RP:They Will Bring Down Mountains

This is a Mage's Guild RP.

Part of the Lies Within Us Arc

Summary: The Mages Guild assembles for war. Look to the skies Lithrydel, hear the war cry of mountains! Xalious' children return!

Amazing View, Frostmaw

Odhranos had left the cabin early the night before, there was much that had to be done and he was unlikely to get any sleep anyway. The trek to Howler’s Peak was frosty and thick with snow the whole way, but the dim yellow warmth that seeped through the stone from the roughly hewn doorway in the mountain’s side held the promise of heat and some company for the final vigil. “How are we holding up?” The terramancer announced upon entering the hall that had been hewn from the mountain’s summit, catching the attention of Charlie, his once assistant and now all-but second in command. “Well enough, Archmage. Khavra just breached the first gallery, Kulmur and the others are going to follow her suit.” Odhranos nodded; beneath his feet, he could feel where Khavra’s mind exerted itself, crushing stone and ejecting it out onto the mountain’s flank, slowly mining a tunnel into the rock that supported the mountain peak and great stone hall within. “Perfect. Can I do anything to help? How are they feeling?” Odhranos leaned past Charlie toward where the small group of terramancers were working. Sitting in a circle, each cross legged with their heads bowed and eyes shut, the ring of terramancers appeared like they are conducting some sort of strange meditation circle. Stewards, Provosts and apprentices alike, half of the Guild’s terramancers were hard at work, having only recently carved this hall out of the mountain for their Guildmates to soon occupy.. “They’ll be fine, Odhranos. Leave them. They’ve got work to do just like you and I do. You’ll only bother them.” Odh nodded gravely, then turned toward the entrance he had just come through. “How long till the rest of the Guild arrives?”. “They should already be on their way. I sent the runners out as you instructed. All we can do now is wait.” Odhranos grimaced with an agitated sigh, nodding briefly to Charlie before heading back out to the hall’s doorway. He’d greet the Guild members as they came, ushering them into the hall.

He paces back and forth within the doorway three hours later. The hall behind him bustled with noise, as colleagues and peers that hadn’t seen each other in months chatted nervously about the fight that was to come. Odhranos had thought that meeting them as they came would settle his nerves, instead each familiar voice only made his stomach more tense as he was confronted with the reality that they would be joining in the battle. “What’s the roster looking like, Charlie? Who has yet to join us?” He calls quietly over his shoulder. “Most of our retinue from Frostmaw and Venturil are here, the Provost and apprentices from Chartsend just arrived a half hour ago. We have yet to hear from Cenril, Kelay and Vailkrin.” Odhranos clenches his jaw; over half the Guild that remained still unaccounted for. He folds his arms stiffly behind his back, as he attempts to rein in his mind, but the tension in his shoulders is visible. “Odhra-” “Charlie, I’m fine. I’m just eager to find out where they are.” The terramancer offers a faint smile over his shoulder at the apprentice, who despite everything that had happened, had stuck with him through it all, always offering a helping hand. Without Val, Inks or Lanlan, Odhranos would have stumbled and fallen, but without Charlie, the Guild’s administration would have crumbled long ago. “It’s just this waiting. You know what I’m like.” The Frostmawian youth snorts quietly then walks up to join the terramancer in the doorway. “You’re impatient, stubborn to a fault, and utterly hopeless at compromising on your morals.” Odhranos’ eyebrows furrow and he turns to the apprentice in surprise. “That’s kind of blunt.” Charlie shoots back. “It makes you a compelling leader, Odhranos, take it as a compliment.” The Archmage pouts, then slowly nods, turning back towards the softly falling snow. “It makes you useless at administration though. Which is why you have me.” Now it is Odhranos’ turn to snort, his anxious grimace melting into a jovial grin. “Yeah, I can’t deny that.” He turns and looks behind him, where the hall that had been empty hours earlier now teems with chatter and life. “Thanks Charlie. I feel a little better.” In response, the apprentice slaps a hand on the terramancer’s back. “Well good, you’re about to feel a whole lot better. Seems our erstwhile companions have finally arrived.” Odhranos wheels around to face the entrance again and a broad smile emerges. Floating on the wind, the sound of familiar voices, and the stamp of many boots in the snow as the Mages of Xalious arrive upon Howler’s Peak, ready to take back their home.

Khitti || A large, charcoal-colored sabretooth cat bounded its way up the side of the mountain, shadowstepping from ledge to ledge, a blur of red fixed to its back. It finally reached the gates of Frostmaw, but continued on its path towards the frozen wilderness. It came to a stop finally several feet from the meeting area, but its rider was hesitant to continue. The last time Khitti had been at that exact spot had been the day she and Brand had parted ways just before Khitti was taken by Raiez and thrown into a magical jar in the dragon’s cave. If Odhranos had known the significance of the place, he’d probably laugh about it. Despite the fact that that was five years ago, it still gave the redhead pause. There wouldn’t be some millennia old blue dragon, aiming to scoop up all these mages and carry them off to its lair, and Khitti knew this, but… She was starting to regret not telling Brand and Dominic she loved them at least ten more times before she left. A bit of Khitt’s irritation bubbled up in Khitti’s mind, urging her to go and get it over with. So, she did, commanding her tikifhlee to finally join Odhranos and the others. She hopped off the great beast and it shifted to its housecat form as Khitti headed through the doors of the hall, jumping onto Khitti’s shoulders for now. She was sporting one of those two piece black silk dresses, with the true steel plates sandwiched in between the fabric, that Inks had so lovingly crafted for her, and her swords were clearly strapped to her back. She said nothing, for now, a rather somber look upon her face as she eyed the inside of the building that had not been here the last time she’d been through this part of Frostmaw.

Lanlan is a man of mist and smoke, standing stock still on a glowing red carpet, and talking to ialantha, in his castle in Cenril. “It’s a mistake not to help us,” he says to her, his wavy locks blowing wildly under the whim of some unseen wind. She shakes her hooded head and reiterates how much she is opposed to using her abilities to fight, even now. Lanlan says nothing and peers into her eyes, doubtful, disappointed. “I... can’t face him again,” she says turning away. But it wasn’t fear, it was remnants of something that should’ve died long ago. “You mean you won’t.” Lanlan hmphs and turns around, suddenly facing the frigid hovel carved out of the mountain, and dismissing his vision of the faraway castle’s interior. The red carpet he stands impossibly still on, is flying. It stretches impossibly, propagating itself rapidly toward the safe ground of the peak carving perfectly formed steps. He begins a short walk down them, showing off his rune-needled velvet brocade and salamander gloves. Behind him, a procession of apprentices, bundled in furs and magic descend. Lanlan stands at the edge of the carpet briefly, scanning, then leaves it. Under his feet the snow melts and evaporates sublimely, casting a dramatic mist at his feet. Once his apprentices trudged past him, a ruby-capped cane emerged into his hand and he tapped it at the corner of the rug. In a few moments it rolled itself up into a bundle and he slid it in a tube at his side. Lanlan saunters toward Odhranos while the snow clears a path, looks at Charlie, says nothing, and speaks to Odhranos. “Is it just me or is it a bit warm up here?”

Iintahquohae Kerrigan may have the feeling of fear scrubbed from her thanks to Sacred's influence, but being on the precipice of war put her on edge. Not for herself of course, as she had absolutely nothing to fear, but for the others. Odhranos particularly, even if she felt absolutely confident her husband had everything under control. His ability to lead was one of his admirable traits, and he absolutely had to have everything under control, thought the seamstress incredulously. She followed him to Howler's Peak not too long after his earlier departure from their cabin, replacing her purple wedding dress and hastily made veil for her usual getup, black pants and grey button-up, along with a cape to shield her from the wind and snow. In the quiet moments she stole between trailing behind him and Charlie throughout preparations for tackling Xalious, Inks could be found pacing in the hall, raking a hand through her hair that she quickly braided before arriving. Sacred sits in its ebon scabbard at her hip, but the scimitar is paid little mind. As much as she would like to accompany Odhranos, who she keeps a watchful eye on whenever she hears his voice or catches a glimpse of him in her periphery, Inks keeps herself somewhat distant so as to not be distracting and try to quell her worries. Being an apprentice herself, she keeps near a group of them that have gathered, but what little she contributes to their conversation is short and clipped, unintentionally cooler than intended.

Ernest had to be careful climbing back up here through Frostmaw. Or at least, as careful as someone like him was capable of being. After all, this was where he'd encountered the Hero of Freedom before, and while he had a surefire strategy for keeping a direct confrontation from going critical, it was still an encounter he'd rather avoid. So instead of riding through town with a trail of dark smoke following him and ominous organ chords faintly playing into the air surrounding him as he went, he instead just rode through town like an ordinary person, eventually clip-clopping to a halt in front of the hall that had been excavated from the mountain's peak. He tilted his head a little and scrunched his face, at least as much as the dried leather would scrunch. Making a little clicking noise in the back of his cheek, he stepped forward through the gates and, using just a touch of aeromancy to project it into the room, he said, "I think it's missin' somethin. We got time ta put a skull on th' front someplace?" After that, though, he broke into a grin--hard to tell if he was kidding or not, the undead usually had at least a cocky smirk--and went in search of Ondrel. He had a delivery to make.

Caltarok having spent time with Odhranos back in Cenril had become acquainted enough with the leader of the guild thankfully. Each day and every night, he would reach with his mind finding the spirits of the land inhabiting Xalious. Though Caltarok hadn't figured out how to bind any like he had Pyra. He had built a communion of sorts with the spirits either by him aiding the landing by counter-acting the damage being caused by the order or perhaps it was the lingering strength of the sickly Xalious tree pushing them to assist him. In any case, assisting they had by searching the northern range for Odh's presence as provided by Cal's own memories. It was by them that Cal became aware of the hour drawing nigh, which had sent him running into the Xalious village where he had taken a role of guarding and protecting the people by what little means he could. The villagers having grown accustom to the hunter had learned to trust the stranger thanks to his deeds. So when he came wearing a leather jacket and a stylized dragon etched in white, running into the village many of them ran back into their homes to get the children that had been sleeping. Soundlessly, they all feel together in the flight behind Caltarok having been told ahead of what to expect. Caltarok weaved the fog behind and around them to hid the villagers as they neared the exit heading to the east towards the sage forest. After a while, Caltarok created a ball of light telling the people to continue and with a promise that he would return to bring them back home afterwards with the order gone. With that settled and sure of their overall safety and lies spread to confuse the 'defenders'; he turned towards the north towards where the spirits told him that he would find Odh. Saving as much of his magic as he could, he ran and would jump coercing the wind to assist his speed and the spirits to smooth what they could of his path until he arrived with the other mages running like an arrow released to join in the soon coming battle.

Karasu peers at her colleagues from the doorway to the halls, a smirk painted on her lips. "I hope you weren't planning on starting without me." She calls out, stepping into the room from the dual lights of the moon. Layers of bandages have been wrapped around her neck, a grim reminder for the two present who had the pleasure of seeing her exposed vertebrae just days before. A hematite and bronze scarab has been clipped above her right eye. Despite the absence of blackened veins on her face where the lich once slithered its way into attempting to control her consciousness, her irises have remained a rubellite color that seem to glow in the darkness. The spellblade is dressed in her favored battle attire, with her whip-sword sheathed in what would otherwise appear to be a layering series of belts around her hips. The dramatic entrance is immediately cut off as the other spellblades surge forward to welcome the demifeline back and bombard her with questions about the incident they had heard from the avian of little words about. Karasu's face reddens, quickly becoming overwhelmed from the activity, and her cool composure is broken. "Stop! I-it's not like I actually care about Xalious anymore, stupid! I gotta make sure you guys don't get maimed." Karasu whines with a scowl, not quite yet realizing that she is leaning into a hand on her head for more pats.

Lanlan found Odhranos anxiously pacing and snatched his hand up. “I’m here, but I couldn’t convince ialantha.” His eye for detail, especially shiny detail, called up a fancy ring to his attention. “Ah! Engaged? It doesn’t make sense to me, but I guess it turns out she’s tailor-made for you.” He pauses to make sure the joke lands, then moves on, no applause needed. “When’s the wedding?”

Quintessa sits as a silent sentinel north of the rendezvous atop her three meter tall bird, Bloodbeak, his plate mail glowing a faint orange as the enchantments inscribed upon them keeps the cockatrice warm in the harsh cold of the Frostmaw wilderness. A moment goes by and the changeling peels her goggles from her face, an impatient expression painted across her pale features before she tugged a rose quartz crystal from her pocket, a pulse of magic creating an image of a dozen heavily armored soldiers trudging through the snow that floats above the crystal. “What’s the holdup?” Quintessa barks into the image, the warriors all snapping to attention to meet her gaze. “Uh, sorry, Countess, we were waylaid for a touch but we’ll be at the rendezvous presently.” The countess’s gaze does not soften, but his excuse bought him a little more time in her eyes. “Do not disappoint me, commander.” With that said Quintessa cut the flow of mana to the crystal and stuffed it back into her pocket quickly, her hands gripping around the reins to order Bloodbeak to make his way up the rest of the peak and to the hall Odhranos had prepared for them. Being one of the last to arrive, Quintessa was frantic, hastily dismounting her cockatrice and forgetting to tie him off or order him to stay before heading inside to escape the cold. The hexblade drops her hood and her mismatched gaze scans those gathered, instantly heading over to stand with Karasu without offering any excuse for what took her so long. “Is everyone here?” She asks idly, tapping her boots on the floor to knock the compacted snow from them. “My personal champions will be here soon. They aren’t much but a few vampire pikemen are better than 100 mortal soldiers. Sorry I couldn’t recruit more than that.”

Ernest , having found the spellblades, reached into his pocket and made a show of fishing around, before hauling out of his longcoat an entire suitcase and slamming it dramatically on a nearby table. "Yeah, yeah, glad yer doin' alright," he said to Karasu and the gaggle around her, despite having not a clue who she was. "But I got paid good gold ta make sure y'all're equipped good an' proper fer what's about ta go down, I 'spect we're in a hurry, an' I ain't about ta let anyone call me unprofessional. In this case," he popped open the suitcase, reached inside, and held up a hip holster full of throwing knives and a quiver full of arrows, "I got somethin' a li'l extra fer y'all. This here's cursed weaponry. I wouldn't prick yerself on it, it's volatile. If it draws blood, it'll curse th' victim with an antimagic field that hugs their body. Great fer shuttin' down enemy magic users. If yer in a real bind, though, use it on yerself. Antimagic works good at shuttin' down incomin' spells too. I was told y'all're actually up on yer weapon skills, so switchin' ta proper combat won't be somethin' they'll expect."

Odhranos welcomes each of the arrivals in turn, a flurry of hand-shaking, shoulder patting and forearm grasping. Lanlan's arrival is greeted with a particularly wide smile from the terramancer. "Well, it wouldn't do anyone any good if we were freezing our nuts off before we even hit the battlefield, now would it?" A broad grin and he turns to Ernest. "I'd have suggested we put more effort into the decor, but this location wasn't picked for it's aesthetics, I assure you." Karasu's arrival brings a huge smile to his face at how the spellblades receive her and Khitti is offered a stoic nod, that conveys a deep gratitude from the terramancer for the baker's presence. Quintessa is met with a wave over the heads of apprentices. "Any help is welcome help, Quintessa, may your men find comrades among our ranks!" More familiar voices and greetings are given as the terramancer finds himself carried by the crowd's momentum into the hall. When Lanlan holds up his hand and inquires about the ring, Odh can't help but be a little bashful. "Ah… uh… three days ago. We didn't have a lot of time and Inks didn't feel like waiting" The terramancer grins sheepishly as he casts a glance over to where Inks' circlet can be seen on the far side of a wall of people. "You're gonna kill me, I know, but it was a very spur of the moment thing. You'll love this, she proposed to me only two hours before and-" "Odhranos, it’s time, we need to get on the move quickly.” Charlie calls out to the terramancer who whips his head around, then nods sternly. He drops his hand on Lanlan's shoulder and smiles confidently. "We'll talk on the other side." With that, he turns, striding through the crowd towards the raised dias at the front of the hall.

Iintahquohae lifts her head at the sound of Lanlan's exclamation. She excuses herself from the hushed chatter of a few apprentices that she was talking to, only to take a few steps back and eavesdrop on Odhranos' retelling of their engagement and marriage. That tense look on her face melts away into a smile, and she grows bashful herself, looking down at the silver band on her finger that he created for her.

Karasu curiously takes a throwing knife offered as the young students' attention shifts from the woman brought back from the brink of death to new toys. "Antimagic is a beautiful and very irresponsible field of magic to tinker with. I like it." The spellblade comments, kneeling to sheath the blade between the stiff leather of her heeled boot and the sheath of the knife already present. It stretched out the leather slightly, but nothing that was obvious to someone giving her a quick glance. "Aren't you that necromancer that comes by the fortress in Vailkrin sometimes?" Her eyes narrow.

Caltarok arriving at the cave stops to recollect his breath and more importantly to take a few minutes of peace to collect himself as his reservoir of magic began replenishing itself. Having steeled himself, he enters the bustle of people moving about and the hum of conversations already going on around him…. The pre-nerves noise that comes before the dead silence when a large body moves to enter battle. Something about it all was nostalgic to him as he moved through the crowd as a human. Not seeing at first any faces he knew, he stopped someone running around like they knew what was going on. "Please tell Odh that Caltarok is reporting in and am ready to ~fly~ where needed. He only needs to point the way." With a smile, Cal watches the young man move on before finding somewhere comfortable to lounge and rest as he worked to hold a steady rhythm breathing.

Khitti || Ever the outsider, Khitti kept to herself as the rest of the group talked amongst themselves. There’s a faint smile at the mention of Iintahquohae and Odhranos’ marriage, and she’d certainly have to congratulate the two of them and send them sweets from the bakery, but now wasn’t the time. The smile died rather quickly as she moved to situate herself in a spot away from the others, so she could more easily watch and listen to the archmage once he was ready to speak. She just stared at Odhranos, remembering what he had said to Khitt at the bakery. She (and Khitt) had been fine for a time. But now that things were progressing again, naught but doom filled Khitti’s thoughts and the contents of her stomach shifted with unease like a ship during a storm at sea. The cat on her shoulders could sense its owners discomfort and sought to get rid of it by nuzzling the side of Khitti’s face, but it did little to quell the anxiety that continued to grow.

Lanlan can’t hide the disappointment from his face, as he drops Odhranos’s hand most callously. “Spur of the moment...Yes, well that is no excuse for rudeness, and I was under the impression that we were friends as well as colleagues.” The scathing review will have to be finished later, because Odhranos is right. It’s nearing the time. Odhranos can’t even see his glowering expression, so he finds Inks, the archmage’s accomplice. He stares until she sees him, then snobbily turns his nose up at her and walks in the other direction, and moves toward Ernest and his briefcase of mage killers. “These do what, now?” He inspects them for a brand of some kind, a signature. “And I imagine they do the same thing against friendly mages don’t they? I hope I never find one of these used against us,” he says in a warning tone, displacing aggression on Ernest. He does take one dagger though, vanishing it into his sleeve.

Iintahquohae || With the Xalious Tree still shot and making any attempt of magic on Iintahquohae's end essentially useless, she passes by Ernest's anti-mage dagger station and takes one. She stalks off after pocketing it, finding a place to listen to Odhranos.

Ernest absolutely planned on using magekiller-type ammo in any fight he ever had against a magic-user. He'd done it to Lanara, he'd done it to Trent, he'd even made up a special version for folks who knew how to counter antimagic. To Karasu, he shrugged. "Lotta necromancers in Vailkrin. Lotta places people're apt ta call 'fortresses', too. Fits the aesthetic." To Lanlan, he just shrugged. "If ya do, I'm just th' service provider. Ain't th' blacksmith's fault who someone hits with a sword."

Odhranos mounts the platform where the circle of terramancers toil away and he cups his hands in front of his mouth. “Attentioooooon!” Heads begin to turn and the noise quietens as the gathered mages turn towards their Archmage. He looks out over the crowd and sees the footprints, swords, necklaces and rings, the stone and metal borne by each and every member of the Guild, each like fingerprints that reveal their identity. Over there, the metal shards of a whip-sword and the hematite and bronze scarab he had shaped with his own hands for Karasu, who embodied everything Odhranos wanted to fight for and protect in the Guild. Over there, the delicate weaving of silver thread and the ornate buckles of a very flamboyant cloak, which could only be Lanlan’s, his closest friend from before the Guild even opened its doors to him. And over there, the silver ring and stone circlet that he had made with his own hands for Iintahquohae, the circlet that had drawn them together and the ring that matches his very own, that as if by magic had turned Odhranos from a simple mage to a husband; in each and every precious thing he sees, he sees the life and the magic of the Guild. Bolstered by this, he reaches for his side and takes the Archmage’s Codex out of its holster. Rather than opening it, he holds the book aloft; the symbol of their Guild, the battle standard they would fight beneath. “Mages of Xalious! I have some words, I would bid you listen!". "I’m not going to make some grandiose speech today. You all know me better than that, it would be too strange of me to change my tact now. But while we have time, there are some things I want to say”. “Each one of us comes from a different place, a different set of circumstances. Some of us are bakers, some tailors. Each one of us has a different road to follow, with or without each other. But for today, we set all of that aside. For today, we are one Guild. When you look to your left and right, I want you to see friends who will fight for you, comrades that will defend you to the bitter end. I want you to know that in this battle, no one, not a single one of us stands alone. Remember that when everything else seems lost and we will not know failure this day!” Odhranos’ cry echoes through the hall, only to be drowned out by the sudden cheer. He nods to Charlie, who begins ushering mages into orderly positions in the hall. “Mages! Ready yourselves! Hydromancers, Aeromancers, to your positions! Prepare for the descent!”

Caltarok kicks off from the wall and moves to where Charlie is directing the aeromancers. Caltarok had been fully unsure what he should class himself as. But given what he was and how he exceled first with aeromantic powers; he followed. In a near silent whisper, "For the glory of Xalious… May her branches always reach towards the heavens and her roots spread far for the land. Pray forgive us for this day we spill blood on your soil though for liberation of those under your branches." The closest thing to a prayer as he takes a deep breath filling himself with air as he begins to imbue it and work his magic in preparation.

Khitti || The archmage made his speech and Khitti watched in silence. She did not join in with the cheers of the rest of her magical brethren, instead whispering to the nameless tikifhlee. “Stay here,” she said quietly to the cat. “If I don’t come back with the rest of them, go give this to Brand.” The cat nuzzled her again, letting out a faint ‘mowrowr’ in protest as Khitti slipped her silver seashell bracelet around its front left paw. “Do as I say, damn it.” Khitti smirked at the beast as it leapt from her shoulders and went to find a place to lurk for now. With a heavy sigh, she adjusted the strap of the black satchel she brought with her, the bag filled with various restoratives. She’d hand them out if they were needed but… knowing Khitti, she’d probably need the majority of them just to get home. With no other preparation needed on her end, she eventually allowed herself to be ushered into place when it was time.

Quintessa ‘s attachment of vampire halberdiers arrive shortly after Odhranos finished his speech, and they slowly meandered their way over to their leader for their orders. “About time,” the changeling jabs, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth before she peels her eyes from the mages taking positions and turns to face the soldiers. “Okay boys, remember what I told you- you are only here to run interference and to keep the mages safe. Let’s run a full defensive line. Don’t go out of your way to kill any of the opposition but if the enemy tries to cross our line don’t show them any mercy. Understand?” All of the pikemen bring a fist to their armor chests in salutes, creating a loud clash of metal on metal before they pound the ends of the halberds on the floor. With her orders given to her subjects, she turns back to the spellblades, curious what their role in all this would be- including her own. “Karasu,” Quintessa raises her hand to gently touch the feline’s shoulder, a simple show of solidarity. “I’ll support you and the rest of the Spellblade Corp. however you want me to. I stand at the ready.”

Iintahquohae joins the cheering of the gathered mages as Odhranos completes his speech. Despite following him and Charlie around earlier, she didn't have the full gist of what exactly he had planned. Like Khitti, Inks lets herself be shuffled off to wherever she should be, calmed by what she perceives to be organized chaos. Her elbow bumps Khitti's once within close enough proximity to do so. “Good to see you, Khitti,” the seamstress greets, though her eyes are glued entirely on Odhranos. That hint of anxiety she had before has returned, with the seamstress' posture tense and rigid like a compressed spring. Her right thumb and index finger reach for the band on her left finger, twisting it. Without being a competent mage or spellblade or well, anything really equating to skilled with magic, combat-wise or otherwise, as likely more than half of the people here were, Inks felt just a bit out of place. She quietly waits for what ever happens next.

Karasu gives a soft smile at Odhranos’ speech, her haughty and easily-agitated facade slipping as she thinks back to how it felt like only a few weeks ago, the demifeline no higher than a study desk was bringing him random books from the grand library, demanding that he as an apprentice tell her what certain magical terminologies meant so she could be ‘the world’s best mage.’ The woman turns back to the students, still far too young to see the likes of war, just as she was when she blindly volunteered to fight the Razurath. “Spellblades, remember that your opponent will not hesitate, so neither should you. And… of course, don’t go for the neck right off the bat, just try to disable whoever you have to fight, blood is very hard to get out of those floors even with magic.” The unexpected comment elicits a few chuckles, seeming to relax the nervous warriors. Karasu smirks as she turns back to face Quintessa. “It’ll be fine. I still haven’t finished picking out a proper place to propose, so I can’t die before then.” With her curse purged, the cheeky spellblade seems to be somewhat eager for the upcoming battle as she leaves Quintessa with the revelation to move her students towards the front of the formation. The wall of spellblades served as bodyguards for the casters to work their time-consuming spells, should it come to that.

Lanlan takes a solitary spot on the peak while his apprentices scatter to their assigned units. While Odhranos speaks, he finds his gaze landing on his once and again comrades. Most of them have been his enemy at some point, though they may not have always known it (though some of them definitely have, he considers when he spots Quintessa and her tangent of soldiers). Some of these people, he would never see again, and they would never have their slights paid for. But Haladavar...oblivion was owed to him, and Lanlan had to guarantee it. Begrudgingly, he puts aside his righteous fomo and petty quarrels, and recalls upon the weakness and indignity that Haladavar put in him. Or revealed. His magic burgeons within him, a bitter and deceitful bloom that fans beautifully from his frail body for those with the sight, until it altogether vanishes into a breeze. Along with him.

Ernest didn't really have a proper place. He knew what his role was in all this, which meant it was critical he made it to the end. (Granted, making it to the end was generally high on most people's agendas going into an event like this, but still.) He'd already passed out the magekillers, and those who were up to wielding them had taken them. He himself had loaded up on them in bulk--both crossbows had magazines full of the darn things, and he had minions waiting in his sleeves with more. So even though he knew he was needed mostly at the start and end, he felt quite confident going into this that the middle part wouldn't be overly difficult for him either. Some of that may have been the cocky freelancer attitude, but still. Rather than find a particular spot to brace himself or something, he instead wandered up next to Odhranos and asked, "So where'd be th' best place ta watch things go down before everythin' devolves inta fightin' an' hollerin'? Ain't every day I get ta see a spectacle like you got planned."

Odhranos || As the cheers of the mage army resound around the hall, Odhranos feels a tap on his shoulder. “We’re ready when you are, sir.” Khavra’s tone is weak and shaky, the exertion of hours of intense concentration have taken their toll, and the damage that the Xalious Tree’s withering has done to magic only made the task harder. Odhranos nods and turns away from the crowd, to where the circle of terramancers still crouch, their heads beaded with sweat and their faces pale with exertion. One by one, Odhranos goes around the circle, placing his hand on shoulders, thanking his colleagues for their effort and relieving them of their duties. One by one, they relax, exhaustion blatant on their faces as they clamber to their feet and are ushered to the entrance of the hall. They will not take part in the battle, their work is done for now. As each of the terramancers releases their minds hold on the stone beneath the hall, Odhranos’ shoulders stiffen as he takes over their load. When Kulmur sags with relief, Odhranos’ neck is corded with the strain that the magic places upon him. Beneath the mountain peak, the rock has been stripped to near nothing. Open tunnels bored through stone loop and weave through the mountain side, till there is but a swiss cheese of stone remaining. The only thing holding this filigree together now is the combined effort of Odhranos and S’erok’s power. Turning his head with a herculean effort, Odhranos returns to his position before the gathered army. A shudder runs through the ground beneath their feet, and a disquieted murmur ripples through the crowd. Odhranos holds a fist in the air, clenched so tightly that his knuckles appear white as bone. “Xalious, I offer you the Earth’s True Bounty!” The terramancer speaks through gritted teeth, as the stone quakes beneath the hall, dust trickling through the open galleries beneath them. “Dredged up from depths of the world and brandished against the very heavens, it is not metals or precious gems! It is power!” A strong tremor runs through the hall and suddenly there is silence, when Odhranos smiles savagely, as he prepares to release his hold. “The power to -Fall-.” Suddenly, with a vicious growl, Howler’s Peak shudders, and tilts. The tunnels collapse in a violent explosion of dust and rubble, giving way beneath the mountain’s summit and crumbling into a roaring landslide which begins to tumble down the mountain’s flank, gathering speed, material and fury with every passing second. Howlers Peak shakes and grumbles, before it too begins to slide, riding upon the landslide like an ark on a world ending flood, the colossal mass of rock the size of a small castle begins descending towards Xalious, gathering speed as gravity drags it earthward, bearing the Mages Guild of Xalious with it. As Howlers Peak roars, true to its namesake, Odhranos throws his arms wide and laughs exultantly. This is a power beyond mages! Let Haladavar turn his eyes to the moon, the earth will not rise to strike him down. It will fall from the heavens instead!

Caltarok || As the first sets of trembles in the ground take place, Caltarok braces his legs unsure of what is coming. He turns his attention with such focus and intensity that if his gaze could it would bore into Odh's brain for an explanation. It is only when the roaring begins and Caltarok hears the word fall come from Odh does it fully register just what crazy plan had been fully hatched by the craze terramancer. With a "bloody rocks for brain" curse, Caltarok crouches lower to the ground pressing one palm against the floor. Unsure of the rest of the aeromancers and the instructions given, Caltarok at least prepares for the sudden stop that is bound to happen to launch into the air and begin the battle for the skies. His free hand moves to grab his bow from his shoulders the wood in his hands being that of a dear companion's hand resting against the palm of his hands.

Khitti looked up at Inks as she was bumped into, offering the seamstress a ‘hey’. She was hesitant for a moment, but eventually lightly grabbed Inks’ nearest wrist, giving it a squeeze before releasing it again. “It’ll be okay,” she said. But the question was whether or not Khitti was saying this for the vampire’s benefit or for her own? It wasn’t long before the ground started to shake and the mountain was at Odhranos’ command. Well if this wasn’t the most Khitti-like thing Odhranos has ever done then Khitti wasn’t sure what was. She couldn’t help but grin, her attention shifting back to the seamstress as the entire building skidded down towards its doom. “I see your husband is taking the Khitti approach to things, Inks. I wholeheartedly approve.” Her fingers twitched at her sides with anticipation. The waiting was always the hardest part of battle. Should she have her weapons out now? Should she conjure up a shadowfire ball and have it at the ready? Ugh. Waiting. Khitti hated it. She thoroughly resisted the urge to yell at Odhranos to make the landslide go faster. Then again, he might actually enjoy doing that. Chaos calls to you, Odhranos. Come to the ~dark side~. Ultimately, she decided to withdraw Embershard from its sheathe, the obsidian and dark steel blade radiating with the latent dark energy of the Shadow Plane as its owner tried to calm herself for now.

Kasyr coughs, though not due to the illness that had been plaguing him when he was last scene. No, today's discomfort is more self-inflicted, since the Kensai has been pacing about an office, alternating between chain-smoking, staring out a window, and occasionally sortinhg through the papers he'd retrieved from the storage cabinet. -His- papers. The amount of -relief- that he still feels over their retrieval is hard to quantify, but it's probably somewhere in the same vein as the stash of tobacco he found on the last 'Enlightened' asshole he killed. "Speaking...er, monologuing of which." The Kensai flicks the cigarette out the window, before turning back to the office. Whilst he'd done an adequate job of mopping up the trail of blood, there was still -yet- -another- cultist body to hide. And he was running out of cupboard and shelf space at this point. "..Wait." With a nod to himself, the swordsman plucks up the freshest of the corpses, dragging it over to the seat in the room, if only to plunk it in there. At that point, he simply wheels it closer to the window- and sets up it's arms to lean on the sill- so when it invariably slumps forward, it practically looks like a scholar peacefully dozing. Sure, he's got a second smile in his throat. but, totally sleeping, from the back at least.

Quintessa || To say Quintessa was surprised at Karasu’s revelation would be an understatement, but the warlock does her best to appear nonplussed in her wake, her mouth opening and closing as if she was trying to form the words she wanted to say. “P-proposal?” The question comes a few seconds too late as Karasu moves away, but she would remember to bring this back up later when they were alone. Shaking away this new distraction, she prepares herself from the coming descent, knowing what to expect already from the conversations she had with Odranos prior to this operation. With a new smirk gracing her features she throws a glance to her halberdiers and tells them to “Hold on to your butts.” When the landslide begins Tessa has already braced herself, ready to smack right into Haladavar’s face where he’d least expect it. It was time for her vengeance to be at hand- for manipulating her to do his bidding- for stealing the tower away from them- for hurting her friends and family. Haladavar had best hope it is not Quintessa who captures him, because if she gets the opportunity his death will be a painfully gruesome one.

Iintahquohae didn't voice how utterly reassuring Khitti's words were to her, but her face likely said it all. Caught between trying to keep up the pseudo-stoic facade she liked to have and frowning, potentially on the verge of tears with the gravity of the situation setting in. Khitti cutting into those thoughts helped her to stop tensing up as much, face softening, shoulders sagging, normal-ish breathing. The inability to really process fear typically resulted in Inks either crying a lot or feeling irrationally angry. Crying a lot is currently trying to win, but bless Khitti for keeping Inks calm. She tries smiling, but it looks more like a grimace. It takes her some time to understand what exactly Odhranos is doing on observation alone, but as he relieves each terramancer gathered in the circle and his demeanor seems to tense, it makes sense. Her eyes widen with a mix of awe, alarm and worry at the sheer amount of power it must take to do this. Without instruction, Sacred breaks apart into a multitude of black scales that lose their scimitar and scabbard shape at her hip, and the amorphous mass splits in two, regrouping at her legs to form the pair of greaves they occasionally took the form of. As the scales encircle her boots and encase them, pair of fang-like spikes jut out from either foot, biting into the rock beneath her feet to anchor her in place. The thought of throwing a mountain at Xalious is the sort of chaos that Inks can absolutely enjoy, and her nerves sort of diminish. Khitti's words help tremendously, so much so that she laughs. “He's something else, that's for sure,” she says, turning to the other woman. “Thank you.” She hops onto the Khitti-approach hype train and braces for impact, reaching into the pockets of her jacket for a pair of knuckle dusters to slip on. Once they've landed she can switch back to wielding Sacred, but Inks was more apt to punch a mage than stab them with a sword if she gets close enough. There were two in particular that she wanted to punch at least once.

Karasu draws her sword, forged from the shattered blades of the silver dual katanas that were once prized to her because they were a gift from her father to carry on his legacy. Now, with magically-reinforced chains holding the fragments into a single longsword, it represented more. In the dual moonlight of Vaalane and Ahr'Nuk reflected off the sword and into Karasu's eyes, it represented how nothing was ever truly broken so long as one found the right people to put it back together. "Go." She says simply, a platform manifesting from the debris for her to remain balanced on without so much as an incantation. Behind her, the other spellblades utter the proper incantation in their own native languages to follow suit so they could stay close behind to the Archmage and keep a watchful eye for the first line of attack.

Lanlan reappears on the bow of this mountain-boat, arms spread wide in a t-pose. Then he appears again at the stern, appearing to do his part in pushing the boulder like it was a giant bobsled. Another Lan appears above the rock, flying, pulling the mountain forward with a rope over his shoulder. In fact, Lanlan appears all over the sliding peak, at the same time, and vibrantly. Hopefully, when his enemies see his friends coming, they’ll see a target rich environment and get bamboozled by all his peacocking.

Ernest had not only been informed of the plan, but had professionally signed off on it as a Good Plan. As such, he wanted to be where he could see it in action, and thus found himself looking out of the front window, arms crossed, staring down what would have been his nose at the valley below with, at first, a "we're coming to get you" grin, but which rapidly dissolved into giggles and a "this is SO COOL" grin. Riding a mountain had never been on his bucket list before, but this was worth retroactively putting on it.

Odhranos bends his will to the mountain as it descends into Xalious. Like a rampaging bull, the force of its momentum is far beyond anything that could be wrangled properly, but Odhranos can suggest where it might exert its rage, urging it one way left or right as the lower peaks of Frostmaw flash by. Howlers Peak roars into the Northern end of Xalious Valley with a cry so loud that weeks later, scribes as far as Rynvale will swear they heard it echoing out across Lithrydel. Far below, the malevolent glowing barricade of Haladavar’s enchanted wall brandishes its golden facade, daring any to try and tilt at its face and break themselves upon it. Howlers Peak accepts the challenge, with a mighty bellow. “Hydromancers! Flood the hall! Cushion the impact!” Odhranos’ cry is near inaudible over the din that echoes around the shaking stone hall within the severed mountain peak, but enough mages hear him and begin to take action that their colleagues see them and join in. Torrents of water, some clear, some clouded, salt, fresh and even some that glows an unearthly purple begin to fill the hall, washing around the feet of the mage army, rising steadily. “Aeromancers! Keep everyone afloat!” Gusts of wind whip the hall into a gale, and suddenly everyone feels light on their feet, buoyed up on gusts and thermals that keep them above the rising waterline. Odhranos keeps his senses trained on the earth that whips by outside, until a line of stone pillars comes into view. Haladavar’s wall, ready to meet Howlers Peak head-on. “BRAAAAACE!” Odhranos roars, as he throws every last bit of power he has behind the unstoppable force, challenging the immovable object. Howlers Peak hits the magic barricade and the impact blasts through the earth, air and sky like a tormented celestial gong. Within the hall, an almighty shockwave throws everything forward, and the collected army of mages suddenly find themselves riding on a surging wave. The hydromancers spring to action and the wave is dragged back under control, cushioning the impact, while the aeromancers haul everyone back from an unfortunate collision with the hard unforgiving walls of the stone hall. Outside, a cascading ripple of blinding light erupts out in either direction as Haladavar’s wall shatters and tears open like a ribbon pulled taut, then snapped. Howlers Peak shrieks in triumph and continues its assault on the valley, its speed now diminished and its rocky face now pitted and scarred from the titanic collision. Its roar abated, the peak now coasts on a tide of rubble, as the Mages Tower looms into view over the trees. Within the mountain, Odhranos grits his teeth and scowls. They have sounded their warhorn. War has come to Xalious.

Caltarok || Had followed the orders along with the other aeromancers though perhaps not in the same force and fashion, small bursts of wind extended down and outward before strongly blowing upward with enough force to dislodge any not already braced/laced to the ground by some mean or another. But Cal's ended as quickly as it began before moving to pulse in other directions… a rapid speed though controlled blasts not to waste his energy as he used the other aeromancers to hold everyone aloft in one place relative to where they were when it all started. Soon after breaking through, his pulsing wind would stop as it was gathered around Caltarok ready to launch him outward into the night sky to begin raining arrows. The spells needed to enhance and 'enlarge' his targets from a distance already being formed through the tendrils of magic. Much like a honed tool, Caltarok was as ready as he was going to be a tool to bring freedom for the Xalious region and to bring the mages home.

Khitti || Water? Why water? WHY WATER, ODHRANOS?! Oh, Khitti was fine with the water usually. She’s sort of got a crush on a mermaid, after all. But, as the hydromancers filled the room, it opened Khitti’s satchel, causing some of the vials within to come spilling out. Thankfully, everything floated to the surface with the help of the aeromancers. Khitti scrambled to gather everything up, hoping she didn’t miss any, then summoned up a surfboard-sized block of shadow-ice to set her bag on and cling to. Once she had steadied herself, more grey-tinted, shadowy ice blocks dotted their way across the surface of the water, allowing others to cling to them if they wished. For a moment, she looked around for Quintessa, hoping that the changeling would find a bit of floating ice for herself--Khitti had not forgotten that she could not swim.

Kasyr‘s appreciation for his handiwork is short lived, as a profound rumbling echoes through the air, wrennching his attention back to the window proper. It actually takes him a few moments of squinting to fully register just what it is he's saying, but once it does, he can't restrain the manic laugh that slips out. "Mon dieu. Now -that- es a signal." it's calamitous enough that it'll be a hard act to follow- but, then, the swordsman always was up for a challenge. It certainly helps, of course, that Odhranos had helped to facilitate things with the dissident faction within the tower. Speaking of which, "On Y Va, People. We're the welcoming party, et it would hardly do if we keep the new guests waiting." As he strides out the office, other figures emerge from nearby rooms- some groggy from the long vigil, others bouncing with nervous energy, and a few that almost seem to be second guessing their involvement in this hatchet fight. Even as he scrutinizes the gathering forces (in part to look for Esther), he's already in the process of arming himself- spiritual simulacra of swords summoned into the air about himself, only to hover imperiously behind him. "Normally, this is the time I'd offer up a speech- but we're on a bit of a timeline. Like I said before, our goal es simple enough- we're moving down to make sure that any fortifications ou traps they try et set are muddled with. That- et setting what few we can in our wake, for any reinforcements who are -bound- to follow us." ...There's a pause, and then the Kensai simply makes for the door. "...Try to keep up."

Quintessa found the descent strangely placid, the process of sliding down the mountain in an artificial avalanche feeling much like it did when she rode upon the back of the dragon Luffy during the Razurath Genocide. Has it really been nearly two years now? Back then Quintessa was bloodthirsty and overzealous, finding grim pleasure in the heat of battle and slaying her foes one after another. As they near impact she cannot help but feel this excitement once again, the thrill of battle brought on by the flow of adrenaline throughout her system. Deny it as much as she liked, Quintessa lived for this, for bloody combat. For testing herself against the odds and finding triumph where none thought possible. Not even the present danger of drowning before the fight began could douse her determination, the changeling quickly maneuvering herself to perch atop a floating chunk of ice as the hydromancers cushion their fall. Once the waters had washed away and it was safe for Quintessa to leap down to the ground level, she gripped the handle of her katana tightly and moved forward to join the vanguard, her unhallowed aura expunging mana rapidly to create a black, swirling mist around her. Perhaps it was her goal earlier to use as much restraint as possible, but now that action had begun she found herself succumbing to that overzealousness that plagued her so much in her past. It was payback time.

Iintahquohae ;; The rush of water over her ankles baffles Iintahquohae, accompanied by the momentary weightlessness provided by the aeromancers. Whatever she wanted to try to attempt bracing herself for impact is lost thanks to both aeromancers and hydromancers alike doing all the work, so she keeps still and lets them do what they will. The spikes in her greaves retract to allow for her to float wherever the water and air-inclined mages deem best to keep her from hurting herself, and she tries her best to enjoy the ride. Once it seems that they've landed and can get moving again, she's on her feet and rushing to Odhranos' side, skidding over wet earth to reach him. A hand grabs for his shoulder, the other to take his hand in case he needs help up to his feet if he had stumbled at all. “Odh? Odh, are you-” Her question comes to an abrupt halt as she is backhanded with the undeniable sensation that her sire is not only alive, but nearby. Roughly somewhere in the tower. She practically does an about-face into the exact direction he is. Her mouth goes slack as she registers the fledgeling-sire-bond for the first time in what felt like ages, then she laughs. Loudly. “He's here, Odh. Kas. He's here, you were right! That sonofa-” Turning to her beloved, she presses her lips to his cheek, then takes off to track her reborn sire down. While Kasyr is not on the list of two people Inks really wanted to punch today, she did say she'd deck him whenever they crossed paths again. Twice. One for Odh and another for herself.

Lanlan doesn’t even try to brace. His allies couldn’t see him, so they wouldn’t be able to help him. He runs to the back of the rock, engages his drow vagrant’s insignia, and leaps off, while it continues its collision course. He never lands. The levitation has him floating above the tumult, joining his company of phonies. Now that they’re mission of pretending to guide the boulder to its home is complete, they’re tasked with a new objective: joining the ranks of the vanguard, effectively doubling its size full of distractions. They arm themselves with swords and spears crafted whimsically from pure imagination. Lanlan is invisible, but that doesn’t mean she should not be seen. He looks up to see Haladavar’s shattered shield in tatters, waning uselessly above him. He’s strangely proud of Odhranos... even though he forgot to invite him to the wedding! That was quite a blow.

Ernest , when told to brace, snapped his fingers. From the darkness of his cloak, three small hands coalesced into reality and began scribing small runes into the ground around his feet. Magical barriers sprung to life--first as domes, then as invisible hands made of force that latched onto his ankles. More shadows swirled around him--hand afrer hand, each one grabbing onto the next, until they'd formed a roughly humanoid amalgamation that pushed back against Ernest's chest, leaning against him firmly. Ernest himself maintained his position, grinning brightly, and when the entire hall shuddered and thundered, as the dust and water settled it'd briefly appear as though he'd been entirely unmoved by the collision. The shadow-creature rapidly dissolved itself into nothingness and his rune circles faded as he peeled back his longcoat, snapped his two crossbows into his hands, spun them each around his fingers twice and then cocked them against each other, having briefly turned one of them upside-down. "Welp, time ta get t'work, I s'pose," he said, then hopped down from whatever high window he'd been watching from to stand next to Odhranos again. "Where d'you want me, yer ruthlessness?" He couldn't help but grin--he'd been hired for a coup, and he was definitely going to do his part to install the leader who'd paid for it, so there was no reason not to call this villain work.

Odhranos finds his footing as the shattered mountain peak begins grinding to a halt. It's fury spent, Howler's Peak now lies at the end of a mile long trail of destruction, but it's forward flank is barely an arrows flight from the Tower's base. A point violently demonstrated as a barrage of fire arcs out from the Tower's entrance, splattering violently against the pitted stone. Odh accepts Inks' help with a grateful smile; the strain of getting this hunk of rock and a whole Guild with it is enough that he is thankful for a shoulder to lean on. If only for a moment before he calls out once again. "Terramancers, crack open the rockface near the roof, Hydromancers, bring the water to the front. Pyromancers, vaporise and let the Aeromancers vent the steam for cover." Odhranos barks orders with a stern clear voice, conducting the army with the same tone that the gathered apprentices would recognise from his lectures. As the water is slowly dissipated as a thick white smog from cracks in the mountain's forward flank, Odhranos turns to Inks with a weary smile on his face. "There's nothing more Kas-like than defying death just for the sake of it." Inks takes off and for a moment, Odhranos almost calls out after her, but he stays his hand. There's no time for that now. The flashy entrance is done, the plan is in place, every piece is on the board. Now all there is to do is play the game. Odhranos looks over his shoulder, to where his Guild stands at the ready. Ready to take back their home and their lives. "Spellblades, take the vanguard! Casters, on my command!" Odhranos urges his golem onwards, a titanic bulwark to follow behind the flashing charge of the spellblades. The Battle of Xalious has begun.