RP:The End's Not Near, It's Here
Part of the The End's Not Near Arc
Summary: The public execution of Vestra lures Reginae, Pilar, Yozenra, and Brennia to the rescue. Sick of treachery, Jaize decides that it'll serve her higher purpose if all the nagas in Alithrya are likewise executed so her gods given necromancy could revive and rebuild a city where she never has to worry about the loyalty of her citizens. The Priestess Gevurah offers Reginae a fast deal; Jaize's old eye (now a volatile cocktail of holy and necro magics) for the use of her soldiers or she'll offer Jaize her assistance instead. Regi decides quickly, asking only her name in return and the battle kicks off with Vestra's unstoppable death.
Avians, drow, and naga guards clash arms as our heroes scramble for footing in the chaos. Reginae begs Iphigenia to help her with the spell they know can bring Jaize down. The spell works, Jaize's life force and powers are withdrawn at the gods decree and she (like her undead warriors) turns to ash. The high price of both Iphigenia and Pilar's lives brings a bittersweet end to the battle.
In the midst of all this, an elven prisoner uses the situation to escape the Alithrya prisons to Lithrydel proper.
Reginae, blinded by powerful Ha-Naga magic, dons the Royal crown. The Wicked Queen is dead, but chaos never truly dies. It only sleeps.
Extravagant Water Garden
Reginae || A year has passed since oddities began to turn up. The bodies of naga both freshly deceased and long gone paved the way to the dismal conditions of the time burdened city. Even in it’s bubble, either beneath the waves off the Cenril beach or caught deep in the caves of ancient mountains - This was Alithrya. The city itself was still in repair from the wars waged in Jaize’s last stint as ruler. Decaying houses and arenas, stripped of materials for Vuryal’s intentions. The Time Leech’s own war, long lost. Dust gathered in tomes across Lithrydel. But what else could be expected of the Naga? A race handcrafted with battle prowess and cunning, Aramoth’s vision made flesh, only to be torn down by the infectious Three. Vakmatharas, Delisha, and the Spider Goddess placed the proverbial worm of power in the ears of this warrior race. They were destined to fight, fang and claw for supremacy in the old world. Before Humans were imagined, Nagas tussled and trained for sport and for war. A civilization developed, an elite society where battle was sacred, death in war was honorable, and service for the good of the race was all there was. It’s no surprise that still these traits run through their muddied blood. These primal urges never died, and continue to paint their stories; both past and present. This divergence isn’t lost on Reginae as she moves stealthily through the shadows of the False Night Overhead. The illusioned underground sky is speckles with firefly stars, drifting lazily overhead like drunken bees. Oblivious and unsympathetic to the pleas and schemes unfolding below. She stops, breathlessly, to make eye contact with her companions. Are they still behind her? Her head throbs with anxious awareness that she’s finally trying to make good on all the plans that she’s had since her ‘death’. Her pale fingers dance across a compact device in her pocket idly, stroking the cool metal for comfort in the airless belly of the beast. Ahead, large fires have been constructed around the perimeter of the water garden. The fountain, normally lush with fawna and a variety of odd fish, has been drained and removed to leave a muddy pit in it’s wake. A cluster of naga huddle before a shoddy stage beneath the dramatic contrast of light and dark. On the raised platform, several naga guards stand with arms crossed and severe expressions on their taunt faces. Reginae sink low on her tail, palm extended behind her to signal a halt. Eerily, the shadows continue to dance over the otherwise silent scene. The scent of blood stains the air, drawing in more stragglers from the town. Everyone could feel it. Something was happening.
Pilar and Yozenra were right by Reginae’s side, hidden in the shadows that seemed always just enough to cover them. Perhaps they were helped along by a touch of illusion magic? Regardless, the couple was determined. Yozenra had with her a sword, rather than her trusty trident. The long weapon was simply no good for stealth. Pilar wore a belt of pouches, each one containing a small vial of magic-restoring potion. She’d need it. Reginae was given a small, reassuring smile from Pilar. Things would be okay. They had to be.
Jaize || Just as the buzzing of the gathered crowd begins in earnest to grow above a dull throb, the crisp sound of trumpets cuts through the dense scene. All fall silent to watch the deliberately delayed gait with which the Naga Queen approaches the pitiful platform. Her warriors were not the craftest of their species. She’s taken the time (or rather, she’s ordered handmaidens and concubines to spend their borrowed time) adorning her in all the Royal Accoutrements, including a six yard train in best quality handmade golden silk velvet, trimmed with best quality ermine around the neckline and underside. The interwoven serpent figures along the crown’s rim catches light as she saunters to the edge of the platform in clear view of all in attendance. Her white scales gleam like diamonds, freshly groomed and waxed to prevent mud or other sources from staining them. All the naga pause, staring up like expectant children at their matron with unease. They are unsure if she’s come to offer her blessing or to pour her wrath upon them like molten earth. Her left eye socket is darkened and bandaged, the creeping ink of her veins surrounding the patch like a flower unfurled. It’s reach is shallow but steady, swimming transparently below the surface of her otherwise flawless milky expression. Oh how the flaw haunted her. How she’d tried every illusionist in this flea ridden city to disguise the affliction to no avail. Even her own superior talents with weaving illusions left the disfigurement in plain view of the guards and perhaps the very front row. Jaize clears her throat before calling out over the crowd. “Before you stands a traitorous snake.” She gestures her oddly thin digits towards the accused, who looks to have been treated poorly during her time in confinement. Her siren song rings out, the clash of themes jarring to anyone of stable mind or keen eye. Her tone is a purr as she turns and offers Iphigenia a scroll. “Read it aloud, dear.”
Iphigenia’s appearance paints a stark contrast to her queen’s. She is clad in a simple robe and ceremonial slippers. Her thinning hair is pulled back from her bare face, which is lined. She strides forward and slowly reaches to pluck the scroll from Jaize’s hand and steps forward, projecting her voice to read aloud the crimes of the accused, Vestra: deliberate and reckless disregard of her duty, grand larceny in her stealing from the Queen, conspiracy to engage in traitorous acts against the Queen, engaging in traitorous acts against the Queen, and soliciting others to engage in traitorous acts against the Queen. (There are a lot of duplications of charges for the same conduct, that’s how you know it’s a big deal.) Iphigenia, after reading this list, looks up into the crowd and it’s at this time that her eyes meet Reginae’s: her expression goes briefly blank. Reginae is here. It is fortunate for Iphigenia indeed that another of the Ha-Naga beside her tap her on the shoulder, and she remembers to step back into their ranks.
Vestra was bound and gagged, unable to speak in her own defense. She’d planned (hoped?) to die with her attack in the battle, so she wouldn’t have to do this. Be paraded before her people, her kin, humiliated and disgraced. She could see her brother in the crowd, grim-faced, mouth a thin line. Was he the only one who’d come? Was that a good thing? Her eyes looked out over the crowd, eventually coming to rest on Reginae and her people. Yozenra, Pilar… her friends. A tear slid down her face and she struggled against her bonds futilely. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to die!
Brennia fell in step, silently behind Regi’s allies disguised as Charlise and clad in soft leather boots with the jacket to match. Underneath she wore a simple long sleeved black shirt and cotton black pants tucked into her boots while burgundy dreads were pulled back in a large ponytail. She sort of stayed in the background as she wasn't invited go this fight, it's just sort of happening. The bard pulls free a pitch pipe and blows it, though no one other than bard’s guild members would hear. There was something about her face, it wasn't cheery or jesting today and just with that simple deadpan expression you might be able to tell it was the losing Senatorial candidate of Schezerade, especially with those bored teal eyes. Maybe she was feeling a little reckless, rejection after rejection on top of rejection will give prickly edges to a once warm presence and this disguised avian was looking for that reprieve, maybe. Brennia glances above where the silent footsteps of avians armed with bows, lances and crossbows parkour along their path from one rooftop to the next. It's for them… and Reginae, so Brennia tries to find that fire within… Maybe it will come when the battle starts. If not, then, she doesn't know. Obsidian sai daggers at her hips and one shaky hand rests on the hilt of one because she's worried of killing or harming others… Thanks Cadenza. It's not like she went around killing before her death and change, but if she needed to fight, she was okay with it. Not anymore and she plans on breaking away from the group as soon as the fighting starts so she didn't become anyone’s burden. Her gaze is stolen by the scene of the execution ahead and still, she felt nothing and maybe for the worst half of a second she was envious… Could she trade places with the accused? Her stoic expression remains as she pushes that sick thought aside.
Gevurah 's spies alerted her to two things. First. there would be an execution in Alithrya (yawn). Second, there was talk of an opposition, that some would rise to defy Jaize, though the spies could not get a name. Gevurah turned to Vakmatahras for an answer to her question, and became his oracle. In a bowl of bronze she mixed bones and blood and iron. After a prayer and a sacrifice, she asked, 'Who leads the attack against Jaize?' The floating bones touch and the iron sunk. Family. But who? Jaize's family was dead, as far as she knew. The latest to die was Reginae, though he spies never did confirm that a body had gone cold (er, colder than snakes typically are). Her spies had also informed her that Jaize's Eye had been stolen. She asked the oracle if the rebel has the eye. The iron glowed, turning the black blood scarlet. Yes. That Eye, what power must it posses? She must have it. On the day of the execution, Gevurah made her way to Alithrya thorough the Rynvalian Sewer system (disgusting surfacers) with a troop of 6 soldiers comprised of three melee/missile combatants, two mages, and one priestess. She dawned a piwafwi which made her appear like a writhing shadow as she moved, invisible to all but those who look closely. That shadow clings to walls and even the false sky, defying gravity as Gevurah rides lizard back and climbs walls with ease. Her soldiers were told to wait far from the crowd, disguised under piwafwis as beggars. After leaving the lizard on a roof (no longer hidden as its shadowy rider has left it), Gevurah's shadow wove through the crowd until she found Reginae. "You lack the power to defeat Jaize." The voice comes cool, without malice or threat. "I have traveled here with six of my best soldiers. I will fight for your crown in exchange for Jaize's Eye. My God tells me you have it. Don't deny it. Don't be a fool. If you refuse, I will make your sister this same offer and pry it from your corpse."
Seraphin opened her eyes to find herself in a cell, it was dark like the inside of an extinct lava tube, before the fire grubs were put into lanterns to light the area. Her head hurt, whoever had jumped her, must have hit her hard, for it was sore. Rising from her laid out position she sat up and leaned her back against what felt like a moss covered wall. Above her she could make out a distinct faint light that flickered above her through some metal bars. Also above her she could hear what sounded like something slithering about. Slowly rising making sure she was not about to slip in a dizzy spell, she soon found her footing. “Okay,” She said her voice light being an elf. She couldn’t risk making a flame just yet to light her cell, she had no idea as to whether whoever was guarding wouldn’t take notice. The Cell door, or window or whatever it was sported five metal bars that seemed to be bolted into the stone, ceiling. “One must have to remove the stone block to put prisoners into their cells.” She said thinking aloud, but in a whisper, so as not to disturb the guard. Adjusting her legs and feet she bent down, and then leapt up reaching for the bars with her hands, and gripping tight to the ceiling cell entrance. Once there, she moved her right hand to the lower part of the bar closer to her waist, and slowly at first, so as not to make a big show, she gradually heated the metal until the bottom end was white hot, and soft enough to to be pulled away from the stone. The other end of the bar slid out with ease. “Lazy design.” She muttered under her breath. Dropping back down to the floor of her cell, she moved her hands over the bar heating it and getting it hot, so that she could flatten one half of it and then using two fingers she pressed the white hot metal into a thin blade. Glancing back up at the bars above her she was now ready for her second one. Leaping up again and heating the object loose, she pulled them from the cell door, and dropped back down. Taking the slightly glowing blade she made, and then the solid bar, she slipped them down her shirt between her breasts, and then leapt up to bar and pulled herself, up onto the floor of the prison.
Only one guard was left slithering through the prison depths and he had grown restless. He wasn’t worried about a little girl who’d been taken in and not once woken up to eat the slop they served here. His pace was slow, distracted, but it gives him pause when he hears the metal clink of the first bar being melted. No, that’s just his imagination. Then comes the second clink. Okay, something was going on. “Hey!” He calls down the otherwise silent hall towards her cell. “What’s going on down there?” He makes his way down to the cell. The bars are bent, door swung wide open with no one inside. Surely, she must still be there…? The door clatters behind him and he screams, helplessly, taking Seraphin’s place. He howled in frustration, thrashing his weight against the metal bars before being hit over the head with the metal bar in Seraphin’s possession.
{1 of 2} Jaize’s eyes alight with gratification while Vestra squirms. She must be wishing for salvation. That she’d chosen differently in the clutch. Ah, but no. That sad excuse for a Ha-Naga won’t be granted a second chance. No,no. Jaize was a lot of things, in her own flawless opinion, but forgiving had never been one of them. Once, a very long time ago, she’d thought herself capable of love. That she could have an avian “sister” and play nice with those wretched birds. Of having a human pet instead of eating it. Of being Queen as a passive roll that she’d used to guide her brothers and sisters -away- from violence and bloodshed. A new renaissance in her honor! Those are the dreams of children. And as she lifts her hand high in the air, it commands both silence and an eerie stillness. It hangs like a guillotine blade, glinting in the firelight that paints her gleeful expression with heavy shadows. She looks to be the spitting image of a fabled grim reaper; skeletal frame and grinning disposition. Jaize’s visible eye is lost in darkness.
{2 of 2} While her lips are stretching into an jackolantern-esk grin, her arm overhead shifts swiftly into an executioner’s blade. Without a word, the guards hold the prisoner step back, throwing Vestra to the floor. One second, she is startled and gasping for breath...the next her head slides cleanly off her neck and rolls off the stage into the crowd. The body remains where it had fallen. In the terrible silence that follows, Jaize reshifts her arm. Her fingers and forearm are splashed with warm crimson lifeblood. That cold, unearthly gaze is cast out into the crowd before locking with the single most important traitor in the crowd; Little Sister Reginae. “Well!?” She shrieks. The twisted grin remains, head cocked at a limp angle, as she licks droplets from her fingertips. “You came for an execution!” The crowd murmurs uncomfortably. Her tone is chastising, her expression shifts quickly to one of disgust. Without warning, Naga guards step forward from their shrubbery cover to surround the gathered group as best they can. One or two might slip through, but most are trapped. The citizens shuffle anxiously, a few look back and recognize Reginae. Their hushed whispers turn to a frenzied bout of pushing and shoving for space -AWAY- from the guards as they continue to corral the crowd together under tight conditions. “Get the Traitor!” A young man cries, pointing a shaky hand at Reginae before his lips part to sputter blood on the old woman next to him. A guard’s pike unzips his organs from his body, they spill with a sickly splatter onto their feet. The crowd screams and tries to push against their confinement to no avail. To live the life of a sheep, with quiet complacency and disillusion that no harm will come to you if you say the right words and keep your head down, is not what it promised to be.
Pilar and Yozenra were immediately on the alert when Gevurah and her guards arrived. As Yozenra placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready and willing to use it, Pilar looked back at Vestra. She saw that blade rise, and fire sailed from her outstretched hand, bouncing uselessly off a barrier and giving away their position. Vestra’s final vision was of her brother, her final thought a prayer. As her head rolled across the platform, her soul ascended to Aramoth’s hall and Pilar cried out her name. Yozenra swallowed hard and drew her blade. “You’ll pay,” she whispered. She and Pilar rushed forward to meet the advancing undead naga guards, Gevurah forgotten.
Reginae hadn’t heard Gevurah sneak up behind her. Stiffly, she leans her head to the side to whisper. She was aware of Jaize’s power, though she could construct such a situation to steal back her own eye: one of the few weaknesses they knew that existed for the Queen. A dangerous and deadly cocktail of magics with the highest of blessings and darkest of curses. “Give me your name.” She’ll pause, wait for the priestess to offer her a title before reluctantly nodding in agreement. Her sister always got her power by making deals with devils. Was this really so much worse? Just as the eye becomes visible in her arms, pulled free from the satchel at her side, Reginae looks up in stunned disbelief as Vestra falls. The scene unfolds in slow motion, black and white. A ringing vibrato sings through her ears, drowning out rational thought. Grief overpowers her. They’d been so close to saving her, or maybe that’s the illusion Jaize wanted to bait her in with. ‘Come rescue your sheep, little shepherd.’ Reginae’s mind could have played the words off her sister’s tongue had she not spoken them aloud. How often had she been taunted? Tricked and toyed with as a result of her sister’s superior place in the family. Her fist clench around the jar, no weapon on her beyond an odd shape in her pocket and the limp satchel that dangled empty against her hip. Would this woman betray her? Did she have a choice? Things went from bad to worse, there was no more time to consider Gevurah’s intentions with the Eye.
When Jaize turns, before the advance of the guards, Reginae’s voice scratches through the night air. “Jaize!” It was no request for attention, nay it was a demand. Regi can’t tell if Jaize stopped. The crowd starts to clammer and shout, it draws her immediate attention. Rushing forward, she grits her teeth and vows to deal with this first. Clearly a trap, clearly Jaize’s plan...and Reginae rushes forward. Fangs bared, claws extended. She tears through the two closest guards and instead of being met with the satisfying resistance of skin and scales, the obstacles crumple into dust at her feet. Brennia’s vanished, Regi’s lost sight of her in the madness. But if her blades should find foes, they will disperse in the same fashion. Pilar and Yozenra are ahead of her, their weapons doing the same. Each foe that falls becomes dust and broken bones. No blood oozes from their wounds before they dissolve into piles at their feet. The older woman cries over the body of the youngster whose made quite a mess of himself along the filthy grass. The crowd claws and pleads at Reginae as she pushes through, aiming to advance on the stage and Jaize therein. Her azurite gaze stops on Iphigenia. “I heard the song.” Reginae states plainly to Iphi. The song in the Temple of Aramoth. “I know what it means but I still need your help.” The pause is brief, barely a tick of time. “We can end this now.” She digs the small device from her pocket and presents it to the Ha-Naga beside her. The mini amplifier Brennia’d crafted based on Kreekitaka’s design for speakers that cured Lithrydel of it’s curses. All she’d need to do was reach out, repeat the words that clawed the spidering ebony into Jaize’s face, accidentally. “Imagine how much damage it could do with intention. Please.”
Iphigenia watches the execution, paling considerably as Vestra's head is severed from her neck and rolls off the stage. You can prepare yourself mentally for such things, but witnessing them can feel like a hand over one's throat. Iphigenia feels the Ha-Naga beside her shudder with a suppressed dry heave. For her part, Iphigenia is looking to Reginae for her reaction, to see the shared horror reflected in the displaced monarch's expression too. Iphigenia hopes her gaze looks dispassionate to those watching below the stage. But she is thinking: this is horrible, why are you here? There's an ugliness in Jaize's voice and a restlessness in the crowd. Iphigenia's attention rolls to Gevurah, identifying the woman immediately. It's not safe here. ...and abruptly the crowd has roiled and that mild observation cracks like a egg, they've identified Reginae. Iphigenia finds the wind has been taken out of her; she's been shoved by guards who have mobilized. She breaks her fall with her hands, and finds herself overlooking the edge of the dais and staring right into Reginae's eyes, their faces nearly touching. Time slows for Iphigenia as she feels herself balance on the sharp point of a difficult decision that could change everything or nothing. Hadn’t she asked the young monarch to come find her if she could hear the song? In that suspended moment Iphigenia realizes that she is surely dead whether she helps or not. Her hand tightens around the scepter she holds, and her pushes herself onto her knees. She traces the primordial words that have existed since the naga were created. She speaks them into the amplifier and they boom over the crowd. The words both have no meaning and every meaning, they go to the very essence of things, their true names.
Brennia pulled the pitch pipe out again and blows another note unheard by anyone else. The bards are set up in a safe area within Alithrya and the device Kreekitaka made had been set up days ago by some undercover ‘security’ installment crew. The magical spirit blast lends courage and strength to the fighters while filling attackers with fear and making any remaining feel ill. Charlise tears out into the crowd and the ‘simple’ soft leather jacket doesn't allow anything to pierce through. A lightweight and impenetrable material that allows her to move through the attackers with ease and it wasn't hard to do what she planned. She was getting lost in the fray while shadows from the attackers above blot the crowd and maybe at one point during the fighting the tips of large black wings pop up in the midst as she magicked them out to better dodge attackers with the added use of wind, but just as quickly they disappear further in the battle. Even the writer lost track of the ever elusive Brennia slash Charlise and maybe there's a lock of black hair which was braided into burgundy colored yarn being trampled on the ground, or a fallen Sai dagger which was stashed from her grip… Nevertheless, Brennia is out there somewhere, fighting the good fight.
Gevurah blinks, stunned when Reginae gives her the eye -before- she battles Jaize. What's to stop Gevurah from escaping with the eye now, and leaving the snakes to their pit? It's Jaize herself who inspires Gevurah to stick to her word. That evil Queen, her arrogance, her contempt, all reminded Gevurah of the most terrible (mortal) entity she knows: herself. None are more threatening to the Matron than her doppleganger. She stuffs the eye into her bottomless satchel beneath her piwafwi then levitates above the crowd and twists and turns her arms like a conductor summoning the horns at the back of the orchestra, cuing them on their entrance in the symphony. From a distance, her soldiers see thethermal sign language of the drow and know that the time has come to move forward and attack Jaize. Lifting her piwafwi's hood over her head, the Matron shrouds herself fully and resumes the appearance of a writhing shadow. Using the crowd for cover, she targets the undead guard and ignores all who ignore her, namely Iphignia and any others wise enough to stay out of the shadow's way. Undead targets, an easy mark for the High Priestess to the God of Death. She whispers onto a runed athame a prayer for true death, a prayer of liberation. Each time the athame meets the undead's heart, Vakmatharas coaxes them to eternal sleep. Most succumb instantly to the High Priestess's will, but some, the stronger guards, stand in a stupor as they wrestle with death in their souls, like lobotomized zombies they are still save for their twitching fingers and their rolling eyes. In the distance she senses an Avian's magic and steers clear to avoid the caustic effect of holy magic on her body.
Pilar | Yozenra's sword cleaved guard after guard in two, leaving Pilar to summon illusory walls of fire to separate the living and the dead. She set off flashbangs near the guards, disorienting them and drawing their attention. One lunged toward her with a spear, and she dodged to the side, gripping the spear shaft and kicking the naga through the stomach, leaving it to turn to dust. She pulled a potion from her belt and swallowed it in a single gulp, then hurled the bottle at a guard's face. It shattered on impact, distracting the naga and allowing her to stab it through the stomach with the spear. She lifted the writhing undead from the ground by the spear and spun in a circle, dragging the naga along and knocking several others over before the centrifugal force sent the impaled naga flying. Yozenra ran another guard through, then returned to Pilar's side.
Seraphin cursed, hearing the holler of the guard. She had hoped to get the surprise on him, but supposedly whatever it was that guarded her had better ears than she predicted. Having only managed to reach a crouch position on the floor she leapt and back flipped over her cell sliding on the moist floor and making a dart for the staircase behind her, which she found to be annoyingly more like a ramp. “Naga, sheesh.” She said under her breath as she ran up the ramp, cursing that there wasn’t a railing she could heat and make it harder on the guard who was surely after her. Bursting through prison door, to the cells she came from below, she picked up the metal bar that was used to bar the door, and slid it into place, then using her hands she rapidly heated the metal making the door fuse to the hinges. Now grabbing the nearest bucket she doused the her heated work, so that it would harden. Almost immediately she regretted as the most putrid of smells hit her nose. “Ugh, this was full piss.” She dropped the bucket, and turned around to find another prison guard who had just rounded the hall, near the exit. “Oh come on, when do you need two naga to guard a prison!?!” She ran toward the naga, leaping over the naga only to land its coils, but as she leapt she reached down her between her breasts and pulled out the blade, heating it a bright yellow glow so that when she landed she would bury it in the spine between the humanoid half and the snake half. When the guard would release her she would dart down the hall, and take a left, towards seeing the last of the guards, having left the blade in the naga behind her.
Reginae ||The second naga guard had been at the back of the procession as the others surrounded the crowd. He’d heard the scuffle and came to the top of the ramp to investigate. The sound of movement and hissing spurred him on, leaving him to round the bend on the escaped prisoner. He’s shocked, blinks twice before trying to reach out to grab her too slowly. She clears him with ease and this only serves to confuse him further. He tries to spin, manages to grab her wrist somehow, and holds on for dear life before catching sight of the weapon.“What the…” He mutters as the blade tears through his scales. The guard unleashes a panicked yelp as he falls to the ground, the very tip of his tail twitching uselessly as he groans into the floor and turns to dust.
As Iphigenia’s magic floods through the amplifier, Reginae adds her own. Together their words throb in the earth below their scales. Shrubs quiver with awareness, the soil cracks opening it’s screaming maw towards the false sky. The pulses at first, rolling from the bardic device with passive interest that grows with the combined determination of the Ha-Naga’s. Already guards are dropping to the ground in Gevurah’s wake. Not as dust, but as decomposing corpses. Each hit of holy magic thuds into their decomposed flesh and they fall with no resistance. Brennia’s bards do similar work with their pre-planned coordination with no notice given to Gevurah as she moves. Reginae’s eyes go white with blinding magic. All is light and she screams, pushing all tangible power through her fingertips. It is her skin, her blood, her teeth, her tears. Every strand of her snowy tresses, every pale crease of her palms. This is what she was meant to be. This was the truth that would bring them peace.
Pilar screamed and dropped the spear, falling to her knees. The holy magic burned, it burned so badly! “Pilar!” Yozenra cried, dropping her sword and gathering her wife into her arms. Meanwhile, the unholy magic keeping the guards moving was ripped from their bodies and pulled into the next realm, back from whence it came. Pilar felt the pull, weakened as she was. It seemed she, in her undead state, had been mistaken for one of Jaize's, and was being pulled away from the reality she knew. Pilar understood none of this, only that she was disappearing. “Yozi...” she whispered, placing her hand on her wife's cheek. She watched her hand fade away, watched Yozenra's face twist in horror. “What...! Pilar! Pilar, no!” Yozenra had never believed in the gods before, not even Aramoth, but with no magic of her own, and no understanding of what was going on, all she could do as she watched her wife disappear was pray. Silently, she begged the gods to preserve Pilar, and as the last shred of the vampire's existence vanished, she begged them to give her back. Tears spilled from the warrior's eyes and she whispered, “No... No... No...”
Gevurah 's attack slows considerably as the holy magic begins to grind away at her magical defenses. The ancient spell was summoned specifically to burn a hole through an acolyte of Vakmatharas, Jaize. Gevurah was also His servant, and though her magical defenses were grand, there came a point when the Matron felt the erosion of her being was not worth the end result. Reginae would win, she could sense this from the power of the spell. And more importantly, Gevurah had the eye. Her soldiers, not as evil as she, withstood the holy magic better. They continued fighting, some bearing fresh wounds, but their Matron withdrew. She came for the eye, she had the eye. What does she care of the naga's fate? She approached a missile soldier and signaled her instructions. Rally the rest, and return to Trist'oth once you have regrouped. Gevurah headed for the temple of Aramoth under the sea to search for more holy texts, then she would return to Trist'oth with her prize.
Jaize only had time to spin around when Reginae called her name above the madness that unfolds in the garden center. The older of the two sisters kicks Vestra’s now lifeless body off the platform and into the pit left behind the exhumed fountain. Her visible eye is no longer it’s bright blue. All color has been drained away to reveal the bottomless void of her soul. “NOOOO!” She howls, moving to rush Reginae and Iphigenia, but stopping short. A wispy melody of voices, easily ignored by the simple mortals below, calls out. “You haven't fulfilled your end of the bargain…” The trio whispers as the pulsations rock Jaize’s core. She halts, hands clasping at her chest below her elegant cape. “Kahran!” She screams, spinning in one direction and then the next as she calls each name in succession. “Vakmatharas! Delisha! Spider Goddess!” The dark forces responsible for infecting the Naga with unquenchable ambition. The devious few who’d doomed the race to their suspension in time at the hands of the gods. Kahran was just a new name to this list, the latest Vuryal, to promise her kingdoms and be ‘surprisingly’ absent when push came to shove. She should have known. Her panicked voice shrank to a whimper as her veins darkened and her skin became so paper thin you could trace it’s progress through her anatomy. “Yoooou.’’ Jaize fell onto her stomach, her once pristinely white scales flaking away like charred pages in a disintegrating tome. A novel, long dead and gone. Her fingers dug into Reginae’s satchel, blindly searching for the eye she’d known to be with her when she’d come. That’s all she’d wanted...to kill her sister and reclaim what belonged to her. As as her body turned to ash, the crown that Vestra had fused to her skull rattled loose. It clattered like a tossed coin along the uneven platform of the stage at Reginae’s feet.
Iphigenia is too consumed by the spell to feel the chill of the shadow wraith that is Gevurah pass by. She continues to repeat the words, joined by Reginae, their power pulsing all around them. Indeed, she repeats them until her mouth fills with blood and she can no longer speak. She has been run through by one of the guards in the melee. Her body crumples, but the guard doesn't climb over her to finish the job and kill Reginae: Jaize has been struck down. Their song has triumphed. A Ha-Naga squats beside Iphigenia, murmuring last rites. The life leaking from her body, she watches the so-called queen decompose before them.
Seraphin turns her head as she rounds the corner, seeing the naga behind her turn to dust. “If your determined to dance with fire, you are determined to burn.” She slides to halt, coming face to face or rather with some distance between the last naga, guarding her only way out. Upon each side of the wall sits a torch. Her eyes glance between them and she draws a smile on her lips. Loosening her jacket, so that she could reach out with her hands she draws the flames from the torches forming into a weapon her people use so often. The crossbow like weapon forged of fire, she draws her right hand back the floating crossbow bolt is drawn back, and with a smile on her lips, she aims at the naga slithering towards her. “Sayonara Snakey.” Releasing her hand the bolt of fire sailed towards the naga, no doubt upon impact, would lay waste to him, and of course the door. When she would walk out she would walk through the fire, like a red devil out of the fiery inferno. Her fiery eyes glowing amidst the smoke. “Snakes never made good steaks,”
Reginae || Seraphin would exit the prison to see the battle freshly ended in the gardens. Piles of ash and bone shards litter the ground, pikes and spears scattered among them. A crowd of terrified citizen will shiver beneath a stage that holds a naga woman blindly grasping for something while Avians reform in search of Brennia and Gev’s troops . Of all the times and all this places, this is where Seraphin finds herself on the eve of her escape.
Reginae || Breathlessly, Reginae releases the device between her and Iphigenia and falls to her knees panting, unable to see her surrounding. Her hand gropes blindly for Jaize but she can’t hear her breathing. Can’t hear her screaming anymore. Why can she hear Yozenra above everyone else? Where is Iphi?! Was another naga offering rites? What is happening? With a frantic grunt, she slams her fist into the stage, knuckles stabbed by the enlaid serpents on the crown’s rim. That brush with the mantle she’d worn for but an instant, so many days past, is enough to silence her thundering heartbeat. The sounds of chaos and panic die around her as she feels the smooth metal against her shaking palm. She hesitates. If Jaize is still alive, she’ll rip this from her grasp any second. Tensely she waits. No one approaches her. With trembling hands, she blindly lifts the crown so it rests askew on her ashen grey locks. A foul, untraceable wind billows the extravagant cape of the deceased and kick up the dust of the Undead Imposter. Jaize was dead. And as the bodies of the dead surround her, Reginae does not weep. Deep within the crown’s cloudy cracked center stone, the gleam of endless chaos bides it’s time.