Open The Rising Dawn (CITY WIDE QUEST)

[Volinir Orchid]

After what felt like an age of pressing bodies and biting blades passing too close for comfort, Renalee and Giph finally came into clear view. The Kelvic hadn't been shot yet, so the boy at least wasn't too big a threat at the moment, it seemed. The tick she came into reach, Volinir yanked her towards him, pulling the girl into an embrace that was perhaps a little tighter than he thought it was. After a breath, a shriek of pain that quickly devolved into a gurgling moan brought him back to earth. "We have to go." he said soberly, electing to pretend Giph didn't exist. Clinging onto Ren's hand to keep from losing her, he charted his way around the battlefield with his companion(s?) in tow, doing his best to keep away from anything sharp or shiny. That wasn't to say he was entirely successful. The heavy handle of an Ebonstryfe's battleaxe slammed into his abdomen, doubling him over before one of the rebels tackled the soldier to the ground, a stiletto held tight between his teeth. Volinir didn't stay to find out how it went. He simply kept soldiering on, fighting through gritted teeth to keep upright. After a few chimes, they were back at a wall not too far from where he had ferried Velvet up. Naturally, taking that exact wall was an impossibility with Sevris still fighting there. (or so Volinir hoped.) Repeating what he did with the slave, he tried to guide Renalee's arms around his neck. She was a little heavier than the slave girl was, but not by much. Weeks of running had cut her figure down. "Hold on." he said as he laid his palms against the wall, "We'll be safe in a couple chimes." Giph, unfortunately, would not have a position on the Symenestra's back. With a lot of luck, the two of them would soon be on the roof and headed towards Velvet and (relative) safety.

[Aislin]

The rebel was the first to run; her flats chittering softly against wood and rubble. Aislin's lens watched from their perch behind smoldering coals and icy iris. The lids barely flinched, leading into a subtle flutter, which caused the lashes to ripple uneasily as they shaded the outer edges of that which continued to grow near. The lens seemed to click as the woman's silhouette shimmered in the sunlight, as though absorbing its strength as the whore clung to her own element of darkness and shadow. It was maturing, moving into the far corners of the whore's vision. Taking over the entire field, as opposed to the central stalk. Knowing there was little time before she breached another wall, the prostitute faced herself to react. To rise and meet the incoming offensive, and potential onslaught. Like torrential rain which sprouted out of nothing, Aislin forced herself to tighten her fists as her eyes narrowed, ensuring that she had obscured everything but the view of her oncoming opponent. Her muscles coiled beneath a bed of pale skin; and proceeded to pulse unpleasantly, as though they had a life of their own. Her flesh seemed to bounce, tossing and catching the grey back and forth, as though taking part in a tennis match. Come and get me, her hypnotic djed roared, as Aislin bent her legs at the knees, and hopped from one foot to the other. Lending a spring to her step as she did her best to keep her blood flowed as the rebel continued to near. Another breath and she'd have closed the gap that had once rested between them, Aislin knew, forcing her to bring her arms out of their simple defensive stance. Each bent at the elbow, and pulled into the chest. The right on top, and held diagonally across, the same as the left. Each resting no more than five or six inches away. Laying in wait for the opportune moment to strike. Another slight inhalation and the fist the rebel had pulled back was cutting through the air on slight angle, rounding for Aislin's cheek. Easily seeing this coming, the whore raised her right hand and unfurled her fingers, leaving the palm in unspoken offering. Another tick of the clock and she could feel the woman's knuckles crackling against her skin as the impact offered a slight sting. As the palm began to fall into a crescent formation, and the fingers furled, as though trying to ensnare a beast with a rusty trap, which could never be triggered quickly enough to allow it to work. Aislin watched as the woman's fist sailed away, only to be replaced by a similar attempt at a strike by the other. As opposed to blocking in much the same fashion, the whore balled her loosened hand into a fist and drew it back into its starting position, as she retreated a single step, remaining just out of reach. As soon as the space had been opened up to her, Aislin strode forward dropping her right arm as she did so, until the elbow had drawn across her form, to her side, and rested against the outer joint of her hip bone. When there was little to no room to spare, the Chaon's arm snapped. Running up in a rather smooth line, until it came beneath the woman's chin. Aislin could hear it snapping this time as she reeled her limb in, and stumbled back, as her shoulder faced the full on force of one of her opponent's jabs. As sharp shooting pains coursed through the length of her shoulder, Aislin could only grit her teeth knowing that if she paid it too much mind, it would cost her the battle. Making it impossible for her to nurse it later, for there would no longer be a later. "Filthy bitch," she spat, as her eyes blazed. Having sight for the rebel, and her alone. You're going to pay for that, and your audacity to face the Ebonstryfe and the Black Sun alike. For defiling the sacred temple dedicated to lord of this city, the god of chaos, Rhysol... "The man who marked me," Aislin whispered as her opponent pulled each of her fists back, leaving her arms pressed tightly against the sides of her body. Her elbows pushed behind her shoulder blades. Another moment, and she was close enough to strike at the Chaon with her right hand, which was easily deflected by the whore, who brought her arm up and under it, knocking it away. The same was done with the woman's left arm, which attempted to follow up on the initial strike. After having reeled each of her hands in, Aislin lifted her right leg as she placed all of her weight onto the left foot, to anchor. As she rotated on her hip, she swung her limb around, in an attempt to ram it against the rebel's hip. She missed narrowly as the woman side-stepped away, and then breached the distance by gliding through the opening left by Aislin's attack. Just as the whore put her heeled foot back down on the ground, she could feel another jab creeping up the length of her gut. Soft spiraling pains trickling up the length of her skin, leaving an unpleasantly hot air upon reddening white. The attack, although not particularly hard or rough, was enough to make the whore gasp for breath, considering how it assaulted her core. Enough of these games. Enough fooling around. Finish her, the Chaon's mind hissed angrily as Aislin did her best to right herself as her fingers fell away from her palms. As each hand came forward, dangling in the air with palms exposed. As though beseeching the rebel to allow the battle to come to an end. A half breath was drawn into Aislin's aching lungs as vaporous snake slithered up the length of her form, filling her organs with an intoxicating, stinging sensation as its head rested against her heart. Forked tongue flicking, venturing even farther. Licking her neck, her two shoulders. Spewing noxious fumes, akin to a human's breath which coursed through the length of her veins. Pulsating rivers of blue and green shades which ended at the tips of her fingers. Where everything slammed to sudden halt. Where everything remained poised, silent, and waiting. Another fraction of a beat, and Aislin was expunging everything she had held in by coercing it through her skin cells and into the outside world. Every bit of magical energy she could muster spiraled through the air and towards her opponent, where it paused at the center of her forehead. Where the third eye was said to rest upon seers. At first, although the Chaon could scarcely sense it, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing seemed to happen, as though she had failed in her task. But after another breadth, what had been transparent mere moments before darkened. Taking on the hue of a night without stars. It began as a small loop, no larger than one's thumb nails. A black mark to signify taint of the virtuous. But gradually, it expanded with the guidance of subtle movements. Flicks of the wrist which urged Aislin's hands into endless, clockwise circles. From where she stood, Aislin could see fear in the rebel's eyes. A complete seize of her lithe form as her skin shifted. Rotating with the movement of the rift the voider had created in the world. A whirlpool which twisted the rebel's skin into grotesque misshapen mass. Bloodied by the eventual break of several vessels, buried just beneath epidermal layer and ivory colored bone. Pale flesh and crimson red circled alongside flaring nostrils, lips broken down the bridge. Pouty petals of rosy coloring, which sailed away into the void as easily as the bones in the woman's neck. Cracking. Breaking as they were drawn against each other. Scraping against fractured edges as the void continued to pull. Its insatiable lust demanding a larger payment, as it continued to grow to be the size of a melon. From far away, Aislin thought she could still make out the sound of the woman screaming, as her flesh grew flecked with the void's icy breath. As shards as crisp as the Chaon's irises crawled over the length of her skin, now grown soupy. As though it were a fresh layer of paint stretched too heavily over a canvas. Forcing it to drip down its length. As she watched in silence, the voider could only smile wickedly as her creation swallowed the rebel whole. When the deed was done, the void's rim seemed to ripple as it spiraled outward. Seeking to expand and engulf far more than the one it had been made for. But it had done enough for now, leaving the Chaon to close it by clapping her hands together. Urging it to collapse in on itself, and disappear fully from one's vision no more than a chime later. Thus, leaving Aislin to renter the throng; the rage of war. OOCSorry guys, this is a bit gross. I was feeling a tad morbid today.

[Crismento Miren]

Cris had never heard the Voice before. Over the time that he had spent in Ravok, the con artist learned of the local public’s view on Rhysol and his cult, but only during that day’s speech at the temple did he truly understand it. She spoke as the mother of the people living in this lake city, as their guardian and protector. And all the joy that erupted after the Voice let out her first words showed that the masses felt the same way. It was wondrous how some would see this love as deep corruption. While some people were leaving the temple for the festivities at the courtyard, Crismento tried to shuffle his way through to catch a glimpse of the leader of Black Sun herself. The people in the temple were many, but still the swindler patiently and steadily pushed forward towards his little mission. The heat came suddenly. It touched his face before his eyes saw flames pulse out of strange writings or drawings. He had never been to the old temple, but the panic that came next suggested it was not a spectacle. In his confusion Cris was uncertain how to act but the crowd had decided it for him, pushing the man back to where he came from. The fire began laying its tongues on everything that would burn, catching the wooden structures and clothes of the Ravokians. After the longest couple of moments Crismento’s mind finally resolved that he needed to escape. Outside. Away from fire. Smoke found its way through his mouth and nose into his lungs. A shove by an impatient brawny guy passing through in a panicked rush pushed Cris to one side where his eyebrow violently met someone’s raised elbow and it sent him down to the ground coughing. The Ravokians that had just been gushing with their love for the Voice showed very little concern for the man on the floor. Trying to stand up was futile with all the pushing and jostling going around, so Crismento quickly opted for crawling on all fours doing his best not to be trampled by the stampede that had lost all of its civility. The swindler let out a cry that was quickly drawn out by the noise when somebody stepped on his hand, but fortunately that was the biggest harm he had suffered before escaping outside. That and slightly scorched clothing. The courtyard provided little safety he soon found. A sight of slaughter, bigger than he had never seen – and he had seen a couple – had met those who had just saved themselves from the flames. ’Chaos,’ Cris thought to himself as he watched some man open another’s throat with a razor. Now that was a true scene of the Defiler’s city. The mask of peace and protection seemed to have slipped just as soon as the more cynical ones would have started to believe in it again. He noticed that the Ebonstryfe were fighting someone, but there wasn’t much time for thoughts as he was pushed forward once again by those who had more sense than to stand around and gawk. Cris took their advice and ran turning away from any blade in his sight no matter the wielder. There were no friends in this city. Could it be the Rising Dawn, his mind kept pestering him. It has been over a year since the con artist had last heard of them. As far as he knew, the organisation only existed in an occasional writing on a random wall left from who knows when and half-whispers by some drunkards. He had always assumed the Stryfe had dealt with them. What followed next happened so suddenly that Crismento wasn’t sure what exactly had occurred. He stopped because of the blade ahead, felt a strong bump in the back soon followed by another to the side. He turned and grabbed a man in black beside him in order to keep his balance only to notice him bleeding from the gut. They both fell and it was Ravok’s water that was welcoming the two. The world fell silent. Cris still held on to the man in black and tried to pull him closer in desperation, but the body was sinking and it was taking him along. The swindler had enough sense remaining to let go of the corpse and he made a couple of strokes with his arms in a random direction, forcefully kicking the water behind him. It was no use… He was never a swimmer; it was dark and he didn’t even know which way lead to the surface. He was drowning. Again. Fear and despair forced a cry out of his mouth into the water. He flailed around aimlessly while air was turning bad in his lungs. His heart jumped when something solid brushed against his fingers. Rapidly Crismento made every effort to advance towards the object until his head gently hit it. That something was bigger than just some random plank and the swindler's hands searched desperately for a way to escape from underneath it. His body already began pleading to drink in the water when his arm shot above the surface and grabbed onto the side of the floating object. He quickly pulled himself up, thirstily gasping for air. Hanging from what turned out to be a ravosala Cris glanced at the chaos on the shore. The fighting was still in full force and it was hard to determine who was winning from his position. The con man barely managed to climb into the boat, but once inside he immediately met its owner lying on the bottom with an arrow in his neck. Without much thinking, he dropped down nearby and closed his eyes for a moment trying to recover and perhaps piece together what was happening, while the unpiloted ravosala was left to guide itself.

[Verilian]

The battle raged on, and though the Rising Dawn had the element of surprise, the training and experience of the Ebonstryfe soldiers was slowly winning out. Surprise only aided in the initial assault. Though the temple raged in fire, and people were still trapped within, the tide outside was beginning to turn. More Ebonstryfe had arrived on scene, and the rebels were becoming hard pressed. On an individual level, however, the fighting was still just as intense as ever. While Aislin was busy sucking her opponent into the void, Sevris had just finished off his latest opponent when another stepped up to challenge him. This man was clearly different from the rest he had been fighting, a tall man with dark blue skin, an Akalak. The scars covering his body showed that he was clearly not shy of battle, and the speed with which he struck at Sevris with his lakan far outmatched anything the apprentice had faced before. The attacks came quick, two strokes that Sevris would only just barely be able to block, followed by a quick but hard kick toward the apprentice's mid-section. The Akalak had no intent of drawing the fight out. The kick would send Sevris staggering back toward the canal, and when the Akalak came at him again his only option for survival was to fall back into the water. There was no way he would be able to block or dodge an attack of that speed quickly enough, it was a killing blow. The splash of cold water saved his life, and the Akalak only stared a moment before turning and moving on. Sevris would be able to climb back out of the water uninterrupted, if he so chose, and if he did he would see the Akalak towering over the Ravokian guards and soldiers, fighting his way not toward the center, but toward the canals and escape. Other members of the Dawn were doing the same. Volinir, Renalee, and Giph would find relatively safe passage to the wall the Symenestra was heading for, although relatively safe whilst in a sea of combat was hardly considered safe. All in all, they made it without dying. Whatever Giph would do when he realized Volinir was going to leave him behind was up to him, but the Symenestra knew that things were about to get worse. He wasn't in on every bit of the plan, but the next phase he had been warned about. He didn't know the specifics, but he knew to get out. Giph, if he chose to take note of the fighting itself rather than the kelvic he was pursuing, would also notice that the Rising Dawn seemed to be making a retreat. And it wasn't a retreat of fear, it was an organized effort led by one very deadly looking Akalak. Whatever was coming, the Rising Dawn didn't want to be around when it happened. As for Inoadar, whatever medical tent he thought he was going to, there was none to be found. Perhaps it had already been moved, or perhaps it had been destroyed. Either way, he would find himself heading in the direction of the building Velvet was hiding on, and also to the sound of voices arguing. Crismento Miren had managed to find relative safety aboard the ravosala he'd climbed into, and as the craft lazily floated down the canal toward the house that Velvet was hiding on. As he drew closer, he would begin to overhear the same thing Inoadar was starting to hear, as well as Velvet, who couldn't help but hear it. Two voices, an elderly man and a fiery young woman, were having a heated argument right beneath Velvet's building. "I know you don't agree with my methods, Siriana, but everything is going according to plan." "No, I don't agree. You violated a direct order! I told you not to set off those glyphs until after the festival!" "This was the best possible time. The Voice was inside, we couldn't pass up on that opportunity. It doesn't matter anymore, what's done is done. The glassbeak has been freed, we are moving on to phase two." "The glassbeak!? You never said anything about that." "Because I knew you would disagree with it. But I will not see the summoner's efforts go to waste." "Fine.. we will talk about this later. You go and deal with the CEB, I'll meet up with Harrol and the others and free the slaves. At least that part of our plan I agree with." Velvet and Cris heard the sound of footsteps as the two went their separate ways, and then there was silence once more. Mean while, still inside the temple, Antar was busy trying to "help" an injured guard find another way out of the inferno. The man was barely conscious, and the hall he pointed to only seemed to lead deeper into the temple, not out of it. On the other hand, he seemed to have escaped the flames for a time. Antar might have turned back, he was in a maze of hallways, but something stopped him. He heard a shriek, followed by the sound of horrified screams, and eventually gurgled cries of the dying. Around the corner came something he had probably never seen before. A massive creature, a bird of some sort, with razor sharp claws and a massive beak dripping the blood of those who were already dead. The bird only paused for a tick to stare at Antar and his companion before it began to charge. Before Antar could run the guard he was with shouted, "This way," and shoved him to the right through an open door. The guard, barely standing before, now found the strength to shut the door behind him and throw the latch. "That won't hold it for long.. but maybe it won’t follow us," the man mumbled as he sunk to his knees, just as the glassbeak slammed against the door. Cracks appeared in many places, and it was clear the wood wouldn't survive another hit. The guard turned and pointed at a set of stairs. "Up there.. second door on the right. There is a lavatory. The drain.. is large enough for a man to slide down, if he can squeeze a bit. It will dump you in the lake behind the temple. Go! I'll try to hold it off." Whether Antar went on with the guard or not, the man would turn back to face the door and draw his sword. He was quite willing to give his life to save Antar, but if Antar tried to drag him along, he wouldn't resist that either. Up the stairs, second door on the right, he would indeed find the lavatory. A small square room, with a bench large enough for two or three to sit on at one time. The bench had a single long wide slit running down the center of it for people to.. make deposits. It was attached only by nails, and could easily be pried up. The squeeze, if Antar dared to take it, was tight.. but the surface was slippery, and it would not be too hard to slide down. Of course, he could search for another way out, but a second crash outside the room told him the glassbeak had made it through the door. For Valerius, his tactics worked out perfectly. The Rising Dawn did not want to harm the slaves, nor did they have time to try to free them. Their main focus was on doing as much damage to the Ebonstryfe forces as possible, so for the most part, the Nitrozian was left alone. That didn't mean he was completely safe, he was attacked from time to time, but the rebel's hearts were not in it. They didn't want to fight his slaves, so when they were used as a defense, the rebels usually backed off. Valerius was able to make it out of the fray before the Rising Dawn began their retreat, so when the rebels ran past him he was able to see where they all met up. If he chose to follow, he would have first row seat at the meeting that would soon take place near the Slave Market between the akalak and his men, and Siriana. Back outside the temple, Aislin would find herself in dire straits. Not because she had too many opponents, there were still plenty to fight, but because she had over done it. She was no master of djed, only competent in voiding and less so in the hypnotic arts, but the fast casting she had done to save her life and egg on her opponent would cost her. It would have been safer had she simply let the Rising Dawn run, but her pride would cost her. The first sign was pain in her head, a searing pain worse than a migraine, but that quickly faded and was replaced with a sense of euphoria and a desire to cast more. The void was calling to her, it wanted to be released. And perhaps.. the chaon power that dwelled within her mark was also seeking release. Seeking to further the chaos that was already all around her. Aislin would find it hard to tell friend from foe, and she could easily mistake one of her fellow Chaon as an enemy. The desire to cast was almost impossible to resist, but directing it would be easier. With enough focus and concentration, she might find the control to attack her enemies rather than her friends. OOC1Okay, guys. I just wanted to point out that, while I did give free reign to kill, I also asked that you play within your skill level. Many of you overplayed things.. so.. just remember next time, that if you are a novice, act like a novice. If you are competent, act somewhat better than a novice, but things still shouldn't be easy. Only experts or higher move with ease in combat, or fling spells without a second thought. Just keep that in mind in the future. OOC2Alright.. so.. if you overheard the conversations and want to pursue one of those avenues, feel free to arrive at either location before the Dawn gets there. Or you can go warn someone, or whatever else you come up with. The Dawn won’t show up until my next post. If you want to pursue the fleeing Rising Dawn, they are heading toward the Slave Market. If you have any other questions, feel free to ask.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar fumed over the wasted time. There was no medical tent here! Was that soldier stupid, confused or enjoying a prank? Probably all three. He wandered a couple more blocks, avoiding the paths of soldiers and citizens alike. He stumbled into a building and sat in a shadowed nook, his wounds having reopened with his effort to find the medical tent. He sneered at the irony.

He sat very still, holding his wounds closed. His bandages were a bloody mess. He thought it might be a good idea to find new cloths for them. He stood slowly, his head somewhat light, and began to search. He thought that if medical supplies were to found anywhere, it would be on this floor or lower, since it would not suit anyone to have to lug an injured man up stairs.

He moved as quietly as he could towards a nearby stairway, assuming that anyone he ran into would be an enemy, either by virtue of their political leanings or the simple fact that he was a trespasser. He found no bandages, but that was soon forgotten as voices began to penetrate the din from outside. A man, of some age, by the sound of his voice, and a woman, young and angry.

He listened with growing interest. 'A bit of dissent within the ranks? Not the disciplined chain of command they would have us believe. Underlings countermanding 'direct orders' to commit atrocities?' He didn't know what a 'glassbeak' was, but it sounded like this 'Siriana' didn't approve.

He listened further with the hope that someone would spout off the man's name, but no such luck. 'Well, I will add 'Siriana' and 'Harrol' to my list of rebel names. They may fetch a decent price from someone.' he thought with greedy focus as he took note of their destinations. He didn't know where the slaves they referred to were, but he certainly knew where the C.E.B. was.

"Go and deal with the CEB' she said. 'DEAL with'. That sounds like destruction.' he said to himself with a grin. He didn't care much for the Ebonstryfe. They HAD put a bounty on him, after all. But these rebels were not nearly coordinated or careful enough. Blabbing names and plans where a mercenary like himself might hear. If it came down to it, he would put his mizas on the incumbents.

Well, he had no stake in freedom for slaves, but the C.E.B. might be where the record of his bounty was stored. He would like very much to aid in its destruction. Not openly though, for he also still hoped he might get the name of this old man.

[Cassidy Finch]

Velvet sighed in anxious frustration as she looked up and down the long row of rooftops that spread both before and behind her; Volinir had been gone for some time, and she was fairly sure something bad had happened to the strange, spidery man. Though the former slave felt a tinge of sadness that she was probably never going to see him again, she was too immersed in her warring emotions to dwell on it for long. She was free, for as long as she could avoid her master and anyone who might notice her mark. Unfortunately, that task would prove very difficult without Volinir's help. She would need to find some way to get the half Black Sun mark off of her hand. If she didn't, Velvet was sure that she would end up dead before season's end. It occurred to the woman that she was lying on the roof for absolutely no good reason. Why was she waiting here? Volinir was probably long gone, or worse, and Sevris was likely less than two or three blocks from her position. Velvet needed to get far from the temple. Quickly. Her decision made, she raised herself up into a low crouch to begin her search for a way down when a pair of heated voices, raised in argument, reached her ears from just out of sight. Instantly, the former slave dropped herself back to the roof and listened, her heart beating in her chest. Was it Sevris? Fortunately, the voices were both unfamiliar to her, "I know you don't agree with my methods, Siriana, but everything is going according to plan," Came one voice, obviously an old man's. In curiosity, Velvet crawled towards the edge of her building to look down into the deserted street where the voices seemed to be coming from. She froze again as an angry female voice pierced the momentary silence. "No, I don't agree. You violated a direct order! I told you not to set off those glyphs until after the festival!" Velvet's heart began to beat faster as she let the words process. It confused her, but the way they were arguing hinted that they had done something important, though she wasn't sure what. The woman peered over the edge and kept her eyes on the two people, only the tops of their heads visible to her from this angle, as they continued their discussion. "This was the best possible time. The Voice was inside, we couldn't pass up on that opportunity. It doesn't matter anymore, what's done is done. The glassbeak has been freed, we are moving on to phase two." Phase two... The Voice? Some kind of trap at the Temple, with the Voice as a target. That smacked strongly of treason, something Velvet wholeheartedly approved of. Still, these people were clearly dangerous if they were willing to risk the lives of thousands of innocent people. Whatever was happening, there was more to come. These people had something to do with the events at the Temple, Velvet surmised from the discussion. "The glassbeak!? You never said anything about that." "Because I knew you would disagree with it. But I will not see the summoner's efforts go to waste." "Fine.. we will talk about this later. You go and deal with the CEB, I'll meet up with Harrol and the others and free the slaves. At least that part of our plan I agree with." Freeing slaves? Velvet smiled a bit to herself, pleased with her stroke of luck. If these people were willing to go free slaves, maybe they had a plan to keep them safe from the Ebonstryfe! The woman, Siriana, was off to free the slaves. Velvet had no idea which slaves they were, but it really didn't matter to her. Maybe if she showed a willingness to help out, they might help her in turn. The two turned their separate ways and, for a moment, the former slave was conflicted. She would surely be placing her life in dire risk if she did what she was planning...yet...wasn't she dead if she kept where she was? The woman had nothing to lose; if she was free, then she could do what she wanted with her life. Right then, Velvet wanted to help Siriana carry out any goal that involved freeing slaves. Before she could second-guess herself, Velvet stood and shadowed Siriana, crossing the rooftops as quietly as she could without outdistancing the woman. At the first available opportunity, she would use her limited climbing experience to get down from the upper tier of the city and face the woman who apparently felt the same as Velvet. The former slave couldn't care one bit if the two were involved in all that shyke that went on at the Temple; they had indirectly freed her. She felt like she owed them for that. A chance to help escaping slaves was just a bonus. What was freedom if she couldn't use it how she wanted?

[Antar]

‘Bloody hell of a petching son of a vagik! It’s that damn time in the sea of grass all over again!’ was the only thought in Antar’s mind at the sight of the glassbeak. ‘Granted, the chicks were bad enough he had to deal with, a full one- well‘ A ball of res was summoned on instinct and thrust forward to land at the stones between them, transmuting itself into an earthen spike of one of his signature transmutations of earth. Like bears, the best way to kill a large animal was to use their own weight against- His thoughts were broken from his reverie as the guard pulled him through a door and bolted it. A muffled cry of the apex predator's painful keening already echoed in his ears, obviously damaged from the first counterattack as the soldier then stated some foolish posturing of making a last stand. The fool didn’t even realize the damn things just kept coming whether they were injured or killing. Damn these things, he never wanted to see another again! Caravan duty had been strained enough to spot these birds in the distance and he’d been warned. Now he had some momma or papa one after him was just the damn pits! At least the babes were good for food. Snorting roughly, Antar would pull the man up the steps, his mind already in motion as began to leak Res from his pores, turning at the opening to the latrine the man had spoken of a portion of the res in his hands arcing down to stay below the start of the door into the latrine as it was closed. He shoved the soldier into the nearest corner taking the position on the opposite corner of the door as he glanced around. Sure, he could espy the sluice , just as the man had said it would be, but what drew his eye more was the high window of colored glass on the far side of the room. The sluice would be a tight fit, but it would be horrible tactics to take right now. If there was any way of being stuck he’d be at the mercy of the creature, no… the only way with even odds of survival was to lead himself and the soldier forward was to use the terrain in an ambush. Glassbeaks survived due to their mobility, out on the plains. In enclosed quarters, there was a chance of pinning the creature and evading it, so long as one used the terrain to its advantage. Letting the Res pool on the floor he prepared himself as the door shuttered. In three cracks, the animal was shoving itself inside, only to find itself bearing the brunt of a rather rude awakening as it skidded into the enclosed space past them, unable to turn or swipe its claws at them both as it entered a natural bottleneck of the lavatory. The res on the stone attracted and transmuted to earth from behind the creature, jutting up a second earthen spike, not giving the deadly creature any time to react as it was skewered from behind. Spinning it towards the far off window where it crashed through, hanging on the sill with glassen shards in its feathers, as it struggled to fight and kill despite its wounds. The only reason it hadn’t fallen was due to a large earthen spine effectively acting as a brace to keep it from falling. He was sure it had some internal bleeding, from both times it had been impaled, but that was the nature of this beast. The damnable bird was skewered and still it kept coming for blood! Even now it was hanging out of a window, only held there by first earthen spike, as its long neck swiveled towards the soldier. It’s gaping beak was outstretched, plinking into the ground, as two of its taloned legs scratched and gauged the floor to try to pull itself back inside. Noth was pressed close to the wall, in a place where the bird could not twist its neck around to reach him. Giving him the option once again to sacrifice the soldier for some small gain, or take a risk to himself. “Keep your distance but keep it occupied!” the rogue snapped with the semblance of an order. It really was a natural thing that aided him in a decision that some might refer to as ‘chivalrous.’ But this damnable birdbrain attacked him, and things which attacked him usually ended up only one way: dead. He shoulder rolled under the thrashing neck of the beast, coming to rest to the side of the window. Gaining a knee he hacked sideways, truncating the birds scrabbling legs at the window, letting the neck take all the strain of holding the body in. The soldier had backed up to the wall to kick a half full chamber pot at the beast’s craw, and the bird snapped it out of midair. Gagging slightly before chomping and screaming at the pain of it’s now severed legs, thrashing its neck wildly about the enclosed space, buffeting Noth’s armored form up against the wall a few times before the rogue steadied himself. With a feral cry of his own, Noth triggered the stiletto blade on his left gauntlet and plunged it into the creature’s neck, holding it steady as his right hand raised his gladius high. Three strokes through the meaty flesh was what it took to sever the neck of the beast , letting the head fall to the lavatory floor. It’s eyes were still blinking as the beast didn’t realize it was dead yet. The rest of the body was not so lucky. With a bloody squelch and a snap the weight of the bird’s hind quarters broke the earthen spike which had been holding it inside, causing the body to fall out the window of the temple, downwards to impact with a sickening squelch upon a stone ledge far below as shattered spider webs of stone formed from its landing. The creature’s blood slowly pooling to drain into the lake. Coughing and sputtering, the rogue checked himself for injury. Silently thanking Akajia for keeping him out of the bird’s view before looking towards the injured soldier. The man was still on his feet, staring out the window where the glassbeak had fallen through and Noth gave him a slight shrug and a wan smile. “I think you’ll live to see another day if we get you to a healer, my good soldier. I wouldn’t go down the sluice though, those wounds would get infected in no time. Where are we by the way? What’s our next step?” The soldier blinked, looking at him a moment before breathing heavily enough to answer. “We’re in the northeast corner by now at least. About a level and a hundred feet or so west of the galleries.” “The galleries? You mean were a level above the worshipping chamber’s second floor?” ”Yep. Near the dome access. Up here there’s a lot of metal doors and stone meant to keep things safe. Top of the dome’s maintenance level is about a hundred feet down the hallway. Sluice is the only way out from here unless we go down again.” Antar’s mind began to race as he pondered the information with a carpenter, and an architect’s thoughts. If he was currently above base of the large dome in the temple… then they were still pretty close to the fire. Only good building practices and material would keep the smoke away… but then again. As he pondered the ramifications, he tore one of the windows curtains off and bundled the severed head and claws in it to tie them off. A glassbeak’sDarn these things are really hard to kill. >.< They're like evil giant energizer bunnies crossed with velociraptors X-x beak and talons were valuable after all. He had learned that during his travels in Endrykas. They were quite valuable in making weapons, and he always wondered if they could be combined with metals to craft something spectacular with a fine edge that might not need sharpening as much. But the layout of the temple was even more interesting then any thoughts of such things that normally captivated his interests at the time. An odd idea began to form, as he stumbled out of the lavatory and back down towards the steps... down the hallway a large set of metal doors seemed to be burning a cherry red from the heat of the blaze that must be down below. He could still hear many cries of injured, seeking escape from the blaze, as well as the far off shouts of soldiers trying to get others out. Gazing at the distance between access way to the dome, and the lavatory, he began to gain the inkling an idea. A rather crazy, brilliant, but still insanely risky and crazed idea that whispered in the back of his mind as it demanded his attention. An idea centered on the logic of how fires worked, how they needed fuel, and air to continue burning. On the long hours of training spent on controlling his res, and on the attractant forces of Res combined with his analysis of Andresciel’s wind fist so long ago. It was risky. But… maybe, just maybe he could put out the flames. Literally sucking them away from the people below who were suffocating while denying them the ability to feed on anything else. He’d need to work fast, and begin his glyphing though. He’d worked through the theory of how to glyph quickly using transmuted Res as the base to form a complete set of focus glyphs and sigils in a short amount of time. It had been the first thing he had experimented with, just in case there was ever an emergency. He’d honed the ability over a few days of training, called upon it within the necessity of learning Voiding from that crazy woman in Alvadas, and then used it as necessary to save his own life many a time before. It was ironic that now he’d attempt to use it to save the lives of others he didn’t particularly care for unless they’d be able to be useful later. It didn’t beat the old fashioned way of taking the time to draw everything out, but it still was effective enough to get the job done. When the guard asked what he was doing, he only replied, “I think I can do something for the people left inside. But get ready to carry me out of here. That is the greatest use of your life now so don’t die until you get both of us to a healer. I think we’re both going to need one. Just see if you can open the door to the atrium when I tell you too.” Using the glyph he had crafted before he began to use his knowledge of reimancyThe glyphing and reimancy stuff here is backed by lores too, just never pushed to this envelope by the character before. If you need specifics or don't want the temple fires out , pm me V as I'm only trying to use this to support the actions as a plot device. to quickly burn linkages of glyphs into the stone itself with the meta element of lava. He created a skein of the diagrams that held a second layer of res rapidly transmuted and cooled to earth, creating focus circles with a series of barriers at every ten feet chained together with lines of ancient runes to create Paths. While he couldn’t still store any magical energy in a glyph , even a novice learned the theory. And that was what he was creating, a long path to help bulwark a construct of Res. A construct he’d be able to turn and encompass the hundred feet of distance within his eyesight to put out the fires in the temple once and for all. Summoning his djed, he prepared himself, meditating as he began his work, crafted as slosh of Res along the hallway’s Paths , and up the stairs into the lavatory where the window and sluice resided. Then, with his concentration stretched to his maximum element of control he began to lift the Res, forming a hollow tube hovering just above the glyphed pathways. It had taken at least five minutes to construct but was finally ready. Antar turned and nodded to the soldier to open the door as he began to coat the inner layer of the vortex to become an attractant to the element of fire, stretching tendrils of res as far down into the chambers below, bringing the inferno closer to him as the construct began to work. The flames coursed through the funneling mass, spinning like a tornado as the mess of heat and flames was channeled from the cavernous innards of the temple’s main religious chamber. Looking like a fiery twisting inferno slogging its way through some giant’s intestinal track as it was arced up around the corner of the stairs and up towards the lavatory track of the shyke hole. The attractant forces of the Res forming a natural funnel for the inferno below, driving and depriving it of fuel, air and other bits of sources for it to feed upon. The fiery intestinal track forced the flames down the latrine hole, dumping the heat and the morass of the blaze out of the temple, driving it downwards towards the drainage to the lake as if the temple evacuated the danger to itself as easy as a carnival goer gushing out a stream of fire. One thing was for sure, the drainage sluice would only be filled with putrid ash and the smell of burned shyke would last for days in these halls. It was one way to clean the mass. Noth wasn’t sure how long he held the array of res, only allowing the outermost layer to harden to shale as he felt his mustered djed slowly deplete at a steady pace. At times, even though he felt as if he was giving out , he could see in his eyes the flashings of auric colors around his creation, as the flames were evacuated by force of will alone. Who knew how many of those below would be saved by this occurrence? At least a few to be sure. The strain, was the most difficult tasking of his abilities yet, and he could feel the ache and flow of his djed coursing to his will. A will ironclad in its purpose, forgoing any personal pain to achieve his ends. He knew the traces of auristics activating randomly was a bad sign. So was the odd tendrils of escaped fires leaping through slight gaps within the tunnel of weak wind, and attractant Res of the flames traversing their glyphed out course like a monstrous creature chafing at its controller’s reins. Even the small blips and cracks of voids snapping into existence as if summoned by his dazed will to lap up some of the smallest flames was dangerous in the extreme as the creation propelled the inferno away from the temple along its charted course. He knew the tenants of losing control of everything but his will to change something for the better. Finally, when it was all over Antar collapsed to his knees. Panting with exertion and screaming in bits of phantom pain as he clutched his head. All that was left in the corridor was the burned scrawls of lava wrought glyphs in the stone flooring and a bit of tattered streams of Res left unspent. With his head pounding , and the iron tang present on his tongue he forced every bit of will and concentration to gather the wisps of res left in the air. Re-absorbing them, and thus part of his djed back into himself. Panting for breath, Antar tried to compose himself, welcoming back the vapid substance like a man in the desert guzzling water as a small bit of djed was restored to him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to force him back below the precipice of draining himself of all the reserves of his djed. Enough to hopefully keep him alive, and more importantlysane enough to make as close to a full recovery as possible. He had no want to spend part of his own soul to save the foolish vagabonds of this city. But he felt at least this one good deed might serve his purposes later if he survived the ordeal. He , after all, had spent many months (close to a year now) learning his limits and perfecting his control. Especially with the elements of fire, earth, and the meta-element of lava to help quick cast glyphs as he had. Long, long, hours of practice, study, and training which hopefully would now bear fruit of some small recompense to keep his head intact. At the notion of compensation, his mind quickly put two and two together and cursed his luck as the guard he saved came over with a flask. ”Don’t move too much. I think that whatever you did probably helped those below. I’ll be sure you’re cared for.” “Gods damn it!” Antar shouted towards the guard while drinking from the offered water flask to drive the iron tang from his mouth. The man looked at him quizzically asking an unspoken question to perhaps a mage who might be teetering on the precipice of over giving. But no voice lent itself to the curiousity. Instead the guard muttered that he should stay put, that more of the ebonstryfe were on their way with a healer or two. Noth just scowled and let himself rant a little, even if his efforts had just put out all the flames in the temple’s main area of worship. “Do you realize, I wouldn’t be able to sell that meat from that damn bird now? Do you realize the loss of profits ? It fell down to sit on that ledge by the lake! A lake which is probably boiling enough to steam it! And to make matters worse I diverted the flames down the damn shyke hole! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?” The man just shook his head, and gave Antar something else to drink, something which tasted like wine. He took a gulp, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his skull before he sighed loudly and muttered in despair. “That means of course the bird was just Shyke-broiled! That’s what it means! By gods, that meat will probably be tasting awful now! I wouldn’t be able to sell it for anything and keep my reputation as a game hunter! Gods damnit!” Cursing his bad and costly idea, even if it had probably saved some fops of nobility down below he could get information, maybe even the Voice herself, he still cursed his dumb luck at the loss of his profits! While a tirade of expletives fell from his mouth, Antar just numbly sat there and began to marshal his breathing as he lapsed into meditation to help ease the burdens of his closest call yet. From this point forwards, even if he did go out into the rest of the city, he was strictly swearing off magic use for at least the next season or so. Besides, if there was any more damn danger, he was pretty sure the guard would try to drag him out of the way. Bastard owed him that much at least… right? Taking a peek out from under his eyelids he stole a glance at the bundled mass of a glassbeaks head. In the ensuing chaos to try to put out the fires the confines of the billowing cloth it had come undone enough to see the head with an open craw and the talons he had placed there. ‘Damn thing was still smiling at him… as if damning him for spoiling his prize.’ “Gods damn it, stop smiling!” he hissed, only to have the guard look at him funnily. “Not you. The damn bird. Where are we anyways?” “Close to the high offices.” The guard said. Hmm, high offices, that sounded nice. Probably must be why there was so many gilted and bejeweled things around he’d never get to steal. He wanted to rant at the unfairness of that too, but the ever present miasma of exhaustion fell upon him, making him close his eyes once again to try to meditate. 'It was the only way to stop the desire to cast and burn anything else again. Meditation, the key to an orderly mind. Breath control to begin working the body to ease the mind... ' He mumbled a last semblance of words to the soldier, “I’m Anthony by the way, wish I knew your name, but I’m a bit tuckered out. Drag me somewhere safe if you need to. Or better yet, if you can: wake me when you need me.” Before hearing the soldier's reply, and in the midst of a silent prayer to gods of tanroa and akajia for guiding him thus far, the rogue fell prey to the deepest pit of unconsciousness. His subconscious would have hoped a healer would be there soon… they had to be someone around who could help him outside something called the ‘high offices’ after all. Right? Soon enough, if the healers made it, the rogue might become even more embroiled in whatever plots were happening within the temple itself. VerillianI’ll let you decide if the Antar entered a state of shock or a coma, etc, if he survives skirting overgiving with multiple ‘types of magic’. I kinda want to keep the glassbeak’s beak and talons though XD. Even if the rest got spoiled by being shyke-cooked Hopefully, you’ll have him wake up with whatever is happening to the ‘phase 2’ in the temple . No magic from Antar from here on in though :3, not unless it’s really necessary. D: He just faced a glassbeak after all, and hopefully putting out the fire from the top of the dome didn't upset you too much . If you don’t like this, just pm me and I’ll re-edit.

[Sevris]

It was dark, and it was cold. It was also very wet, where was he? The canal! A warrior of superior quality had completely shut him down. By the grace of Rhysol he was not killed in the viscious exchange. Sevris was of the Lazarin descent, he would not give up, not to these usurpers. A determined grip formed in his hand as he held firm on the weapon and he threw his arms up to pull himself up and out of the canal. He flipped forward and landed on his back. Panting in pain as he tried to regain his composure he looked up to see where the Akalak was at the moment. He spotted the tall blue warrior fighting with the Ebonstryfe and temple guards. He noticed however that they were not fighting to gain position of the center of the temple, but as a group collectively were fighting towards the other canals to escape. Sevris knew better then to try and best the Akalak again in one on one combat. He was but an Apprentice and his skills were limited. But he could put his mind to work to help him overcome this situation. The Apprentice stood up and shook himself up as a little bit of his strength returned to him. He was starting to figure out that the Rising Dawn was making a hasty retreat, one that shouldn't be so rushed with the position they had which was supposed to last a bit longer. But they were breaking ranks little by little and reaching further back. The Lazarin ran forward to pursue them, warning any and all guards within the vicinity, "The Rising Dawn are retreating, pursue them at all costs." As a force they would destroy them. If push cames to shove and he had to fight the Akalak leader once more he would surely kill him, that's why he would play it smart. They were stronger in numbers.

[Giph]

“Well I needed to get your attention didn't I?” Giph replied in a level tone. Trying his best not to think who the screams of the dying belonged too, if he began to think to much about that he probably was going to panic just like the rest of the crowd and get killed. Pushing the mordid thoughts out of his head he focused on the here and now. “As alright anybody can be now.” Giph replied and when she said they had to get out of here just gave an affirmative nod. He wasn't in the mood for a sarcastic remark to that obvious. “Fine, I'm Giph. Yell that if you lose me. Not many other people with that name around..” Giph hurriedly spoke, keeping his eyes peeled for anybody or anything that got to close to them. He didn't resist when she grabbed him by the shoulder and began 'dragging' him away. He just quickly matched her pace as good as he could, not very keen on staying close to a bunch of fighting people. When she suddenly halted he gave her a confused glance. “Why are you stopping.” He quickly shut up when Ren picked up a short sword from a dead ebonstryfe and pushed it into his hands. It felt alien and uncomfortable. He would have vastly preferred his heavy crossbow tot his thing. But beggars couldn't be choosers. “Now I am at least. Lets hurry to get out of here though, I doubt neither of us can fight of those terrorists anyway.” he quickly followed her when she made her way through the crowd. Keeping close behind her, following with a lot more ease in the gaps she made in the crowd. When they came to volinir and the spider opted to ignore him he scowled. “Of course we need to go, every moron can see that!” He guessed that vol still remembered the fact he shot at him, which admittedly was quite hard to forget, and was trying to lose him here to get back at him. “I'm not leaving Ren with you alone, you never know what a spider like you is going to do.” he spat out as he kept pace, gripping the bloodied short sword firmly in his hand. When an ebonstryfe lashed out at the symenestra Giph only barely got out of the way of the fight, he wanted to yell out they weren't rebels when suddenly a rebel soldier tackled the ebonstryfe to the ground. As much as giph wanted to just run like hell, he couldn't leave one of ravok's defenders to die when he was armed. He shoddily swung the shortsword at the unaware rebel soldier lying on top of the ebonstryfe. Making a small wound on his left leg. It was enough for the rebel to yelp out in pain, opening up the oppurtunity for the ebonstrye to grab the stilleto the rebel was holding in between his teeth and bury it to the hilt in the rebel's neck. He then quickly took his leave. Making his way towards the back wall volinir had been heading towards. When he was making his way over there he noticed something weird.. the rebels where retreating, and not the kind of retreating you did when you where battered and bruised and needed to get the hell out, this didn't look like that in the least. They where planning something, he was sure of that. When he arrived and saw volenir try and convince Ren to climb on his back he scowled. “Lemme guess, I gotta climb up on my own?” Still he couldn't deny climbing on top of a house was a great idea. Lot less people up there who could kick his arse into next season. He stuffed the bloodied short sword in between his belt and his pants. He probably would need it later, and the ebonstryfe wouldn't have any use of it anymore anyway. He started with a small jump and began awkwardly climbing up the wall, using the window sills as footholds and with expections of a few times he nearly tumbled down to the ground, managed to scramble up to the roof. Though he wasn't even half as fast as the blasted symenestra.

[Aislin]

Her mind swam. Aislin could feel the chorded wrinkles pulsating against the confines of her skull. Soft vibrations rippling against ivory colored bone as her djed continued to course through her veins. She could feel the magic cascading down the length of her arteries, coupling with her life's blood as it made her skin dance, as one's would had they flexed a more natural muscle. The fine black hairs which lined the back of her neck and stood at attention as her vision stretched with the first wave of overgiving. A magnificent intoxication which only added to the way her mind had stirred, the pit of her stomach churning as it pumped more out. Overwhelming the whore with its sweet, ethereal embrace. Its soft whispers from afar, calling to eardrum's reverberations through waxen canal. More it would urge, as its tongue tickled the underside of her supple lobe. Keep going, it would add as its hand circled her neck, cupping it as easily as her own limbs would the round of a wine glass as it pulled her in. Coercing her to listen, making it impossible to turn away. "As you wish," Aislin whispered into the stilled winds as magic's inebriation swept through; taking its final hold. She could sense its comforting embrace envelop her as she managed a deep breath, in through the nose, and out through the mouth and she continued to struggle with righting her vision. Which was now a thin sheen of shimmering tendrils of multi-colored light, as though she were looking up at the sun's setting tinting the sky various shades. Although, this prism held far more crimson than typical sun's refraction. Come closer. Come closer. Fall into my hands. Fall into the gaping maw. Trap lain by Chaon's hungry delight, Aislin's hypnotic djed begged none of the receding in particular. For her eyes could lock on no one, and thus, her web could truly ensnare none, although some ventured close enough, of their own accord. Feel the void's lips upon you. Cold as my iced irises. Final embrace... The Chaon managed another deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth as her mark began to tingle. A sizzling sensation which trickled down the length of her shoulder blade into her spine. Then down the length of her back. Spread the chaos, spread the insanity. By the hand of Rhysol, the reverberations seemed to whisper. Its tone that of honey, sweet, and somewhat savory, in that the woman wished to hang to every syllable. Every spoken word as she raised each of her hands, and held them before her. Palms held away, fingers held taut, and straight. Resting on a slight diagonal, which sloped towards easy incline. The whore seemed to hold her breath then, as her heart pounded against the supple curvature of her ribs. As the tips of her fingers burned with fiery intensity as her djed pressed against her nails, and then slowly slipped through her pores, rolling beneath protective layer, and over softer skin into the dense autumn air. It flitted through the currents with relative ease for a time, before it gathered. Pooling several feet away from where Aislin stood upon the docks. At first, the air seemed clear, as though a sinister presence didn't lurk in the shadow. But after a few ticks of the clock, it grew thick, and dark. Several shades more so than the Chaon's raven colored lockes. The rift in the world was small at first, no greater than the size of one of the woman's cheeks, but after a few moments of silent rotations, in which her hands subtly spun, it grew. First to the size of a melon, and then, perhaps two. It was then that its pull could truly be felt as several combatants drew near. Fighting around it for a time, before several were pushed back. Two in particular, one from each side of the battle. An elder member of the stryfe, and a middle aged rebel. One fought with magic, and another the sword; their mind and eyes preoccupied with the offensive of their opponents they had no chance to look back until it was too late. The void's tongue licking hungrily against rippling mouth, sniffing the air as it drew the folds of cloths. Lending them to flap as though in the wind as they lifted from human backs, grown slick with sweat in the heat of battle. Slowly the cotton turned to flaxen-like chord, twirled angrily by void's tongue. Swiftly it continued to rise as frost licked at tanned hides, and then began to swallow the rebel whole. Aislin could scarcely hear the scream over the roar of her magic, urging her to continue her expenditures. Suggesting that she keep on casting, more and more. The seasoned 'stryfe member was far luckier, in that the void vibrated once it had engulfed the insurgent, causing the hand that he held behind his back to sink far more slowly into its depths. He didn't so much as moan as its black bite nibbled along the length of his arm, all the way to the elbow before Aislin's concentration staggered. She had been knocked back by a runner, and it was enough to cause a break in the chain. Several chinked against the floor as the door between this world and the next slammed shut. Gone in an instant, along with another body and partial limb. Leaving the partially cauterized member to bleed on occasion as its owner continued to fight off the masses. It would be of no surprise then, if he died of either the pain he refused to express, exhaustion, or blood loss soon enough. Not that Aislin would know the difference. She was too lost to the sound of endless whispers, the clicking of her heels against the dock as she stumbled away from the temple. Weaving through the throng as easily as a threaded needle through a bed of lace. All the while her hypnotic djed screaming. Fight! Fight! Fight! to the drumming tune cast by her hurried heart. Grown heavy with the labor of pumping intoxicated blood throughout a waring system. To the death!