RP:Who Let the Dog Out?

From HollowWiki

Part of the A Dream of Tyranny Arc


Summary: Gevurah, Xzavior, Blut, and Ynhaldei let the dog (Desparrow) out (of jail/death by molten silver).

But before they freed him through magical spectacle, mayhem and bunnies, he was tried before the courts and found guilty of his crimes against Cenril. Ranok and Hudson were the trial's star witnesses.

A foxy thief (Arlyeon, not evee) sees opportunity in an angry and distracted crowd.

Outside the Jail

Night blanketed the city but even under the dark sky Cenril stood out as more awake and alive than ever. Torchlight illuminated the streets and alleys as more people gathered to join the growing mob which had come to witness the spectacle of Desparrow’s ‘trial’ and ultimate demise. Guards had formed lines to keep people at bay between the courthouse and the jail so that the prisoner could be transported properly with relative safety. For the longest time there was naught but quiet from the jail until the sheriff, a hulking metal golem stepped out with several more guards following, supporting a beam to which Desparrow had been tethered. Aside from blood matted hair and a series of visible wounds recently suffered at the hands of vengeful civilians he was in a considerably dire state. His features were sunken and pallid, his body thinner and screaming of malnutrition. The ghroundium collar on his neck, the mechanical piece that drained his magic just visible burrowed in his chest and the muzzle around his face prevented him from doing just about anything in retaliation from magic, to transforming and even biting, let alone restraining his jaw so he could barely open his mouth to put out words. As they passed from one building to the other the crowd exploded into an uproar, screaming profanities and slinging vitriol from their mouths while others closer by slung stones, silver coins even in attempts to further the prisoner’s suffering. Each silver piece that bounced from his flesh left a singe on his skin while rocks beat upon him opening more gashes upon his form before he disappeared into the court house.


Ranok had no direct hand in the proceedings. The wheels of bureaucracy turn but slowly, and eventually, succumbed. With pressures from Cenril, Desparrow had been turned over in a gesture of goodwill. In actuality, it was much more simple. It was revenge. The guard and government in Cenril, such as it was, rife with corruption, had been harmed. Outwardly and openly. Many in the guard had lost a friend, a comrade, or knew someone who did. Others in the citizenry had felt much similar. But it all boiled down to one reality: the biggest gang in the city was hurt. Time for blood. As such, Ranok submitted the lycan, bound in chains, and a laundry list of recommendations on how best to proceed. The loan of the golem, a crude machine made years ago in a desperate bid to even the odds during one of Vuryal's many returns, was but one taken. In actuality, it was more akin to limb, as a man sat inside, but it looked big, impressive, and most importantly, authoritative. An egg shaped body, with two gorilla like arms terminating in an equidistantly fingered hand, sat atop two legs in digigrade, ended in a wide four toed platform. Another one the city had seemed to pick up was a burly looking man, plain in adornment. By the looks, an ordinary man, but in reality, one of the few anti mages who'd made a name for himself 'taking care of' small time mages in the streets. Ranok himself stood on the fringes of it all, looking on the crowd that was barely held at bay, a cigar between his lips. He'd brought no special crew or complement. After all, his part was done. But, of course, he was fully armed.


Gevurah traveled without her entourage or the trappings of her titles. Only one rogue accompanied the drow noble who wore a black, enchanted piwafwi over a full length black dress. Slits in the fabric along each leg improved mobility, and proved necessary as she rode astride a giant black lizard (as did her guard). The pair crossed the Dark Forest of Vailkrin, clung to the underside of the Cenril-Kelay bridge, crept along the exterior wall, then climbed over the southern fortress. The guards that stood sentry on the parapet saw nothing more than two large shadows (courtesy of their piwafwis’ enchantments) sweep over the sea-blown stones. Once inside the city, Gevurah and the rogue parked their lizards in an alley some blocks away from the jail, then the priestess dispelled their shadow-veil illusions. The enchantments proved poor in crowds. Two drow would be less suspicious than supernatural shadows. She skirted the crowd, golem, Desparrow, Ranok--the entire tableau-- and entered a jeweller’s shop that shuttered its windows as a prophylactic against vandalism when the trial inevitably turned riotous. The jeweler had a deal with the D’Artes estate to inform the drow of any rare and magical artifacts that pass through his walls. Today, he lent the empty shop floor for the Desparrow Rescue Sting Squad (DRSS ™). Xzavior had been told to meet Gevurah here in advance. Though Gevurah has, by force of circumstance, become an expert in anti-spycraft, it was always possible that Blut may have heard about her plan through the network of spies and assassins that whisper in the shadows across Lithrydel. Afterall, information about Desparrow or Gevurah fetches a high price. It would have been near impossible to keep this quiet.


Xzavior was in the shape of a human for the sake of discretion. Nothing special that would cause for second glances, just a man cutting through the back of the crowd trying to reach the rendezvous point that Gevurah had established. He did, however, made sure to get a few good looks at the lycan as he made his way through and frowned a bit. Whether he had a distaste for the guy or not he had to admit that what he saw was brutal. Then again, Des also slaughtered a whole lot of the town. With a grunt he pushed his way through till he got to the jewelers and knocked quietly with his back to the door. His hand layered in ice so that they could hopefully recognize him with little incident. The golem looked like something he was going to have a fun time trying to stop if they got caught, the guards? Not so much. Perhaps there are some plans to discuss inside.


Blut weaved through crowd stealing a silver or two as he silently kited the yelling crowd. He scanned Desparrow and the defences around him from the golem to the guards. His black cloak helped him blend into the crowd, his hood covering his face. He approached a rumoured jewelers shop. There were whispers in the underground that there was a group planning to rescue Desparrow. He arrived finding another man hands covered in ice. Blut smirked as he layed against the wall pretending to watch the crowd but actually watching the man from the corner of his eye.


Desparrow had been tortured over the last couple of weeks, the corruption of the government allowing civilians entry to his cell where he was tortured till he was numb to the pain, or until they broke down unable to go any further. Once inside the courthouse his party was joined by the anti-mage and a small handful of intermediate casters that began to cast various wards around the lycanthrope preventing any form of divination, on top of direct magical interference that would allow him to be freed. People acting barely more civil than the mob filled the halls and filed into the court room after Desparrow to fill the benches and watch the proceedings. Des himself was erected only several feet from the seat of the judge himself, to be viewed by the entire room, facing the crowd for the event to begin. In the jeweler’s shop, having silently followed Gevurah, did from the shadows slip into the light the small crimson hued child of Desparrow, Xander. The vampire sidled up to the woman whom he had been following since she had cursed the warlock’s home and gripped her clothes to offer a small tug. “Lady Gevurah. You have company.” The child could feel Xzavior coming, recognizing his mental signature from previous encounters, having stayed in the background all this time but revealing himself to be with his father again.


Seriphus wanders down the street, with his gaze cast towards the sidewalk before him. As he makes his way down the street, the gathering before him catches his attention. The mask upon his face concealing this interest, he makes his way to a nearby bench, intrigued by the spectacle unfolding before him.


Seriphus crosses his legs in front of himself, producing a long stemmed pipe from the billows of his black robe. The red runes emblazoned on the sleeves reflect the dull glow of the flame as the priest sets a green, grey mass alight in the simple wooden vessel. The delicate wooden stem seems to fit perfectly between the narrow mouth slit of the iron mask, suggesting a bit of forethought. Though not entirely sure of the event he wandered in on, the attentive posture of the robed man conveys obvious interest.


Gevurah , just as a point of comparison to Xzavior, had also seen Desparrow’s pathetic state and felt nothing, neither pity nor joy. Just before Xzavior’s arrival, Xander appeared. Although Gevurah had tried to shake this particular tail days ago, she was not surprised by the child’s apparition. The vampire had been following her since the day she captured Desparrow’s home for herself. Several times the priestess wanted to kill the boy, but Vakmatharas stayed her hand. The child was unobtrusive and polite enough, and Vakmatharas promised his priestess she had use yet for the boy. She snarled at the child, but did not shoo him. Perhaps this would be where he would prove useful. Gevurah’s rogue (let’s call him Perizzul) let in Xzavior, only to discover the naga-disguised-as-human wasn’t alone. Perizzul forcibly yanked Blut into the store simply for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Gevurah turned to greet Xzavior, but her words were cut short by the unceremonious arrival of some interloper. She hissed as she asked Xzavior without taking her eyes off the surfacer garbage (Blut) that stood before her. “What is this?” Perizzul looked at the child questioningly and Gevurah explained for his benefit and Xzavior’s, “Desparrow’s offspring, uh…” She snapped a few times to try and jog her memory, then recalled she never bothered to ask the boy his name. It never seemed important. She signaled in the drow hand language for Perizzul to bind and gag Blut (though surely Blut will explain why this is a bad idea before that happens) as she explained to Xzavior, “We strike after the trial. The guards are on high alert now, expecting trouble. After the trial, the crowd may riot. Or Perizzul here will incite the riot for us. Under the fog of chaos, we strike.”


Xzavior wasn't blind to the man and was planning on doing something about it himself. But as it would seem, the rouge got to him first. Sliding in he gave a shrug and a not so empathetic look to the poor fool, "No clue. Overly curious bystander?" Then to Xander, "Hey kid. Fight anymore poor illusionists recently?" little to say he knew the kid already. "After the trial? Should work. Might have to be careful about civ casualties here and there, but we can blame it on trampling." He gave a hum as he thought about some ways they could be going about this. "One of us could take the guards out from a distance, or within the crowd itself. It would make pinpointing where it came from harder. The only problem would be the golem. damned thing isn't going to budge easy I doubt." He mused aloud. He even had an idea to use Blut as the fall guy, if he weren't to say anything.


Blut laughed as he cast a illusion causeing him to explode into a flock of crows as he spoke in a disembodied voice completely invisible . "Well you know I was thinking about knocking but since I'm here why don't I give you my name. It's Blut I've been hired by some passionate fans to save Desparrow and whispers said there was a team planning to save him. Turns out you have better guns then I thought." He spoke in a utter calm as the crows murged giveing shape to Bluts body as he held a crossbow to Perizzul's face. "Play nice and we get Desparrow and we all go home with what we want" speaking in drow and fireng the crossbow centimetres from Perizzuls face "but if you try and double cross me your gonna have a bad time have I made myself clear cause you know it would be a shame if the nearest guard found out" he threatened a stoic glare from behind his mask.


Ynhaldei has always been on Cenril. Mostly to seek for Xersom really. She does enjoy associating herself with powerful people, not for money or fame. Mostly out of curiosity. If I attack this man, would I survive? If I follow him, what kind of precious things will I get in return? Greed does consume a person at one point or another. Though apparently Xersom has been out looking for his wife leaving the elf bored as she await onto of the cathedral. Rooftop hopping became a hobby recently perhaps to take care of the city while Desparrow is away? Who knows. Soon enough she finds herself near the courtroom. She loves it whenever she is listening to the pleas of the guilty as they try to ask for forgiveness and save their pathetic lives. The shouting of the townsfolk exhilarates her, its like watching a comedy play as it unfold. However this time it was different, the name of the man rings upon the walls of the building, audible for anyone with a sharp ear. "My My.. what do we have here.." there are too many guards so she had to keep her safe distance. Glancing about as she sensed someone else, bone structure, rhythm of heart beat, shape, weight and form. "I know this certain lady loves my birds..." giggling quietly as she took off her hat and let it fly, going towards a nearby store and siting by a small open window. It was a dove that wears an extremely small top hat, staring with intent to Gevurah.


Gevurah squinted when Xzavior utters the phrase ‘civ casualties’. [For reference, look up ‘nick young meme’ to find Gevurah’s facial expression right now.] “What?” Clearly, the drow was unconcerned with the death of innocents. That’s when Blut attacked her man, a soldier of House D’Artes and no schlub in his own right. Perizzul didn’t just stand there while Blut cycled through illusions, monologues, and crossbow bolts. He dodged out of the way and ducked, thrusted an open palm to the underside of Blut’s yabbering maw to (hopefully) force it shut, Blut’s own teeth (hopefully x2) clamping down on his own tongue. The drow soldier then, still squatting, lunged forward with intent to throw Blut onto his back and pin him. Gevurah snarled at the fight, but knew her soldier was more than capable of handling it. She spied the dove and involuntarily rage-shuddered. Any moment now it would erupt into confetti. She lifted an open palm and blasted a cone of fire at the dove. Ynhaldei will appear if she so wished, the drow knew. She turned her attention back to Blut. The noble had seen many ego-maniacal rogues in her time. It seemed spies, assassins, and mercenaries were especially prone to these delusions of grandeur. She spoke with barely maintained poise, like a dam of twigs holding back an ocean of rage. “I give the orders here and everywhere. You have no power. If you wish to free Desparrow, then make yourself useful to me or go it alone, lest you find yourself among one of these so-called civilian casualties.” She balked at the phrase again. “In case your ignorance is as great as your ego, consider yourself informed that I am Gevurah D’Artes, First Daughter of Trist’oth, High Priestess to Vakmatharas.” If these words meant nothing to the ignorant surfacer, Gevurah did not care. Soon enough he would learn.


Xzavior watched the quick scene unfold and sighed. Really now, were they trying to get them caught? Of course he didn't say this out loud. Such an insult could get him killed! "Look, Blut. It seems as though you've stumbled upon the right place at the right time, but get this, you're not going to go far if you keep that act up. And not just because there are two drows here that you managed to annoy the moment you opened your mouth." He said with a glare in the man's direction. He did not like it when plans were ruined by some high and mighty guy who thought himself great. Xzavior would nip that by the bud. Or head. At the bird's entrance then swift demise he went to the door and waited for their newest arrival, "Now that everyone is here, we should get ready for business, and if the new guy wants in, probably stop hurting him." He said evenly as he looked over the room.


Blut smiled at Xzavior as the rouge smashed his palm into his metal mask protecting his face "finally someone who's civilised" he looked at Gevurah before shakeing his head "look if you want to call the shots thats fine sure we can all come to a plan that can be sucessfuly executed." Takeing another ineffective blow the face I can deal withe the guards from distance. Turning into crows again as he dodged Perizzuls attempt to pin him causeing the drow to fall. He held out his crossbow as it crackled with chaotic magic. "With the magic infused with this crossbow it can easily pierce the guards armor.” Blut walked up to Xzavior "thanks for suggesting the drows stop attacking me whats your name" he extended his hand for a shake keeping a eye on Perizzuls.

Ynhaldei frowns as her dove suddenly vanished out of existence. "Oh boy..." Placing her finger against the rim of her hat as another bird flew out, this time finding its way into the building where Desparrow is held, perching on a light fixture (if any) or a nearby chair that the man would see the bird. If such isn't viable, she can always make the bird land on the man's cage itself. As such transpire, she continue to watch Gevurah, listening to their movements and mapping out how many are there, counted at least three but there are far too many people around that causes the surface to tremble far too much to get an accurate reading. Doing a bit of parkour as she jump to ground level and mixing herself within the large group of civilians, masking her identity as she closely walked toward the store. Seeing Xzavior at the front door, she simply taps her hat toward him before backing up back into the mess of townsfolk crowding near the court area, vanishing from his sight.

Gevurah spied Ynhaldei as she swept past the one window whose shutter was slightly ajar. Ynhaldei was difficult to reign in, and the priestess knew her plan would have to work around or in conjunction with whatever Ynhaldei had planned. Fighting the circus elf and the entire town of Cenril while rescuing Desparrow was simply too ambitious a plan. With Blut under control (Gevurah rolled her eyes at how that went down), she returned to the plan at hand. “Perizzul will be at the stockades to incite a crowd. Xzavior, I want you, and,” she nodded at Blut, “and whoever you are, to clear a path west. Just before the second intersection you’ll find an alley with lizards. One wears a saddle with bags. Inside the bags is an enchanted cloth cage. Wrap Desparrow in it and tether him to the saddle. I will meet you there as I will be offering support from the rooftops and can move more easily.” Read: Don’t cross me, I have the advantage, always. “We meet back at D’Artes for payment.” She looked down on Xander and said, “You come with me.” To Xzavior and Blut she emphasized, “Do not remove his collar or muzzle! He is not our ally. He will not be grateful. He will strike if it is expedient to do so. Keep him chained in their trappings. He will be freed in D’Artes. Any questions?” Assuming none (because Gevurah’s player must go), the group disbanded to fulfill their roles.


Xzavior gave Ynhaldei a smirk as she disappeared into the crowd. Obviously up to no good, Xzavior looked over to Blut and kept the smirk but refused the hand offering a short bow instead, "Careful who you offer a hand to. Some may keep it." When the plan was laid out Xzavior gave a nod, looking back to the man, "I guess we'll see just how up to the job you really are. Come we'll discuss on the way." He opened the door slightly. Enough for him to slip through unnoticed and waited for Blut before heading out to the designated spot. Inwardly, he was more then happy to hear that Des gets to wear the muzzle. He wasn't up for more of his, 'god among men' talk. Xzavior knew the lycan was spewing it. He always knows.


Ynhaldei wonders how would this go. Gevurah and the gang are already making their way into their positions. No one really bothered to pay for her bills so she has no reason to assist them in the first place. But as an agent of chaos, this would alot more interesting to see unfold. She sneaks past the group of civilians to a nearby alleyway and waited. Watching Xzavior and the.. other person as they moved as well does as Gevurah who seemed to peeled off from the group. Her footsteps are leading away from her, probably to higher ground but she can't tell much due to the noise and vibrations. "I should be making ready... 'should be'." talking to herself with a hint of laziness as she started to rub her foot on the floor, trying to find of she was able to write down a magic circle around this part of town. She had been in this city plenty of times, even before Desparrow ever attempted to capture it for himself, she has been here, living amongst its people and may have left inscriptions against the very floor that may or may not be utilized at one point or another and if so found out would not be traced by to her... Probably. For now she calms herself down trying to gather up her mana, ready to assist the group.


Meanwhile in the Courtroom

Ranok seemed to make no notice of any subtle plots. Any such things would have to be pretty hastily done, as the trial seemed to be beginning. As one of the more prominent witnesses and, given Jesen's long absence due to his trainings, the stand in for the report on the capture proper. The crowd is kindly cut with the assistance of one massive metal hand on behalf of the presiding hulk of metal so those lucky enough with tickets to enter could do so. Such little pieces of paper entry were hotly swapped, sold, and stolen as anything that could be brought under the free market could be. As Ranok drifts in, an aid tries to have him extinguish the cigar, but a pointed glare and an obvious air of intimidation allows him to sweep past and into the proceedings. This being the pure spectacle that it was, Desparrow had earned himself the full show. The judges draped in their finest robes, only the meanest and burliest bailiffs that could be found, and an honest to god food vendor. No doubt, the vendor in question had a stock of rotten fruits and foods to sell at a moment's notice. Given how it all seemed to be playing out, the long introduction, the reading of Desparrow's many crimes, and other such droll proceedings had to tick out like grains of sand from an hourglass. Those plotting would have some time to use, if nothing else. Ranok plants himself firmly among other key witnesses, a cloud of smoke causing displeasure around him.


Desparrow was locked in place staring face to face with the victims of his attack on the city and it was quite clear that time has not eased any of the wounds. In fact they only festered into rotting hatred for the man. In moments the vendor was sold out as people dropped coins faster than he could hand out merchandise to grab up ammunition for their assault on the lycanthrope. When everyone had filed in and taken their seats a prosecutor took the stage, stepping up to be within several feet of the lycan and sneered up at him. Desparrow tilted his head as much as he was allowed and directed his azure hues to stare back at the man with such condescending arrogance it was hard to believe that the lycan hadn’t been broken while incarcerated. Dry lips parted ever slightly, as much as the tightly bound muzzle would allow in fact to spit out a few words. “Speak then, -human-.” That final word dripping with venom that made the prosecutor’s lips curl into a snarl. In an instant a silver dagger had been withdrawn and the flat of the blade was pressed to an exposed part of the lycan’s flesh causing the outer layers of skin to react violently. First came redness then upon actual contact it was as if his flesh recoiled, sizzling to an angry boil until it was removed only to reveal a pus oozing mess in the shape of the dagger’s blade. It was a warning that the lycan was in no favorable position here.


Arlyeon 's just another spectator, at a glance- dressed in a worn tunic and skirt made of some rough wool fabric. And really, between that being sufficient to mask her tail, and her additional precaution of a bit of black dye to her hair, there was certainly little to link her to the well dressed (albeit rambunctious) bard who had come to scribble down whatever stories Desparrow had to share before his trial (and likely imminent execution). In any case, the foxkin just continues to mosey on towards where all the fun's to be occuring, a mischievous grin on her face the whole while. Really, she'd probably make a point of buying a few bits of rotten food as she made her way over, towards the courthouse.


Ranok drops ash onto the fine carpet. The contempt was palatable. Whether at the proceedings or at Desparrow, or at something else entirely else, was left to him. Desparrow's further humiliation was endured. A gavel's fall was the savior for Desparrow, "We will have order now." Were the words stiffly said by the judge, who looked a little uncomfortable in his perfectly powdered wig and starched robes. There would be a mediocum of proceedure, it seemed, eve despite the foregone conclusion. The prosecutor tucks away the silvered knife and adopts a showman's stance, addressing the crowd, "Before you, ladies and gentlemen of the court, is the World's Guiltiest Man. We all know his terrible crimes. The list of the dead is as long as the table! We had to have two men carry the parchments in! We need no further word. But that we shall have!" A fist is brought up in an absolutely unnecessaryly dramatic fashion, "We have a witness. A man who walked through the bowels of the hell that this monster made! He slew and strode to save our most beloved leader of the Cenrilian Guard! He carries the testament of the very man that captured Desparrow! He - " A somewhat impatient throat clear by the judge made it clear that it was time to move on. The prosecutor falters a bit, then straightens, "Er. I call Ranok of Rynvale to the stand to bear testimony." When called, the smith exhales, taking the cigar from lips and balancing it on the armrest of the chair he'd been in, leaving a lovely burn. Swift, sure strides carry him to the podium. When Desparrow is passed, he's not spared even a glance. The runesmith swears in over a religious text to say naught but the truth, and then takes his place. If the crowd hoped that Ranok's testimony was to be an adventure filled, absolutely heart pounding drama filled delivery, they were to be disappointed. Ranok speaks in an efficient manner, conveying what details were necessary, somehow making a descent into a fire and blood filled city and the chase to apprehend Desparrow into something that could almost be called dry. He spoke of the distress call by Jesen, how the guard had become overwhelmed. Details on the plan, how lycans were fueled by a Blood Moon, ripping and tearing, causing havoc. Desparrow's flight to where the head of the guard coordinated, and how he and Jesen had pursued. An unfortunate end where they'd failed and Desparrow succeeded, slaying the guard and fleeing. To call it damning was a grand understatement. But then, it was hardly necessary. There was a pause, and almost as an after thought, Ranok adds, "Later, one of my best men managed to corner Desparrow and duel him in single combat. As he was victorious, Desparrow was taken into our custody for proper processing." No overly wrought delivery of the death defying battle of magic, steel, and wits. An ever so slight bowing of his head, and that was that. The runesmith steps down. The prosecutor looks like the cat that got the canary, being unable to suppress a quick gesticulation, "There you have it! I have not heard more...er. Detailed testimony." It seems there had been a hope for something more...colorful. But, perhaps the next one, as the prosecutor continues, "I have such confidence in my proscution that I have need to call but only one more witness. Desparrow facilitated the capture of a poor damsel! Unfortunately, she is still unwell and does not wish to see her captor. As such, her fiance has graciously allowed himself to be called to deliver testimony." After Hudson, with reluctance, Desparrow would be allowed the removal of his muzzle to speak on his defence.


Seriphus remains at the periphery of the proceedings, his demeanor exuding a clear reticence to be in the area at all. Despite the obvious discomfort with his surroundings, he refuses to out his pipe; the sweet smell of burning tobacco clearly provides some form of succor for the agitated vampire. After a long slow draw, the mouth of the iron mask issues forth a growing billow of smoke, as a glimmer of crimson flickers in the narrow eye slits of the featureless grey visage. The priest quietly shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze focused on Desparrow as he tries to read into the man's motives, but moreso possible defenses. Tugging the hood of his cowl down over his head almost self-consciously, he shifts towards a nearby exit, preparing to slip out of the proceedings if necessary.

Hudson In an effort not to seem like the jock lycan lad he truly is, Hudson has opted to shave and also not to testify in sports duds. He presently looks just the picture of the kind of guy excreted by Cenril's most expensive private school (cos he is): hair in need of a cut, navy suit, white shirt, ... pastel pink silk tie, with a repeating pattern of tiny white horses. Famous centaur erotica author and all around cool mum E.L. Landon, in oversized shades, a matching pink tweed suit, and pearls, looks like Jackie O. She sits with her legs crossed in the second row of the gallery with the other society ladies, all wearing a similar uniform. They've got their hand fans going. And so, a chilled out Huds tells the room how he'd just bought his girl ("What is her name? Can you please identify her for the tribunal?" "Alvina Liadon," he says) a gluten free muffin at the little shop by the bank when he was attacked by a man-wolf. He identifies the defendant, Desparrow, as the creature that attacked him. He testifies that he then came to in a strange place with other men, and that his body was burning up with fever and he frankly hoped he might die. The men around him began to transform into werewolves, one by one. "And then, did there come a time when you too turned into a werewolf?" "Yeah, that night," answers Huds, whose chill demeanor has turned sober. All right; that had been hard to say. He also testifies, very carefully, and with many pauses, that being a werewolf is extremely frustrating; he would not have chosen to become a werewolf, so he considers Desparrow's assault on him to be aggravated because now he has to live with this condition for the rest of his life. It's not easy on him or the people in his life, he takes medication to suppress werewolf urges. He looks at his mum, stealth crying behind her dark glasses, and tells the room about how after he was Turned, Desparrow tried to threaten him into joining his army. How Hudson had left town a month later on the full moon to outrange Desparrow's influence. And how Desparrow had seen him with Alvina, and how Alvina had been snatched not long after while he was playing pickup baseball. If you dig the boy next door schtick he's got going on here, Huds' presentation is earnest, a little endearing even. He mostly testifies looking at his mum, in the manner of an apology, and returns to sit beside, and embrace her, when it's over.


Arlyeon 's feeling mighty pleased with the precautions she's taken towards her identity, especially in the event that she gets carried away into something disasterous, that she's practically skipping. At least until such a time that she reaches the immediate vicinity of the courthouse. It's about then that she adopts a more composed and deliberate gait, shuffling her way over towards the doors to the courtroom, if only to find herself abruptly halted, by a set of guards posted outside the door, who provided an oh-so-authority filled “Court is in session.” Lamely, she'd wiggle a few putrid yams at the guards, “B-But, ..I just. Wanted to ..I mean the potatos. ” The tone and expression is diminished, a hint of something not quite right held in her posture as she stares expectantly at the guards, even as her shoulders hunch back in expectation of some unseen attack. “What little bit of getting even...” And she just can't resist but play out the little scene, that hint of something offkilter being emphasized as she offers an uncertain, “Should.I just wait here?” Well, hey, now the guards just have a sad and sullen looking girl loitering near them. And like, really loitering, considering she's slipped down to begin awkwardly drawing on the ground with her fingers.


Desparrow gritted his teeth against the silver blade, feeling the burn into his flesh until cooling relief came at its end. Words and words passed his ears and he soaked in all the reactions on the faces of those who bore witness to the testimony. When it came to his turn to speak it was a relief to have the muzzle released if only temporarily. A flex of his jaw, wetting of his lips and a contemptuous stare before a syllable was uttered and when it was it was a storm. “YOU! Impudent fools!” the words flew then faster as he assaulted the city of Cenril with his arrogant speech. “I acted out of love for the city. I was your protector! Your savior! This city is corrupt, plagued by the filthy existence of sin and I have sat by watching it fester within every one of your souls for too long! I am the gardener of your lives, and like a loving caretaker I struck out at the government, severing the rotting limb to save the whole! I am not evil, I am not good I am a force of nature! I am destruction! Though if you must label me then I am a Necessary Evil! You think that removing me will cure your problem?! Your wounds will not heal, they will continue to hurt, time will not cover your pain, it will not soothe it! My death will only welcome greater and more powerful darkness to your doorstep, a darkness that you will not be able to combat with swords and spells. It is a monstrous force waiting, watching, on the verge of revealing itself when the latest threat fails. I was protecting you! You think to destroy me and you will in turn meet your end!” his speech forced shock on the faces of many while others thought it amusing, and even more still were angered. Before he could continue with his mad ramblings the muzzle was replaced with haste. “There you have it! He claims Guilty!”


Seriphus having seen Desparrow give his abridged defense, the priest draws a pocket watch from his robes. His lusterless grey mask cast down towards the the watch, a somewhat perturbed sound issues forth from the vampire. He moves hastily towards the courtroom door, opening it with a grand stroke of his arm. The heavy wooden door is projected into the the back of one of the guards talking to Arlyeon, sending the unsuspecting man tumbling down a stair onto the pavement below. The cloaked figure pauses a moment, arms outstretched towards the sprawling guard, before he thinks better of lingering too long. He disappears down the road without a word, hurrying away from the agitated man only now picking himself up from the sidewalk.

Seriphus exited to the west.


Arlyeon is in her element, when it comes to taking advantage of fortuitous happenstance- using that brief bit of confusion caused by Seriphus' exit to likewise slip into the room. Even as the guards still in the process of clattering down the stairs, Arlyeons not only entered, but deftly drawn the door inwards so it will shut in her wake, and shuffled herself over towards one of the areas people had crowded in to spectate- rather intentionally wedging herself in alongside those happy civilians. Not only does this provide her a sense of looking in place, it also provides her a pair of people she was now in contact with. Specifically, it was fairly easy to be 'accidentally' handsy, and it be excused due to a lack of room, and something overall more interesting going on.


Ranok resumed his seat, taking up the cigar again. Hudson's testimony had him unmmoved, save for that cigar, which bobbed as its end was fairly chewed with what only could be impatience. There was absolutely a smirk when Desparrow was handed his shovel and predictably went on his merry way on digging his grave. Not that it was necessary, but it likely embellished Hudson's underpoint. It certainly sated the crowd's thirst for a spectacle. There were some ladies in the audience that even leapt at the chance to waver and swoon at the horrible eruptions forth from Desparrow's lips. One particular madam, in what could only be in the sense of competetive spirit, all but threw herself from her seat in the balcony and nearly pitched over if not for the heroic leap of her male companion. The thunderous clapping of the gavel restores order in time. Once achieved, the judge speaks in an ominous tone, "The testimonies have been delivered. The jury is now to take to rest to deliver their judgement." One of the jurors stands, speaking for the group, "That is not necessary, Your Honor. We have decided. Desparrow, on all counts and charges levied against him, is found..." An unnecessary pause as the juror milks his fifteen minutes, then the delievery, "Guilty!" Another eruption in the courtroom and arms raise up to sling fruit before the judge is hammering his gavel so hard it snaps, "Order!" Amazingly, it works. The crowd subsides. The judge looks pleased, setting aside his broken instrument, "Desparrow is sentanced to execution by molten silver, to be carried out immediatly. Baliffs, take him away." And that, the trial of the century, was that. Desparrow is manhandled back up and through backdoors, and the crowd fairly leaps to their feet to get out and secure a spot in the gallows. Ranok, for his part, gets up, unhurried, and fairly bowls his way through the crowd in an absolutely unkind way. A boot or elbow applied made amazing results at getting himself out of the veritable melee. Once outside, he blends into the crowd, as even the giant of the man could be swallowed by the chaos outside the courtroom. Arlyeon best think quick or she's like to be trampled as the doors all but explode open. Out the back Desparrow is taken into the waiting hands of his guard, metal and magic nullifying alike. The silver was already bubbling, further underlining just what a farce this all was. The crowd was being kept back by guardsmen, holding a perimeter. Up on the gallows was the headsman and the head of the church to deliver the final rights. A long walk from the court to the waiting death. And a walk it would be. Inflicted on Desparrow was the final humiliation of having his bonds undone enough to walk, and a silvered spear jabbed onto his back to force him forward to the end.

Public Stockade (it all comes to a head)

Desparrow even in such a dire situation did not break his collected facade when in reality he was believed he was truly alone. All his efforts had led to this momentous finality, like he had always hoped, but truly his dreams were that he died in battle not at the hands of an angry mob. When his legs were free he was not stupid enough to try and escape, especially with his atrophied muscles. It was a struggle at first walking but that silver prod kept him going, each poke burning into his skin just like each beforehand. The first out of the courtroom had burst into the streets yelling it was time for an execution which incited absolute chaos as people raised their torches and cheered before rushing past one another in hopes of getting the closest to the action. Desparrow could hear it from where he was, but all the happiness they displayed did nothing to his already defeated mentality. This was nothing he thought, just another hurdle to overcome, for he had died twice before he could recall. Once at the hands of a fighter long ago, and then once again nearly slain by an old lover. Up to the stage he went where his chains were strung around thick wooden beams to support him in a standing position. It was then that they prepared the silver for the pouring, although the crowd seemed to not yet have had their fill, throwing all manner of projectiles at the lycanthrope from rotten food to stones. Sadly to their dismay that too was halted before it had harmed any of the guards or the executioner.


Ranok had taken up a vantage point, somewhat above the crowd. A quick jump up to the roof, thanks to spring powered heels, and he beheld the best seat in the house. Contrary to what might be believed, Desparrow's immeninent demise was not something that filled him with pleasure. Just another checkmark, filed right next to 'god damn waste of my time'. This whole charade was a farce. He'd have preferred it his way. Slowly rotting away in that pit he'd carved for just someone like him. But, alas, the world was only just sometimes. A cloud of smoke and a lone figure was all the runesmith was at the moment. Down at the gallows, Desparrow is fitted in. The headsman takes the crucible filled with the silver, sloshing and steaming. Another assistant takes a collar, reaching out to sieze Desparrow's head, wrenching it back. Into the throat and eyes it was to be. Up goes the crucible, lifted on powerful arms. Tipping, the liquid lolling. Moments from falling to the lycan's head, something that none could survive, even without a fatal weakness in the equation.


Arlyeon had, thankfully, already made herself a part of the crowd by the time it began to surge forward- and simply rode out the wave of 'humanity' carefully pushing her way to keep abreast of things, and to ensure she brushed and bumped into as many people as she could. After all, her particular bits of good fortune came at a cost, to others – inflicted upon them by casual contact. And in the incidence that said contact was less casual and more prolonged, irritating twists of fate were liable to become somewhat more vexsome, or even dangerous. But really- that was neither here, nor there, to the foxkin's contemplations, her movements more meant to keep her near the forefront of those in motion, so she can keep an eye on the sentenced. And all the while, the proverbial equivalent of a row of unfortunate dominos are set in motion.


Xzavior looked over at the platform and realized two things quickly. One, Gevurah had planned for everything involving the get away with Desparrow. Except for the 'get' part. Two, no one else had a real way of stopping that flow fast enough. Hissing in annoyance he snapped to Blut saying, "You're going to get everything prepped for our arrival. I got to go save that mutt." Before quickly changing back into a naga, (Which never felt good changing that fast...) and towering over the crowd to aim an angled bolt of ice just above Desparrow's head. He couldn't freeze the liquid, he knew that. But he could redirect it so it didn't touch the Lycan. For the most part. It would be stron enough so that all the iquid should have passed before the ice melted under all that heat. Right after Xzavior snaked his way through the crowed shoving and literally tossing people out of the way. So much for quiet.


Blut continued west as the drow instructed as in one swift motion he drew his crossbow as he fired a bolt throught a guards heart and with a slight of hand unsheath his dagger from his sleeve as he stabed the second guard in the throat. Useing his illusion's he transformed into a flock of crows as he silently slaughtered every guard on the getaway path. He simply waited by the lizards magic cloth ready.


Thermodynamics is a poorly understood concept in a world where magic reigned. What need was there to understand when fire sprang from fingertips? When the forces were at command? But the laws of physics held an iron grip, ready to seize even when pried loose. Xzavior's bolt of ice hits the crucible full of silver melted to the point of liquid. The ice injects a sudden slam in the temperature of the silver, causing what can only be called a 'disasterous contraction'. Cooled silver attempts to contract while molten continues trying to expand. Silver fairly explodes outwards in a cresent, the crucible tumbling backwards. Aryleon's application of a nudge of this factor or there on herself, as well of her position, was a critical. What might have gone here went there, instead. Directly in front of Desparrow, the silver tends towards back and the sides, with small splatters falling forward as demanded by random chance and the interaction of forces. The headsman is splashed, flesh sloughing off in great sheaths. So, too, is the the priest hit, but much less critically. A fan of silver hits the wood, causing small fires to sprout up, and the crowd is silent as a collective thousand minds tries to comprehend just what the hell happened. And then all hell breaks loose as the guards spring forward to secure Desparrow. A blade is produced. If not death by silver, the vengeful guard would end Desparrow with his own hands if stopped. Close by, the metal golem is shuffling, and the anti mage is wiping off flecks of silver. Painful, but not deadly. Both the golem and the anti mage are still very much in the game, as well as the congregating guardsmen, shoving through a suddenly panicing crowd.


Spatiomancers controls space... on a random fourth wall break, the writer soon realized that she has explained this part far too many times but ofcourse cannot blame others for not knowing. Anyway, As Master Spatiomancers can easily control existing space around them. Ynhaldei is not a Master but with the lack of existing Masters in this country to teach her, she doubts it matters or anyone in the matter could complain otherwise. So with her lack of training, she as to do this differently, something that one can't easily do on a duel... That is to 'set up'. She has been in this town far to long and as mentioned earlier she had been marking the city for her own use. Using a transparent ink or goo to mark the city, leaving magic circles at everywhere making sure she'll have a home field advantage every time she fights. Right now she is waiting outside till finally more people exploded out of the door, adding even further to those who are already waiting at the execution grounds, filling the air with more wasted food and screams. "So.. Smoke, Firework or confetti? Why not all at once?" She smiled as she knelt down in one corner, placing her hat at the edge of one of the circles and activating it. Most would feel the sudden shift of Mana in the air, like temporarily feeling chills as if a ghost went past someone, a number of the civilians would feel it but most would be shouting their throats out to bother. Ofcourse the mages would feel it but nearly impossible to find the source with all those people and especially that the energy is emanating from the circle itself. Using the mana within her territory, she pours large quantities of it into her hat, Her usual illusions of doves and bunnies could be improved further with the healthy serving of this much magic. Soon enough hundreds upon hundreds of white bunnies poured out of the alleyway where she is hiding. While on the same time, a generic pyromancer spell that mages were taught of during their school years was also placed into use. Boiling water that flows underneath the city, causing a thick cloud escaping from any escape route. Filling the street with smoke and easily hiding the bunnies. At first no one would realize this but as the smoke thickens further and further and the bunnies started to jump higher... people will start panicking, causing chaos and havoc amongst the bystanders. The bunnies will soon erupt into confetti along side some fireworks... which happens to lack color. What do you expect? The caster is blind. However such explosions triggered a chain reaction causing the confetti to burn up, leaving small flames everywhere.


Desparrow at this point was set to die, that was until ice shot over his head striking the molten silver causing its explosive reaction. Specks of it shower every which way, and although bits would shower him causing small burns but the most destructive bit was a tiny drop that landed on his eye. The reaction was nearly as violent as the silver with the ice. First was the sizzling of his eye as the soft organ reacted to both his silver weakness and the intense heat. Following that the drop burned partially through eliciting the most inhuman of nonexistent screams, prevented by the restricting muzzle so all he could do was convulse with all the give he had even with a blade to him. Then his eye exploded right out of the socket, ejecting the silver fragment from his body in the process but leaving the socket and the flesh surrounding it scorched. The trauma left him unconscious and at the mercy of others. In response to the madness of the steam and bunnies the three mages took a triangle formation around the lycan and erected a barrier around them, joining their power to prevent intrusion of others especially that had intent to rescue the lycan.


Arlyeon finds herself knocked over out of the blue, hands flailing out to clutch at a passerby- and in effect keeling him directly on top of the nearest 'rabbit' as it begins it's ascent and conversion into confetti. When the sky suddenly turns into a brilliant catastrophe of flame, the foxkin's buried her face nose deep into the poor fellows back, and also precipitated a rather messy sequence of people knocking over and into each other- and a few of the people in the vicinity even manage to get themselves outright ignited off of flaming confetti. Ina, Arlyeon, for her part, just sort of awkwardly sits there blinking for a few moments, before she remembers she's perched on top of a toppled person, and bothers to check him for like..vitals. Or something.That, and she haphazardly hucks a few potatos from the crowd in Desparrows general vicinity, to free some space in her pocket for...erm, mission imperative acquisitions.


Xzavior just grunted as he saw the reaction. That was something to note for further use. But enough of that. As soon as the bunnies started bursting Xzavior was quick to use that nice bit of distraction and kept low as he made to flank them. Hopeful to avoid the accursed golem. The amout of people stepping and tripping over his tail was just getting borderline infuriating, luckily he had a way to vent that. As soon as he was to the side of the platform he snaked his way up and went quickly to work, removing the bonds that held him. Of course he still left everything that wasn't holding him down. Why waste time? He doubted that the mages would be blind to him. But he had to give a little hope to it. He was preoccupied at the moment with the lycan.


Ranok takes a moment. Steepled fingers in front of him, index fingers touched to lip. Of course it would all go to hell. Nothing could be simple. No, not at all. After his moment of 'why, god, why', he settles into action. For now, that meant accessment. On his vantage point, he could see just how much hell had broken loose. The crowd was in a panic. Naturally. People were thronging away. There was smoke everywhere, fireworks crackling off and bunnies hopping about. He was pretty sure at least one person was on fire. Beyond even questioning just what the hell, practiced eyes continue to sweep. There seemed to be no overt moments towards Desparrow that could be seen, but the smoke obscured. There was magic in the air, that much could be told. A trio of blue lights erupt into being over Ranok's shoulder, pulsing brightly to serve as a beacon. The metal golem was lumbering through the crowd in an effort to get to Desparrow, but people running made travel difficult. Unlike the 'rescue party', civilian casualties was very much to be avoided. At the sight of those blue lights, the front of the golem lumbers about to face towards them. In a swift series of broad gestures, Ranok repeats a pattern of a few hand motions, exaggerated to be seen over the distance. Being so tall, the smoke was not a huge problem for the thing of metal, and fire and fireworks alike held nothing over it. Its gestured orders: Secure Desparrow. A crude limb is raised in response to signal understanding, and then they're put to use. People are now being physically pushed aside to provide room to get up to the gallows to try to seize Desparrow in its massive grip, the other to grab Xzavior in a more crushing one. The anti mage that had been posted had put out his tunic, having caught on fire briefly, and was now accessing thes situation. A certain mercenary look in his eyes. The anti mage was no fool, nor hero. Money couldn't be spent dead. But the situation was not out of hand completely yet...and so, he's moving too, all congregating on the gallows. The rescue party had best hop to, else they'll be beaten to the punch by those posted to serve as a bastion against just this thing happening.


Xzavior paid no mind to the reaction. As long as it worked at keeping Desparrow alive it was fine by him. Xzavior heard the rumbling movements of the golem and cursed quietly as he kept moving around people to keep the hand away from him. He could shift back into a human, yes, but that could serve only to hinder him more in terms of combat and speed. He was getting there before the golem and he was getting Desparrow out of here. Reluctantly. Anti mage be damned, he didn't rely on magic. Which he so proved with a punch thown at the throat of the closest mage he came upon as soon as scale met the platform.


Blut decided to return to try and find xzavior. Running with Desparrow with swift climbing skills he scaled the nearest building as he fired a bolt at the anti mage's head.


Arlyeon gives a little pat to the cheek to her impromptu cushion, before she hops to her feet and saunters off with his coin purse. Specifically, she decides to beeline back and towards towards the golem, that's been mired in the continuous stream of frantic people. Really, Ina's intentions are pretty simple – being primarily to get handsy with as many people as she can, – whilst simultaneously closing the distance with a familiar hot-blooded cold-blooded mage. Given they'd be in effect crossing paths due to opposite trajectories, this would allow her the perfect opportunity to sidle past him with a wink, a salute, and the casual exclamation of “Hot-blooded, cold-blooded. Oh my my my.” From there, she'd simply proceed to test out if she can put that vulpine grace of hers to use, by means of hopping towards Xzavior so, that she can use his lengthy form as a spring board. Hopefully the warning would be adequate to not incite further retaliation. The golem, after all, would be closing in, which would make the task of hopping over towards it so she could play the role of 'aggravating rabble-rouser-perched-up-on-yo-shiz'. Really, it's the sort of inanity that works adequately as a distraction, provides proximity to a potential co-conspirator, -and- enables her to find out if a golem actually is able to accumulate something like bad luck. I mean, did it hinge on will, or sentience, or simply...being? Sciiiiience & Shenanigans. Yay!


Desparrow remained under the protection of the mages surrounding him even as Xzavior reached the stage. However their perceived infallible barrier was nothing compared to the power of the high priestess of Vakmatharas whom was as of yet nowhere to be seen but preparing to intervene. As having been told before by letter, Des was an asset, not to just Gevurah, but to the God of Death himself. The lycan brought death and when he did it flowed as a river. That is why when the prayer was released it was answered in spectacular fashion. A cold wind blew over the stockades, casting a chill over those it touched as though they were under the touch of the hand of death itself and all went still for just a moment. Then the shadows cast upon the stage by torchlight thickened, becoming tangible and wrenching free from the realm of the immaterial to affect the physical plane. These enfeebling tendrils of vakmatharas’ will wrapped first around the barrier of the mages and immediately began sapping not only its strength but the strength of mind of the casters whom were supporting it before shattering it with relative ease. Following that they wrapped about the mages themselves, draining in moments their existence and reaching to inject Xzavior with a small boost to his physical strength, though should he accept it.. the gift of this unholy strength offered from the death of others came with the cost of a taint upon the soul itself. A bit of corruption forever barring one from solace in the afterlife. At the same time the tendrils reached out in an attempt to restrain the metal golem in its advance, though succeeding in only slowing it down temporarily, offering precious seconds for others to take advantage of the situation. Should they know how to reap the benefits of this most gracious boon.


"Jack of all trades, Master of None. But better than Master of one." Most tend to forget the rest of that phrase but it clearly what Ynhaldei is working with right now. Every Mage that went through any schooling or an academy started of as a Novice, they would be thought of every minor spell of every attribute like a simple fireball, a basic illusion, a simple levitation of rocks and so forth so the teachers would be able to gauge to which field this student would excel the most. Needless to say, Ynhaldei knows all these 'minor' spells and has been exaggerating them to ridiculous extent by pouring in so much mana into them that is coming from the very air of the zones that she claim. However as she also has not mastered Spatiomancy, it places her under so much danger as one of the limitations of her powers is that she must not leave the circle. If she does, her control over her territory will vanish and the amount of people running away, panicking was easily diminishing her cover further. Once enough people have left, she'll be easily spotted and she doesn't know if she wants to risk getting caught. The constant stream of smoke is easily reducing one's visibility but she feels like it wasn't enough. She doesn't know that there is an anti-mage along Desparrow's guards but clearly that man should've seen the bunnies are mere illusions. Then again the people panicking around him and the smoke would make anyone panic so she can't blame him... unless he is a fake anti-mage which ofcourse she has no time to verify and debunk his resume. "Hmmm... Well Xzavior would need a bit more water for his ice spells.." thinking that maybe the warm smoke/steam/mist around them is affecting him, which technically contradicts the idea of being a support. There are a couple more bunnies hopping around and in a random interval, trying to distract the guards more before finally switching tactics. Standing up as she empowers her pyromancy even further. The ones that causes the steam from the underground pipes roared further, fueled with the very mana in the air as a portion of said mana is pouring into Ynhaldei, replenishing whatever she is using. Soon enough steam becomes too powerful and sewer lids started flying out before finally she said. "Now for the main event..." grinning. The closest sewer entrance near the execution platform started to roil. Trembling as she attempts terramancy and move some of the rocks along, faking a small earthquake. Soon a water dragon came out of the said sewer and started spitting pressurized water against the people around it. Ofcourse the sound and appearance of the dragon is an illusion. But she is also controlling the water with hydromancy to make it appear so real. On the other sewer openings however comes snakes, hundreds of them which tries to tackle people down but explode into more fireworks after coiling onto them. Ynhaldei on the other hand was already grunting, knowing that she is using too much magic much faster than what her zone can feed her. If she stops the illusionary snakes however, the people will flee and she'll be spotted.


Ranok was still upon his perch, though he'd unslung his own crossbow, should a target present itself. The distance was consierable, but then again, his weapon was of his own make. This meant it was hardly what you'd call average. The crowd was thankfully thinning, the last vestiges being those hurt in the trample, or those too stupid, or too curious,to leave. Nothing seemed to be presenting, and wading into the last streams of the crowd was likely to see him hurt, or someone else. He couldn't even jump, as he lacked the anchors. And then...more magic. A shattering of barriers, and consumation of the mages that held it. That qualified as 'bad to worse'. That left just his golem and the anti mage. The anti mage must have drawn the line at 'people eating dark energy', as it seemed he was reassessing. Immunity from magic aside, that didn't mean indirect means could not be used. The introduction of Ynh's tricks was a good indication of such things. Being eaten by dark tentacles just probably wasn't on the contract, either. Which meant the mercenary was picking 'live to fight another day' in certainty over a paycheck. That left the golem. Aryleon's vaulting of its metal skin was entirely unnoticed. Or, it just did not care. Or more apt, it was unable to combat it. Gev's magic was more damaging to it then first glance. The thing's crude make and antique design (by the man who made it's metric) meant it had vulnerabilities. The magic wears away at connective rune sigils, causing an already tenuous system to become just that more so. It was so that it decides to lumber back away to preserve what was left. A quick signal to Ranok, who'd seen and understood, confirmed the order to withdraw. Too many unknowns. Too many civilians. And Desparrow was in obvious pain. With any luck, he'd die and everyone could be happy. The smith himself remains on his perch. His hope? To see just who'd masterminded it all, to draw lines to chase down later.


Xzavior raised a brow when he saw the black magic at work and shivered a bit when he felt it seep into him. Sure he used death to his advantage but not so much like this. The golem and anti mage out of the way and the others not so willingly giving him newfound strength he gave the lycan a flat look before ripping the chains at its weakest link, hauling him over a shoulder and cutting his way through the crowd. Threatening anyone who got too close that it wouldn't be a metaphor if they stayed in his way. Giving a shout to Blut to cover his exit he made his way to the alley before tossing him on the lizards back and tying him down much like luggage, the cloak like a tarp, and leading them off by the reigns amongst the chaos


Ynhaldei was already aching badly, as if about to vomit blood any time soon. Feeling her mana circuits scrounging for every bit of mana from her system, eating her up as she was casting way too many spells at the same time. Seeing that Desparrow apparently escaped, not sure how but she doesn't seem to want to stay and investigate. "Finale..." groaning as all the bunnies and snakes vanished out of existence, she removed the illusion upon the dragon as well and simply have a large pool of water snaking ontop of the execution stage before leaving it to free fall. The weight of the water would crash down into the stage, hopefully to destroy it, wash away any evidence if any before finally finishing her performance with a sudden blast of steam all over the street and finally exiting stage left. Grunting as she held onto her aching insides, needing to return back to wherever she was before.


Arlyeon feels tingly, though whether that's because she somehow managed to glean some luck from the golem, or some far more solid aspect – such as helping reduce the area to a mass of chaos ..well, that's really up to a more impartial individual to decide. Though, really, the potential promise of moolah does seem to do wonders for making Ina's days. In either case, her ride on the golem ends not too long after it starts, with the thief diving off into the dredges of the crowd. The trick to this particular situation is that about the moment she landed into the midst of the ebbing crowd, she promptly shucked her humanoid form- fair skin and features giving way to the sleek, diminished form of a common fox- albeit one with a red and black fur colour. In this guise, and with the camouflage provided by all the panic- she proceeds to make her way towards Xzavior relatively unimpeded- her every intention being to hop onto the back of his tail and ride out the rest of the journey in the relative safety of her as-of-yet-untapped partner in fiscal-finangling. Plus, it helped to be in the immediate vicinity of someone who might vouch for her.