RP:What Pride Had Wrought

From HollowWiki

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc


Summary: After manipulating the city's election and forcing Brennia, his rival, into hiding, Orra hands Schezerade to Kahran. The Republic falls in one fell swoop. Uma Abelin bears witness to this terrible event and ensures the safe evacuation of as many avians as she can. Kanna, enraged by the actions of these dark men, attempts to strike Kahran down personally -- but earns a grisly slash instead. At least the bard saves Oline from the giantess' own brawler instinct; together with Yoshika, they escape just as evil's conquest is complete. Within a span of mere minutes, Lithrydel is dealt a crushing blow.

Schezerade

Brennia | Vermillion was frowning, more like scowling, up at nothing. All he can see is nothing north of the Topiary and every day his subordinates of the Flewminati cannot seem to break the enchanted barrier, but he -knows- the campus lay just beyond. A hesitant step toward the direction of the college and he was sent backward into some of his secret service protection and when they tried to help him up out of pure duty he worms his way out of their grips ferociously, “get your hands off meee.” His thin lips made thinner as piny green eyes narrow at them, “I want in that castle if it’s the last thing I do!” One of the guards dare ask, “but why?” This causes the faux senator to huff, turn on the bodyguard while getting right into his face, “never you mind.” Vermillion then seemed distracted, he stepped away to where it thought there was quiet as if he was having a private conversation with… himself. There appeared to be some sort of inner struggle with the avian and something unseen, but whatever was happening the guards seem all too used to it by now. Then the avain pivoted on his heel and sort of marched his way back over anew… I mean -really- anew, as if he was someone else completely, with a sort of swagger to his step and he puts his nose up at everyone. A clearing of his throat…


Brennia | Orra spoke up in a more affected timbre, “I see none of you are able to to the simplest of tasks…” A sneer and a start to a chuckle. The old (dead) necromancer who is now possessing Vermillion’s body gives a hard eye roll, “I will do well with not holding my expectations too high for the lot of you.” A shrug while those green eyes scan the secret service, Flewminati members, and the remaining citizens - well, the ones who weren’t asking for recounts of the recent election. Noticing every avian was dressed the same, in dark blue, the ones sold in Vermillion’s shopping center. Very uniform. Eventually he was distracted with the area to the north, he can see the campus and arrogantly begins to walk towards it, but is only thrust back once more. Gasps fall over the crowd and maybe a few citizens smirk to hold back their chuckles… Overall there was a hush hanging in the air. It brings hope that maybe the headmistress of the bard’s guild is still within even though she’s been banned from the city and bring peace back to Schezerade while Orra appeared to be seething. If he cannot break the barrier - he might know someone who can.


Lionel | Peace was an illusion, a fragile lie clung desperately by a culture out of phase with the world below them. For all the election, all the pomp and imperial pageantry, in Schezerade it is pride that rules -- and it rules with an iron fist. Pride brought the rise of a shadowy organization within the citizenry, and pride brought Vakmatharas’ Jar like a plague. Pride caused the people, stricken with malady, to turn a blind eye to the wickedness within their great stately halls. Like a cancer, the Flewminati spread its haughty and vain decree, and the isolationist avians of the floating city in the clouds were the perfect targets. When the jar was shattered, the avians believed their woes might come to a close. Their woes have only just begun. Behind their backs and where even their wings cannot take them, Orra, the man who has cleverly manufactured his political victory over Brennia Smyth, has a surprise in store for his fellow avians. A sound like thunder cracks in the air, but shockingly close to the garden. Dozens of heads turn in gnawing panic as green streaks of magic zigzag like impressionist art all throughout the area. Avians mid-soar flap their wings in alarm and twitch defensively. A few scattered shouts are made between them. “What is this,” one of them asks breathily. “Someone get the guard. Get the guard.” The second citizen’s face is paler than the rest; she’s a merchant by trade, and one of few here in Schezerade with routine contact with the surface world. She knows what this foretells. She’s seen it too many times. She’s lost business partners and prospective clients alike to this madness, and now she fears she’ll lose everything she has left.


Lionel | The green streaks solidify, like acidic ooze, and the scent of burned silks assails the avians’ nostrils. Between the streaks, orcs in sturdy armor and crude swords and axes suddenly appear by the dozens… and then by the hundreds. Trolls, towering over the orcs and slobbering all over Schezerade’s immaculate pearly walkways, lift their clubs threateningly and move to surround their shorter-statured allies. Slaadi, tremendous bulbous frog-like bipeds with thick blubbery hides, pop into reality throughout the city’s majestic crosswalks. Drow dressed in archaic heraldry emerge upon rooftops and ready their bows and arrows but do not fire. Wraiths, in obsidian cloaks with scythes that shimmer ethereally and tug barely visible magical strings toward the orcs, spread out across the zone and cast vile glares at all who dare to see them. Grotesque abominations, the skin charred and the eyes misshapen and the stench beyond compare, draw near to the wraiths and click what’s left of their tongues like dying birds. And naga -- Jaize’s naga! -- slither through alleys and raise their blades threateningly. In a blink, Schezerade is all but covered in the forces of a foreign invader. In a blink, the world has changed.


Hudson | Uma is riding in a carriage on the scene because she's intended to drop in on the alleged ruler of Schezerade to discuss the disturbing allegations of voter fraud. There's traffic, however, the crack that hits the sky causes all carriages to come to a halt, the Cenril mayoral carriage-cade (...motorcade being inapt, natch) included. A bad feeling roots inside of Cenril's mayor, like a seed. "What's happening," she demands, opening the door to her carriage just as her assistant tells her, "Ma'am please stay inside." Her entourage is forced to exit with her. The horses are spooking, everyone's. Uma's gaze goes to the skies, which are streaking with green. A calling card she's come to know well. "Kahran," she hisses the name through her teeth. She curses in a decidedly unladylike manner and leans into the carriage to withdraw her wand, which she rarely uses. "Get back! To me!" she begins ordering random Schezeradians on the street to gather behind her security detail, as if that'll help. Her hand begins weaving through the air, shaping a circle, her lips moving in an incantation only she can hear.


Kanna was furious to find that Schezerade had changed like this since her trip to Frostmaw. After she nearly had her head split open by those possessed things trying to help Brennia and the other guild members seal the cursed jar, this man dared to call himself the leader! It was all wrong, so so wrong! The otherwise homeless student of the college struts with silent defiance in every bit of her short round frame, from the glare she shoots at Orra and Vermilion to the gaudily bright colors she wears in protest of the uniform. Just before the barrier is reached, the anarchy begins. This is far too much, too much for a human to possibly survive in, and she knows she has to escape. There's screams from all around, and her eyes immediately fall to the hatchlings and fledglings that have been playing in the garden. The tiny avians for a moment carbon copies of herself as a child, absentmindedly chewing on candied apples as the world fell apart around her. With a panicked cry, she scoops up a pair of twins with burns on opposite ends of their arms, despite their protesting, and barely misses a drow's arrow as she crosses the threshold and sets them down where they are safe. Then, despite all logic in her head, she sees another child and the corpse of a larger avian being thrown like a doll by the primitive orc, and she runs back out to get the child away from the battlefield.


Hudson | Uma's wand-bearing hand carves a serrated-edged circle in the air, one that pulses with energy and through which the recognizable image of the Cenril bank is visible. "Women and children, hurry!" she cries, but she doesn't need to. The citizens recognize a portal when they see one, and women clutching babes in arms and toddlers by the hand are rushing toward it, their figures vanishing into safety. "This way!" "A portal!" the people are shouting, and Uma knows that with her quick action she's started a stampede of sorts, and not a safe one either. Her security detail isn't equipped to handle the numbers of people rushing toward it. "Go! I'm fine!" she shouts at them, going into her carriage for her broom, which she mounts, flying above the fray. It won't hold for very long.


Brennia | Orra got his footing back and was sneering up at the skies. He just had a feeling that whatever was going on - he was going to like it. Chaos was ensuing as most of the citizens were retreating back to their homes and the secret security flanks Orra, crowding him. A scoff as she shoves them out of the way, “ugh! Move.” A scowl sent their way while he took the tinted spectacles from the bridge of his nose with a grin, “it’s about -time-,” he mentioned impatiently. As soon as he created Brennia’s loss he had been sending out for Kahran to join him in this victory. Take hold of the city and lord over all the ingrates and cretens. He orders the guard and his own protection to stand down, “easy… They will crush you, if you don’t want to fight alongside these creatures you are welcome to leave.” His cold gaze scans the crowd, “and never come back.” Another arrogant sneer. A commotion further behind the crowd catches Uma and her work to get the ‘innocent’ to safety. “Cowards,” is all he mentions about it and he gives a nod to a Flewminati brute, “get her down.” An eye roll as the avian soars brilliantly up in the air toward the witch bitch on a stick.


Lionel | The portals crackle and close. The green streaks vanish as quickly as they’d emerged. Yet just as they fade, a man unlike anyone in his command steps into existence. His suit is suede, his boots are polished to a mirror sheen, and his hair is combed back in a style that’s all the rave in certain exclusive social circles. His skin seems too perfect, as if a painter demanded all abnormality be erased with a brush in too-broad strokes. One of the orcs strikes an avian and a few of the drow fire their arrows, but for all the army’s might, for all its diverse death-dealing capability, surprisingly few of these invading troops have begun an assault. The man in the suit, with sharp scholarly green eyes, steps through his ranks so casually that were he the only thing visible in Schezerade, folks could be forgiven for believing he’s early in his morning commute on a lovely summer’s day. “Temper, temper,” he scolds his overeager soldiers. His voice is pure, unfiltered condescension. “Avians, I am Kahran. You will hear me.” Now his voice is stronger, and it lingers through the city through magical purpose. “You were conquered today, but not by me. By decay. Your pride is the envy of the lower realm. Your prowess is legendary. But it has lost its luster. Together, we will make this empire glorious again. I would prefer that this coup be bloodless...” An avian gripping a spear rushes straight for Kahran, but a wraith breaks the spear with a clean swing of the scythe, and then breaks the avian into a bloody pulp. “Well,” Kahran laments, “I tried.” Other avians flee, or follow Uma Abelin, or else choose to heed Orra’s orders. The city is silent like the crypt, but for the snarling of the orcs and trolls, the saliva drip-drip-dripping from the slaadi, the notched arrows of the drow, the pathetic moans and groans and clicks of the abominations. Kahran strolls through it at his own pace, on his own time, as a beaten people stare or avert their gaze. The air sparks, but not magically. Tension so thick it could be severed with a spoon. With a wave of his hand, Kahran approaches Orra and nods pleasantly. His smile shows his teeth. The barrier breaks the instant the warlord lays eyes on it. “Regent,” he greets his new general. “Schezerade requires a steadier hand to chart its destiny. Shall we begin?”


Hudson | The people and visitors of Schezerade are making a beeline to Uma's portal. The streets are turning violent, and not just because of the invaders, because citizens are pushing their fellow citizens to get to safety. An evacuation is never orderly. Uma, flying zigzags above, has woven herself a temporary magic barrier with her wand that reflects the arrows shot at her. But it won't last forever either. She needs to beat a hasty retreat, but she's frozen for a beat, watching the arrival of Kahran and the ensuing scene that plays out. It's here where Schezerade's alleged republic capitulates, Uma knows, finally taking her broom much higher, out of range, away. She's done all that she can do here. Behind her, the portal closes, and Kahran's creatures close in on those trying to escape, forcing them to fall in line and salute the new order here.


Kanna screams when the child she races towards disappears under the weight of a falling orc. She has to steady herself on a tree to keep from retching, and the jerky movement saves her from an arrow to the head. It is then that the man appears and speaks of Schezerade's takeover. Blood splatters onto the pastel garments she wears, and the human is too frozen to do much else but wince. Her eyes drift over to the row of houses that have now been set ablaze with pyromancy. "I was going... to live here..." She says quietly, looking down at the increasing gore around her. "And never come back." She hears from the cruel avian. Her disposition shifts, her face contorting with anger. Twice she had almost died now, just to live amongst the avians, and he had taken it away, and now everyone would leave! Everyone leaves. A song is whispered under her breath, cold sapphire eyes trained on the man. The foliage surrounding the garden shakes and disappears, twisting in on itself to form a lance of branches underground that aim to spear the man that emerged from the green monstrosity.


Oline had expected that she'd stand out like a sore thumb. Instead what she found was a city overrun with creatures which, by comparison, almost made her seem as if she fit right in. Drow? Orcs? Trolls? How strange, then, was it to see a giant? Perhaps more than she thought, given the status of Frostmaw in this whole global affair, but still... Oline was not a Frostylander. She bore little resemblance to their kind beyond he pale skin. She stood in the street and watch the ongoings with wide, curious eyes... an open bottle of wine in her right hand. As the chaos erupted, the giantess took a swig and chuckled grimly before plodding into the crowd. She shoved aside avian, orc, and troll alike as she lumbered her way down the street closer to the heart of the chaos. An arrow plunged into her shoulder, a riccochet perhaps? Intentional? She broke the shaft of it off with a grimmace and tossed it aside, a trickle of bright red blood pooling up around the broken edge before turning black. Oline's eyes scanned the crowd, curious to see if she spotted anyone familiar. She'd come here at the suggestion of a very kindly songstress... on a whim. What were the odds she'd find her here... now... on a day like this, of all days?


Brennia | Orra grins as Kahran nears and nods back, they were like salivating wolves on the hunt and bearing their teeth. The large amount of orcs, drow and Trolls greatly outnumbered the avians. The amount of avians left heavily outweighed the good and just under the amass of the Flewminati, of which wait for Orra’s simple wave of the hand toward the barrier free campus. “Anything left inside… Kill it,” he heartlessly commands in a cold voice. After smoothing his own suit, “I do not think I’ll be bothering with Vermillion much longer.” He was still grinning if Kahran caught his drift, “so… Lets.” He has seemed to be able to ignore the bard entirely so she doesn’t phase him - must be something to do with creating the damned Vakmatharas’ Jar. Eyes set on the impressive castle which used to be so bright, full of life, music, and learning minds. Orra breathes it in as if it was a stench left in the air from the previous occupants, “I cannot wait to corrupt this place along with all of Schezerade.” He would walk in before Kahran and once inside saw many instruments, sheet music and books were left, “burn it… Burn it all!” It would be easy seeing the entire structure is made of marble and gold - the stone made it more of a fortress, “this will make a great ordnance depot. Torture dungeon on the lower floors in place of the dormitory.” A chuckle emitted when he watched an orc smash the concert grand piano into firewood, “perfection.” After lighting a simple match atop it, a fire roars where the piano used to stand and the Flewminati members start piling on the books, parchments and instruments.


Lionel | Kahran cranes his neck gingerly. He senses something awry, something like a pending attack. “I’ll only be a moment,” he drawls. He steps off the whitestone path and into the grass just before his and Orra’s surroundings start to distort through bardic spell. Calmly, Kahran puts a hand to his lips in thought. Around him, the foliage vanishes. The very grass he stands on is blown away, but Kahran, too, vanishes. The branches Kanna has raised skewer three orcs and force a slaadi to ribbit and hop and rip those branches apart in a fury. The bard has drawn blood. But not Kahran’s. He reappears behind Kanna, one hand still to his lips. A black-bladed sword with an emerald jewel appears in his right hand. “Bravery is admirable. Your death is an unfortunate affair.” He swings like an acrobat swings a rope, with peerless grace and a short hop back to ensure proper trajectory. The cleave will sever Kanna flawlessly if she doesn’t dodge or otherwise escape. As for Kahran, he’s already inside the campus, appearing beside Orra. His sword is gone and his smile returns. He watches with those scholarly eyes as orcs slaughter keepers and custodians and civilians alike within its walls; the violence -- not counting Oline’s swashbuckling pushes and shoves, which earn her snarls and attempted stabs from orcs, and two arrows fired by drow -- is entirely kept within the campus walls. It’s a brief, brutal thing; in mere moments, it’s been cleaned of occupants but for the bright red gushes upon the walls and the limp avian bodies strewn about like twigs. Kahran’s eyes glimmer to the flames of the match Orra lights. They glimmer as everything gathered before them goes up in hellfire. They glimmer and he smirks coldly and walks away in crisp stride. Schezerade has fallen. His many-splendored army rounds up those avians who did not escape through Uma’s portal or any other means. The population must be contained. The work must begin. They all have their orders. Failure is not an option. Kahran steps broadly past a certain giantess, watching Oline’s tumult continue. “Keep this one,” he orders a nearby wraith, who hisses and attempts to possess Oline through dark arts long lost to most mortals. If successful, she will be their thrall, but if she can get away, or bring down the wraith, she will live in her own mind another day...


Hudson | Uma, having gotten enough air on her broom, cannot resist the impulse to look behind her one last time. Her teeth chatter. She shouldn't linger. There's nothing to be done. Schezerade has fallen, it is Kahran's now, will read the raven she sends to her fellow area leaders.


Kanna freezes at the cold voice directly behind her. With a gasp, she turns and throws herself backwards as the sword is swung. A blast of aeromancy drags Kanna away from the swing just enough that the sword does not cleave her, though it does produce a thick red line from the top of her right shoulder, across her chest and across her left arm. She howls in pain as the serious twins run to the bardess to return the favor, each holding out a hand to the side to create a barrier of strong wind. As the three run, she sees the familiar giantess. "Winter Berry!" She screams the girl's nickname, hoping she will resist the wraith's possession.


Oline felt the stinging burn of another arrow bite into her flesh, this just below the slight swell of her left breast. Unlike the first, this arrow's head was serrated and sharp. It pierced through her thick, naturally-armored skin with much greater ease than the first. Her rage, already bristling with her slide back into the embrace of alcohol, boiled over now that the violence against her could no longer be dismissed as accidental. That damned elf had been -trying- to kill her! They both were! That could not stand... would not stand... blood would be paid with blood! And in that instant, as the wraith attempted to seize her mind, all it found within was the tempestuous maelstrom of a berserker unleashed. Bolstered by fury, the giantess grabbed up the first orc to stab at her... by the blade no less... and hurled him kicking and flailing into a group of orcs that had rounded upon her. A bestial rage eminated from within her throat, then cut short. 'Winter Berry'? It was as if someone had flicked off a switch, and suddenly the giantess was just the same curious onlooker who'd been trying to force her way through the crowd. A sudden wave of exhaustion came over her, and then a second attempt from the wraith to possess her... but the anger roiling just beneath the surface was enough to protect her a little longer at least. Kanna's retreat noted, and the road ahead now blocked off by an army's worth of foes, Oline falls back as well in the same direction as the songstress that surely just saved her from dying gloriously in combat. "Shudd-a feckin' known't comin' ta a pless lahk thess wuzza stoopid ahdeeyuh." she snarled under her breath, beating a hasty retreat.


Kanna | It is then that she realizes that someone is missing. "Yosh! Yoshika! He's inside!" She stumbles, tripping over herself when she tries to turn around and run back into the castle. The twin avians shout in unison, then an arm is thrown around her waist, lifting her off the ground. Oline seems to have resisted the wraiths, and the twins run behind them as they make their way for the Sky Pier. The whole time, Kanna wails for the avian to appear, throwing her legs against the giantess to let her down. "No no no no! He promised, he promised he wouldn't leave!" Oline doesn't have it though, and the four manage to escape the fallen city.


Lionel | The peace was indeed an illusion. The Republic’s flag is lowered, torn, burned to ashes, and what’s left of its leadership folds neatly into Orra’s ambitions or gets the sword within hours. All told, fewer than fifty have perished in Kahran’s wake. Small, nameless border villages -- blips on maps at best -- have seen higher fatality counts than all this. But an entire race has capitulated to dark forces, their isolationism made ripe for the fall. Vakmatharas’ Jar was only the beginning, and as the dust settles and the unlucky citizens who remained are separated and forced to serve, it is clear that the alliance against Kahran -- no, Lithrydel on the whole -- has been dealt a terrible blow.