act, as well as the lust for power that Larewen showed as she pulled magic from Amarrah, when the shadow creature dwelled in her arm. It had been abominable and yet… here she was doing just that: resurrecting the dead. In some strange, twisted way, it felt only right to be here. Like some sort of anniversary.

A small fire pit for burning the things that needed to burn for the ritual, and thin stone table had been put into place, the remains of Lydia’s body--she was still just a girl, forever fourteen--placed upon it. The skull had been crushed in, compliments of her still mostly alive sister, but otherwise, the body had gone through the usual amount of rot after a year and a half since being reanimated by the mind flayer. The fire pit had been set alight and the song she’d written for Brand (that song that he still only vaguely knows about), the voodoo doll from Vakmathras and Gevurah, and the jar with that strange holy orb from Arkhen had all been cast into the flames--with the warning to Bradyn to watch out for any holy magic that might spill out. The tainted icecap mushrooms, mermaid scales, and leviathan tooth were all turned to dust via mortar and pestle and added to the wine known as Delisha’s Ambrosia. With obvious hesitation, Khitti drank the wine and… actually felt a little woozy? This was probably not good. Since when was wine -without- blood strong enough to affect a vampire? Welp, too late now.

Clearly struggling with whatever had overcome her thanks to that concoction, Khitti gave out instructions: Bradyn was to help her insert the now unfrozen heart of Amarrah into Lydia’s body and pool his magic with her own to not only reanimate the body but shove Lydia’s soul back into it as well. Brand and Lionel were on spider and wolf duty for now; the area would practically become a beacon of dark magic, and there were many beasts in the forest that were attracted to it. And lastly, it would be wise to stay away from the pond itself; who knows when the kraken was fed last. Khitti surely hasn’t had time for it.

Bradyn was here for Khitti had sent word, per their previous discussions. For those not so familiar with Bradyn (Lionel), the guy is the tall and lanky sort who is dressed as one might expect a mortician to dress. His attire is predominantly black save for the white button up shirt he wears beneath a vest, everything is pressed and spotless. At the time that Bradyn had agreed to assisting Khitti with this task, Bradyn did not have any questions for Khitti. Cure? What cure? As far as he knows, she is just having one of those cheesy, sentimental moments -- needing to bring back her long lost beloved sister back to life because d'aw, she must miss Lydia. No additional questions required. Now that Bradyn is here, seeing the selected ingredients for this endeavor, a few questions were definitely starting to form within the back of his mind. The need for ingredients for a spell was not foreign to her, but her selected ingredients were starting to clue him into the fact that maybe this was not the run of the mill resurrection? Fortunately for Khitti, Bradyn's approach to trying to find the answer to these questions that are starting to brew is not going to be to slow down or hinder this process by vocalizing them. Apparently Bradyn is alright with a trial by fire approach to gaining those answers. If she wanted him to help her inser that frozen heart? He would assist her at her instruction, that was literally the entire reason why he was here. Whatever answers he did not get through observation and assistance, she might have to deal with them later.

Brand is monitoring the perimeter, pretending not to be interested in the ritual taking place at his back. He’s pretending, also, that he’s not casting glances over his shoulder every few seconds; he’s a lot more certain that something will go wrong with the spell than that something will be drawn to the spell that is stealthy enough to catch him unawares. Bears and giant spiders are, well, giant… there will be no stalking nimbly through the forest for them. Besides, he’s fought spiders in this forest a few times before. Today’s mission would be almost boring if not for the whole necromancy thing going on behind him.

Onyx stares down at Lydia’s corpse from a high-up tree bough. While they are ostensibly here to assist Brand and Lionel, their stance suggests otherwise. They are foregoing their hard candies today -- the crunching would be disruptive, to say the least -- and their bow is drawn with an arrow nocked. The tip points straight at Amarrah’s heart… or perhaps at the vampire who is carrying it.

Lionel isn’t dressed especially differently from Bradyn. The men may be perfect strangers, but their lithe forms -- granted, Bradyn seems taller -- as well as their dark preferences toward attire almost paints them as kin. Given the nature of this mission, it wouldn’t have done to leave Hellfire behind. The longsword’s chromatic scabbard seems to shimmer its rainbow spectrum in accordance with the stars and moonlight. Its wielder does not avert his gaze from the scene, keeping sharp azure eyes on the ceremony of light and dark. Lionel relies heavily on Esche’s heightened elven senses; his ally is keeping distance some fifteen meters deeper into the treeline. Esche’s aid is invaluable tonight, as Halycanos’ power within Hellfire cannot act as supernatural scout to dark stirrings when it’s already reverberating in reaction to Khitti’s acions. Save for his own human abilities, Lionel will be blind to any wicked and uninvited guests.

Khitti likely wouldn’t have answered Bradyn anyway. Nearly all of that wine had been drunk and now she was essentially on autopilot. The heart would be put in and the channeling to bring back the corpse to its former state. For all her effort, her concentration was unsteady; it was entirely different from when Lorkain had instructed them on proper reanimation and resurrection of the dead as she’d only been doubtful of her abilities then. Every so often, she’d look over her shoulder towards an empty spot in the clearing. Had she heard something? Was she frightened? It certainly seemed so. A voice called to her; it was so familiar, carried that strange lilt that Amarrah’s people had had. “Continue,” she said to Bradyn as she backed away from the table. She was… wandering off? What the hell. “D-do not stop until it’s finished, Bradyn. Please.” Khitti sounded desperate. Something was coming. Something… not good. The air would stir as it does when a portal was beginning to open; surely Esche and Onyx would feel it too now. The darkness at the entrance to the area suddenly parted, in that typical fashion with shadow magic, and Facilier would step out. “Ma chere, I was startin’ to wonder when you were gonna finish w’ this. Things weren’t too difficult, were they?” Khitti and Brand had certainly seen Amarrah’s father before in all of his glory, but for Lionel and Bradyn, Facilier was dressed to the nines. Like the rest of his tribe, he shrouded himself in the finest black silks of the Shadow Plane; every inch of his eight foot tall, skeleton-esque form was made to give off an air of wealth and power--well, he was practically a king in his part of the world, after all. Khitti could only stare and dared not move. Suddenly she’d become very aware of just how far away she’d wandered from the others.

Please was definitely a good addition to that statement there, Khitti, but it was definitely Bradyn's own curiosity that was urging him to hold his concentration...and not lecture Khitti for the lack of her own. Why does she keep looking off into the clearly? Oh and now she was just going to wander away? Was he not here to help? What the heck was she doing? More questions but he could not turn his attentions fully to Facilier lest his own concentration on the spell be broken. As tempting as it was to look away from Lydia and find focus on Facilier, he had little choice. So there Braydn was, standing before Lydia with Khitti having migrated away. What were Brand and Lionel up to? It was fairly impossible for Bradyn to keep tabs on everyone. He had a job to do, a task at hand, and he wasn't going to deal with a pissed off redhead by ruining her chances to get her sister back. That is what we're doing here, right? He is just going to duck his head and focus on bringing Lydia back to life. Everyone else can deal with the drama.

One of the times he is glancing around where he isn’t supposed to be, Brand catches Khitti in his peripheral. What in the gorram hell…? But before he can make a decision as to whether to follow her or maintain his guard, Onyx has made the decision for him and deigned to follow the vampiress. The child glides from limb to limb across the canopy of trees -- and they’re gliding in the literal sense of the word, for a set of batlike wings has manifested on the undead’s back. More of their illusions, no doubt, but the effect is unsettling, and Brand finds himself swallowing an uneasy lump in his throat as Onyx departs.

Lionel tenses after registering Onyx’s presence in the canopy. Something about that creature rubbed him the wrong way back in Cenril. It’s a fleeting thought, destined to irrelevance. The danger is Facilier, and whatever the skeletal man brings with him. The danger is the Shadow Plane, and whatever price Khitti and her companions may need to pay in exchange for a resolution to this quest. It was always going to be costly; Lionel knew this from the first. Now they’re in the thick of it, whatever ‘it’ may be. The Catalian closes the distance between Khitti and himself, albeit subtly. He does not draw Hellfire, nor does he assume a battler’s stance. It’s a stroll, diagonally, that takes him just a little bit closer to his friend. One could be forgiven for mistaking him as wholesale-oblivious to the situation, considering his casual and cocksure countenance. | Esche, sensing the ripple in reality, clutches his oaken staff and closes his eyes. It is here, in forced darkness, that the elf can shut out much of the superfluous noise of the world around him and focus on the source of the aether. When eyes reopen, Esche’s staff is alight with cool white energies. They swirl, guiding him through his hidden Ishaarite spirit’s power toward a vantage point for Facilier. But the elf does not simply watch. He is a veritable master of quiet casting, and the dispel enchantment he’s summoned to encircle him will likely not be detected by anyone present. This spell, dispel, will keep him protected from any harmful magics which might emanate from the Shadow Plane or any other sources for the duration of tonight’s encounter.

No no. No no no no. This is not good. Not good at all. Facilier’s presence, of course, only meant sinister things. Bradyn would cast and Lydia’s form would be restored. But… still she didn’t awaken. Something was wrong. “I did say you had to work for your cure, didn’t I?” Facilier chuckled at Khitti as she finally started to back away from him, bumping into the Knight-Commander along the way. “You stay zhe hell away from us. You got vhat you frakking vanted. You’re not taking zhis away from me. I vorked too damned much for zhis--sacrificed -everything-!” Facilier only shrugged, “Ain’t here to take it away. Only here to make it worse.” Worse? It can get worse? What’s worse than Facilier? Well, to answer that question: a legion of shades. The shadowy apparitions dispersed from all corners of the area and began to surround the redhead, threatening to swallow her -and- Lionel up, though she’d conjure up that shadowfire of hers to help keep them at bay--that wine was still hindering things however. She could feel that Lydia had not returned and remembering that old story about the mad scientist and his creation, she shouted the only thing she could think of to Brand, “SHOCK HER.” As in Lydia. As in enough to jolt her into being again. Oh, Bradyn. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. You’re going to have so many questions for Khitti aren’t you? Hopefully, we’ll all live to be able to ask and answer said questions afterwards. As Bradyn would’ve been concentrating on Lydia’s body, something wouldn’t seemed not quite right. A putrid blackness would begin to pour from Lydia’s mouth regardless of Brand’s help; the heart had definitely tainted things.

Bradyn should probably seemed more shocked and surprised than he is, most would be in this scenario, wouldn't they? Grey eyes do not go wide, there are not gasps of surprise, no jumping backward out of fear. Shock her? A tactic that ultimately did not seem to be effective, when Brand was able to follow instruction. The fact that darkness would oozing out of Lydia's mouth was not the expected course of this spell but it was more intriguing to Bradyn than it was concerning. He did not have an invested interest in finding a curse but he has managed to overhear Facilier and is slowly starting to be clued into more details that Khitti has kept from him. Which is fine, he'd probably keep plenty of information from her when it damn well suited him. Despite the lack of reaction, Bradyn is not dense. He is not just going to stand there directly beside Lydia only to risk contact with the blackness that Lydia seems to be vomiting. Except she can't do that, she's dead. Two calm steps would distance himself from Lydia's body, not willing to stray too far from the corpse should it be something that Facilier be looking to reclaim.

Brand knows only what little Khitti has bothered explaining to him, when it comes to necromancy. Like most of the living, the notion of performing it himself isn’t one that sits all that well with him, so even if he showed a talent for it, he doesn’t have the proclivity. But despite his reservations, when Khitti’s voice rings out from beyond the trees… he turns and steps toward the corpse. It is already frothing black sludge by the time he nears it, sludge that is all too familiar to him. It looks eerily similar to what Khitti was coughing up in her sleep while Lydia watched and did nothing. It’s a grim reminder, Brand thinks, that karma tends to bite those who think themselves beyond it -- though who even knows if her soul is present enough anymore to witness it in action. || No time for dwelling on the matter. While blocking the smell with one hand over his nose and mouth, Brand shoots the other hand forth and does as told. Sparks surge from his fingers, rattling the bones of the skeleton beneath.

Onyx would have shot at Facilier before he even had a chance to speak, if they thought it would make the slightest difference. Alas, an early leer from the skeletal figure is enough to stay their hand; the instant of eye contact is enough to tell Onyx they do not have the advantage of surprise on their side. The shades, though, are not so clued into their surroundings. Onyx descends as the shades appear, three arrows raining down on them by the time the undead hits the ground. Their back is to Khitti; their arrows aid in her defense. Whatever Onyx’s motives, it’s clear they regard Facilier’s shades as more of a threat than the vampiress -- for the moment, anyway.

Lionel leaps aside, hitting the ground hard and rolling past the deadly swipes of the pursuant shades. He’s back on his feet in a slick motion, a thin and serrated little knife held out in each palm for a splinter of a blurring second before they each find targets in the shades looming closest to Khitti. In a devil’s heartbeat, the Hero of Hellfire is drawing his titular sword, flames bursting across the steel. He stands with the blade held almost flawlessly horizontal, but his knees are bent in a strider’s stance. “Lionel, wait!” Esche cries out from afar, rushing closer as fast as his legs will grant him to reduce the gap between the two men. The nearest shades flicker with interest and double back to attack the elf, but Esche’s staff is held proudly above his head, and the glowing white energies which have been encircling its oaken hem suddenly burst free like air particles escaping a bubble. The energies swirl around the shades, faster and faster, and they’re stopped mid-clawing as if time stood still in protest to their plot. Seizing opportunity, Lionel darts past Khitti and swings Hellfire in a cleaving manner, taking the foul beasts into death’s embrace and leaving behind only faint obsidian wisps where their ghastly bodies had been. “Thanks,” Lionel mutters to Esche, who has already begun moving toward the remaining shades with his staff at the ready. Yet one of them breaks off from the pack, and too quickly for Lionel to register its intentions. It vanishes briefly, reappearing beside Esche and howling forth some viscous fluid from its suggestion of a mouth. The fluid coats the atmosphere beside him, a tar-like and nasty business that sees him stopped in his tracks just as quickly as he’d done to the enemy. Turnabout is fair play, after all. Lionel offers Khitti a glance, then glares at Facilier. “Damn it.” Shades lean and preen, tilting to surround the Catalian as he runs to Esche’s aid. His sword’s fire burns them away, melting them all in a single hasty blow. He has no time for their admonishments. Esche releases a deep breath, the vile stuff that had ensnared him disappearing with the attacker’s demise. There is no time to celebrate; further shades commence their approach.

Bradyn continues to be rather suspicious of the situation, and now the corpse as well. Brand does as instructed and send electricity through the aforementioned body of Khitti’s sister. Lionel, Onyx, and Esche make quick work of the shades. Facilier could only laugh at the misfortune of everyone as Khitti stood there and stared. It felt like time had stopped, though the seconds went by quickly. The wine had caused her vision to blur, her senses dulled. It felt too surreal. Was this really happening? Was any of this even real? With a bit of a wobble, she turned around to face Facilier, shadowflames alight in her left hand. “Zhis isn’t how it’s supposed to be! I did everything you vanted!” Amarrah’s father clicked his tongue at the redhead, “You ‘aven’t done everythin’ yet, chere.” Khitti, despite the way she was feeling right now, didn’t care what she had or hadn’t done yet, and soon she was closing the distance between the two of them, flames in hand, with the intent on ending this now. Except…

“Khitti?” All at once, whatever shades were left faded away, as if on command. Lydia sat up, coughing up that putrid black ooze. For all that had been done to raise the younger von Schreier, she seemed… surprisingly alright. Khitti’s mirror, albeit that of her teenage self, blinked a few times, first at Bradyn, then Brand. Khitti froze as she heard her name. It… worked? Shadowflames dissipated and Khitti suddenly lost interest in Facilier. That was probably a bad decision on Khitti’s part, but Facilier looked more content to watch the events play out than do any sort of fighting. The elder redhead pushed past anyone in her way to reach her sister’s side and started to look her over, giving off a sort of motherly-overprotective air.

For all of that wisdom that Khitti’s usually spouting off, she’s really very dense sometimes. Now, is one of those times. She does not realize the significance of Facilier being here, nor does she notice Lydia’s eyes take on that purple hue that Brand was so familiar with now as Khitti goes to hug her sister one last time before she was to finish the ritual and complete the necessary steps for her cure. It didn’t occur to the von Schreier woman that maybe Facilier had planned this, just like he had everything else, that yes, even the wine to subdue her had been strategically chosen for this. It hadn’t occurred to her just how much of a hold Facilier had on the heart that had once belonged to his daughter and that perhaps maybe, just maybe, Amarrah’s soul was still attached to it. Bradyn and Khitti (but mostly Bradyn) had indeed tied Lydia’s soul to the body as well, but Amarrah was much stronger than Lydia was; she was more cunning and vile and probably pretty pissed off because of the things her father had done to her--including kill her! None of these things dawned on Khitti… until Lydia’s hand grabbed hold of Khitti’s hair, yanked her head to the side, and Lydia chomped down on Khitti’s throat a la zombie, tearing a sizeable chunk out of it, blood spray and all. “-Now-, you’ve done everythin’, ma chere,” came Facilier’s voice from afar.

Bradyn :: There is a lot that Bradyn does not know and understand, Khitti had kept him in the dark about....okay, practically all of the details. This is creating a lot of hesitation with the Maharan male, just what in the hell was going on here? Who was Facilier and was he someone that Bradyn really wanted to go against? It is not like he and Khitti were friends, because if they were Bradyn may actually have a clue what is going on right now. He does not. Does Bradyn really want to go making enemies with this Facilier? On the flipside, did he want to go making enemies with Khitti? The vampire inwardly debates back and forth with himself, leading to a lot of inaction on his part while. It's hard to decide what course of action to take when one is feeling rather lost in the events taking place, see. It's not until Lydia chomps down on Khitti's neck that Bradyn decides to do -something-. Shall we attempt to revisit that lesson with the Lorkain, Khitti? Not that Bradyn really demonstrated that he was having much difficulty with the lesson. Khitti was not as simple a subject to cast upon, however, not like the half-rotted corpses that Lorkain had them working with. Still, the necromancer will focus his energies in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing so freely from Khitti's chomped upon neck, perhaps even regenerate to an imperfect extent. Then again, it would be just Khitti's luck, wouldn't it? Bradyn and Khitti may not actually be friends but it did not serve him to have her dead either, so...at least he tried to help, okay?

Brand’s eyes are watering from the stench of the body before him; this much is true even before he jolts it to consciousness. And now the air is heavy with the taste of lightning-seared necrotic flesh, and the hand protecting his nose from the assault is needed to guard against the bile that threatens to eject itself from his stomach. Put simply, Brand is only a man, with all the weaknesses that implies. Even a lifetime of burning, stabbing, maiming the living can scarcely prepare him for the sensory horrors of a freshly resuscitated, long-dead corpse. And so as Lydia’s eyes grow purple, he is reeling too much to see it. He’s stumbling backwards away from the scene as the corpse bites into Khitti’s throat. He can’t help it; it’s reflexive. Instinctual. Human. By the time Brand recovers enough to register what has happened, the undead mortician is already intervening. He can only trust that Bradyn has it handled, and pivot back to where he is useful: taking down a threat. Namely, Lydia. Steeling himself against the smells now, the Catalian circles around to strangle or otherwise subdue Khitti’s sister from behind.

Onyx, meanwhile, is going for broke. It’s highly unlikely to be effective, and they know it, but as the shades clear away Onyx elects to wail upon Facilier himself. They distract with a barrage of arrows as illusory clones attempt to strike the villain from the sides and from above. Even one lucky hit might change the course of events here. Even just one...

Lionel seems made of steel insofar as sensory horror is concerned. His face is a mask, his mind a trickster guarding him from the scents and sights. His throat may feel raw, parched, and abruptly he may taste the bile, but he will not falter. Put simply, Lionel is a man, but too many battles have given him the unappealing gift of mental and emotional numbness to war's follies. Even as his head spins, as much from the speaking cadaver as his own boiling wrath, Lionel's physicality dictates finesse. His charge is swift, his motions scattered. He zigzags across the field, flames kicked up in his wake. He is a trailblazer. His destination is not immediately clear. Too many sharp angles, too much tumult, too many things happening in too many elsewheres. A knife is readied, his fingers clutching its black hilt and flicking its serrated edge toward Lydia. The knife seems poised for an ugly gash into an ugly neck. With a thin wave of fire around him, Lionel bolts like a storm from this perceived trajectory. He reappears behind Facilier. "Get away from her, you dick." Malice, whispered. The knife is tossed, bolstered by strands of the flame cloak surrounding the Catalian. It sears, threateningly, seeking like a homing projectile to strike the man in the groin. Should he elude the sender, the knife will know. It will stop, with great and terrible haste, and it will follow. Should the bastard devise some clever plot, Lionel will be there. Should he flee, Lionel will give chase. Should he turn around, he will see fierce blue eyes staring. And he will see the blade, Hellfire, as Lionel swings it.

Khitti was… in a strange state of shock. No, this wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. No, it definitely is happening. Khitti gaped in horror at the black ooze and blood covered grin that she was being given by Lydia-Amarrah as Brand managed to come to his senses and go around to choke the hell out of corpse. This isn’t supposed to be happening like this. The blood continued to pour from her throat even as Bradyn used his magic to stitch her up, but it soon ceased. Lydia went to add another one to Khitti’s shoulder, but Brand succeeds in wrapping his fingers around her throat, but it was too little too late. It was the way of things lately; nothing ever went the way it should. Bradyn was given an apologetic look as he tried his best to heal her; she should’ve told him, should’ve said -something-.

Onyx surprisingly succeeds in their onslaught, though it does little damage--or at the very least, Facilier only makes it look like it was little damage. For once, -he- didn’t expect this, but it wouldn’t do to let them see that. Facilier takes several of the arrows, but seemed unphased. While Onyx is faster, Facilier -is- a necromancer, and once he’s gotten his bearings after the flurry of arrows, it doesn’t take much for him to hone in on the undead and seek to control them. It wasn’t to turn Onyx against the rest of their friends, however, but merely force them against the nearest tree and make them watch. This allowed Lionel too to barely get in his attack, just the precious few seconds Facilier wasted on Onyx was enough for Lionel to get close and when Amarrah’s father turned around, there Lionel was with seething hatred and Hellfire poised to strike. And struck he was, but he did not die. He did, however, let out a howl of pain and then just like that, he was gone, the portal to the Shadow Plane reopened and the wounded Facilier retreating into it.

All the while, as Brand tried to end Lydia’s newly acquired life, Khitti reached forward to pull Amarrah back with a “No!” eeked out. “You can’t--! I must--!” Her thoughts were flowing quicker than her mouth could keep up. A dagger of shadow-ice is summoned up as she grabbed hold of Lydia’s dress and drug her out of Brand’s grasp to pierce her heart and end the ritual, but… it was not meant to be. “Sorry, Red,” Lydia would say when Brand’s fingers were not longer around her throat, “You failed again.” Red. Red? There was only one person that called her that. “Amarrah?!” It was enough to put her into another state of shock, the ice blade falling from her hand. Lydia-Amarrah cackled, her body starting to mutate as Khitti’s blood rejuvenated her further. The tainted nature of Amarrah’s heart had corrupted Lydia’s body, flesh and bones shifting and breaking, manipulating what had been Lydia’s lithe teenager form into some hideous, hulking zombie. Khitti’s shoved out of the way, and the table behind the abomination upturned to block Bradyn and Brand from stopping her. Lionel and perhaps Onyx, and even Esche, were in her way now, but the undead would not be deterred. The smaller trees are ripped up and thrown at the Catalian, the elf, and the child-like undead, as Lydia-Amarrah made her escape towards the city, and the portal to the outside world beyond that.

Bradyn tried and failed, with Lydia only creating new injury upon Khitti. Perhaps once they put a stop to her? It seems that will not come to pass, a table is thrown up to block both Bradyn and Brand. It's effective, for Bradyn was just advancing forward as the table enters his path and thus it hits him hard and temporarily knocks him to the ground. This man does not often display emotion but this scene as caused the man so much irritation that it is actually evident on the man's face, he is leering outright at everyone else involved. This glaring look begins as soon as the Maharan male is back to his feet and it starts with the trio that are closest to the escaping Lydia-Amarrah-Zombie-Hulk. It will transfer from them to Brand before finally coming to rest upon Khitti, who is presumably still bleeding from her injuries. Maybe Bradyn could try harder to go after The Hulk, heck, maybe he could even try his hand at patching Khitti up again? No. He's mad, so he's just going to glare. This perhaps is not the best time to make verbal demands of 'just what in the hell is going on here' but his expression definitely communicates this. And anger. With some rage. And some pissed-off-ness. What the hell, Khitti.

Brand has no inclination toward glowering. Well… he does in general, of course, but not at this particular moment. The gargantuan abomination that was--Lydia? Amarrah? Both, fused together? Something even more foul?--has nearly rent Brand’s left forearm from its accompanying elbow in order to escape his grip. Its speed is more than one would think possible, too, and once again Brand finds himself at the mercy of human limitations. Even if he had not wasted precious seconds recoiling from the force twisting his arm, the creature that was once Lydia is gone faster than he can pursue. He makes an attempt for a few dozen paces, but it is to no avail. There is only triage now, and a regrouping and recalculating for whatever must come next.

Onyx is, briefly, a soul suspended from the body. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation to the child, nor is it entirely unexpected while in the midst of several necromancers… but repeated exposure does not make the experience any less ghastly. It is not until Facilier disappears through the portal that Onyx regains control of the body given to them, like a drunkard’s double vision that’s snapped abruptly into sober focus. They regain control… not that it is of any use to them now. The largest threats have already made their escape. (They always do, don’t they…?) Onyx commits to searching the perimeter for any lingering shades or helpful clues left behind, but it is destined to be fruitless.

Lionel feels the burn in his arms from the force of his blow. His muscles protest Facilier's quick disappearance, leaving his legs to lurch forward awkwardly. His knife, blood red with the groin wound he's inflicted, is small comfort for everything that has gone so wrong. In a rapid blaze, he sprints forth to give chase to Amarrah. With nightfall's obscuring environs, the blaze seems almost a motion-picture beacon. Yet as quickly as he'd started, Lionel stops. The blaze flickers out; the beacon disappears. The darkness overcomes. With his speed, Lionel might have taken her. He might have stopped Amarrah. He might have prevented the suffering that's sure to come. For his power, he might have ended her. He could have saved the lives of those she may soon take. He could have chosen the needs of the many over the needs of the few or the one. He didn't. Blue eyes -- too blue, always too blue -- shimmer gently in the night. They lock on to Khitti, who he has chosen over the victims Amarrah might claim. He's chosen her over the possibilities, the terrible possibilities. He's chosen her because her wounds are real, and thus his more immediate concern. He's chosen her because the team, scattered as it is, needs defensive support. He's chosen her because she's his friend.

Esche is slow to respond to the crashing trees. He's slower to respond in general. Esche estimates their fall, raising a barrier to buffer their slam, enveloping protective magics over he and Khitti and Brand and Onyx and Bradyn. He'd raise it over Lionel, too, if the hero weren't so brash and quick to give chase. Esche does not pursue. Better to remain here, where the threat can be assessed. Better to prepare. A moment passes, through which Lionel's fiery tantrum recedes and he begins to double back. A thought crosses the elf. It took him longer to realize because he'd dived deeply into the variables. Whereas Lionel is heat and offense, Esche is ice, slower to thaw and like a wall of contemplation. When the wall falls, the elf is inspired to action. "Amarrah cannot be allowed to endanger this region." The words are delivered matter-of-factly. The elf of secretive Ishaarite ancestry takes a single stride forward, staff held high, and a cool greenish-white beam of arcane energy spirals around him. His stride becomes a wolf's leap, and at the tail edge of that leap, he is gone. Faded into the aether, blinking out like Facilier, but not to the Shadow Plane. Esche appears out of nowhere, spontaneously generating next to Amarrah. Even if she's moving, he will be beside her. The Ishaarite spirit, Levant, is a creature of many talents. The elf whose body Levant resides within is more clever by far than he's ever let on publicly. Lydia's undead usurper has no idea what she's dealing with. Of all the violent, breaking, bleeding, shrieking things that could happen next, Esche's devious stare -- followed immediately by his disappearance -- is not one of them. For all intents and purposes, he seems to have accomplished absolutely nothing. His statement to Lionel and the others has not compelled him to real action. None of the others will ever know. What -has- Esche done, then? It remains to be seen.

Lionel oversees Khitti's injury. Standing beside her, now, he keeps a watcher's gaze upon the surroundings. "We need to get her out of here," he says. A man of few words, then. All for the better. It's best he holds his tongue for now about the two things searing themselves onto his mind. Hell is breaking loose and he can't be there to stop it, but at least, with thanks to a serrated precision cut, we can all be reasonably certain Khitti will soon be an only child.

Khitti could really use some more of that wine right now, to be honest. Or some of Brand’s whiskey. Anything? Someone? Help? No? Okay, then. Khitti’s staring at the overturned table, her jaw dropped considerable as she stood there. Then she looked at Bradyn. Then at Brand. Then the blood and ooze on her person. Then Lionel and Onyx and Esche. “Zhis-zhis vasn’t vhat vas supposed to happen. It vasn’t--. She--. Zhey--.” Khitti’s been through a lot lately and this only worsened things--could things really get worse from here? It can. There’s that same mix of crying and hysterical laughter that Brand witnessed after she killed Amarrah. Khitti’s sanity was almost certainly gone at this point, or damn near close to it. Only Bradyn’s hateful gaze managed to pull her from the brink, a strange bittersweet smile lingering on her features, “I just vanted to be human again. I just vanted to grow old and die. True death always eludes me. I just vant to live and die like everyone else.” She hadn’t noticed just yet that Lionel had joined them, she hadn’t noticed the things that Esche had done. Instead, her line of sight left Bradyn’s form, to look at Brand again, green eyes wide with shock. ‘Vhat have I done?’, she wanted to say, but no words came out. When Lionel spoke, said to ‘get her out of here’, only then did a thought stir and made its way out of her mouth; something finally useful and intelligible, the command directed at Bradyn, “Lock down zhe city. Put guards up at zhe portal.” Did she really have the authority to demand such a thing? Especially when the person she was speaking to was leader of one of the vampire houses? Likely not, as she was considered nothing more than a rogue amongst them, worse than dirt in some minds, but… she did it anyway. Khitti paused and drew in a shuddering, unecessary breath, “He’s getting exactly vhat he vanted. Zhe souls.” It all made sense to her now, that nightmare she’d had only days before. “He made zhe prophecy true.” Khitti von Schreier was indeed the Harbinger that Emeritus and the Shadowseers had spoken of months ago.

Bradyn didn't want to help anymore, in all honesty. The help that Khitti did manage to gain from him had been purchased with an extreme understatement of the truth. It could be argued that Bradyn accept things a bit too willingly, alas. Here they were. Did Khitti have the authority to command Bradyn? In this matter likely not, and the way his mouth would twist up into a faint snarl would make this known. "What have you done," Bradyn was inclined to refuse the request all together. Risk the lives of Vailkrin guards to assist the woman in cleaning up her mess? Because...she wanted to grow old and die? How...sappy. Reason would win out in the end but Bradyn would not give Khitti the satisfaction of letting her know that he would see this action carried out. In order to try and stop this hulking zombie from escaping Vailkrin, Bradyn would have to leave the group....which he would have done one way or another for they were sort of an annoying bunch (or he's just a cranky old vampire). What drama. What a mess. There was some manner of parting words on Bradyn's behalf, "House Dragana is nearest to us. House Mahara will not refuse you...though I am tempted to say that we should." Charming, Bradyn knows it, and he's not going to remain in the area to hear their next course of action. There are additional matters for him to tend to at the demand of a certain trouble-prone redhead.

Lionel looks away. He can't be seen reacting so vehemently to Khitti's crazed explanation, not when it would reveal not only his reservations over the quest he solemnly vowed they'd see to the end but -- more painfully -- his own fear of living beyond the rest of them. He's already outlived many of the men and women of his youth, most of which having fallen far too young themselves. Xalious' and Hind's so-called blessing would see Lionel outlive all those who are a part of his new life as well. It's the most terrible gift he could ever have received and he knows of no way to return it save to die, by someone else's hand or his own. It would need to be brutal to break this curse in blesing's disguise. It would need to be equally terrible. It's not something he's told them and in his estimation he never will. He'll do something to defy fate, as he always has. The gods don't rule Lionel O'Connor. But that's another quest for another time. Lionel shakes his head, turning back around. "I'm coming with you," he informs Bradyn. It's not an offer, nor an invitation. It's spoken almost like a command. Whoever this stranger is, this 'Bradyn', Lionel's awareness of his allegiances and affiliations is distant. The townspeople will need to be notified and Vailkrin's guards may not be fast enough, if indeed that is where Bradyn is even headed. Some will despise him, some spit on him and snicker and sneer, but for a man who stabs another man in the balls, let it never be said Lionel does not possess his own distinctive brand of honor.

Esche emerges within a realm of his own making, spectral shards and starry fragments flurrying around him like a cyclone. He opens his palm, then smacks it harshly against his chest. A blue glow emanates from within the elf, Levant's gift accepted. Back then, in the caverns near the forgotten city, where Raiez was slain nearly a year past and where Amarrah ambushed them many months thereafter, Esche discovered something ancient, wondrous, and dreadful. Something Ishaarite, something possibly thousands of years old. Something from traders, perhaps. The exact origins are irrelevant. What matters is that he found it, during his solo sojourn through a semi-collapsed expanse, and he quietly stored it within Amarrah's deathly form. There to absorb her powers. There to absorb an aspect of the Shadow Plane. Ishaarite magic is ethereal, it is transient, and it does not value physicality in the way most things of this world do. It does not matter how Amarrah reappeared, and through what body, and which conduit. What matters is that she reappeared, as Esche predicted she would. With his emergence beside her tonight, he has taken back what he planted. Like a gardener who knows every sproutling within his vast collection, Esche surveys Lithrydel for his perfect harvest. Today he has culled one more crop.

Despite both Bradyn and Lionel’s efforts to lock down the city in time, their attempts are for naught. The Lydia-Amarrah amalgamation has fled Vailkrin, the creature intent on doing Facilier’s bidding: slaughter anyone that gets in its way, send the souls off to the Shadow Plane, and bring back the victims’ corpses to create an army of hungry undead.