Quest II. The night the towers cried [open]

[Cassandra Coven]

Pawn... You are a pawn... Nothing but a pawn... A piece of meat to be used and discarded once you have served your purpose... Despite her momentary immobility, Cassandra's mind worked furiously - studying and analyzing her situation, her environment, her present condition. Gifted by her benefactor and manipulator, the puppet master pulling her strings, while Ravarisk was using her to achieve its own ends, it also gave her mortal mind the ability to process information faster, allowing her to understand just exactly what she was to it. Pawn... Take pregnant one to po-! Pawn. Pawn. Pawn... KILL EVERY-! ...pawnpawnpawnpawnpawnpawnpawnpaw- She knew she was dying, burning up her own life force even as her mind worked overtime to piece together everything to lead her to this conclusion. She was strong - powerful! - she'd be able to do anything she wanted, but at the cost of losing her will. And in the end, Cassandra knew, she would still lose it all. A means to an end for the Ravarisk. In the part of her mind still uncontrolled by the Relic, a small voice cried out in supplication to her patron goddess. Free me! Her goddess...was it Priskil - the the kind and generous one she had always prayed to since she was an innocent little girl living in Zeltiva - or Krysus, the one who had chosen her and, in essence, saved her from being victimized by a lustful man in Syliras? Cassandra never knew who it was that answered her prayer, though from the way it was answered made her think it was the latter. Excruciating agony lanced through her brain, the need of her mark to inflict pain on others making itself evident on her body. Even the ability to ignore the pain of her injuries, granted to her by Ravarisk's blood, could not make her immune from the effects of the divine mark. Whether it was truly Krysus herself who had triggered it, or a side effect of the crimson fluid accelerating her body's functions and inadvertently setting off Vexation's signal to hurt others, Cassandra would never know. Pain is your freedom. She only knew that that brief stab of pain in her brain temporarily freed her from Ravarisk's desires, allowing her to focus. Kindred spirits they were, Ravarisk and Cassandra, both looking for a way to survive. But when one came in conflict with the other - such as now - Cassandra had to prioritize herself over the Relic, even with his now-tenuous control over her. It was simply a natural instinct for every living being. Cassandra fought through the numbness of the suvai's poison, the rapid beating of her heart purging it from her system all that much faster, inching the point of her dagger to her palm. Self-mutilation? No, she was trusting her instincts, trusting that the goddess of murder and pain would save her. She maintained her concentration even as the chaos exploded all around her, from the encroachment of the others infected by Ravarisk to the shifting of one of her targets from human woman to giant eagle. The thin blade pierced her hand and the dark-haired woman let out a sound that was both a cry of pain and a sigh of relief. Was she freed from the Ravarisk at last? The goddess had promised! Or was it only her own deluded mind that had said that? But there was clarity in her thoughts now that hadn't been there earlier. Her mind was clear, but she could feel that her body was broken. Survive. She remembered one of the women - a healer! Cassandra flung her pierced hand up just as the giant eagle took wing, and it lodged itself, dagger and all, between one of the bird's taloned feet. And then she was airborne. There was still hope. She had to hang on to that.

[Hadrian]

And it seemed that prayer actually worked, even for Hadrian. Then again, he might not have been the only one frantically praying for divine intervention right then, all things considered. Since their prayers had been answered, he began to ease off his own efforts. His personal reservoirs of power were not without limit, and he had to save some power to get through this experience himself. He was a fairly observant fellow, was Hadrian, but keeping an eye on the cracks in what kept the air in, the Konti sorceress, the newcomers, and all... He was hard-pressed to know where to focus his attentions. And so he breathed, watched, and stood guard over the Konti, who was obviously a bit out of it, focusing her power on her staff. He would have to ask her about that at some point, whether it was a magecrafted staff or a magecrafted staff of the sort about which he had only read stories. Plus, she had declared most stridently that she would survive this, and he wished to do so as well.

[Xalet]

Talk about disorienting. The problem with trying to expect the unexpected is that a majority of the time, one ends up completely incorrect when considering what their interpretation of 'unexpected' could have been. Of all the possibilities, Xalet never imagined he would be on a glowing glyph platform in the middle of nowhere...wait, were they in space? A glowing glyph platform in space, filled with all manners of people and creatures...wait, was that Bob Barton? Filled with people, some of which he had not seen in over half a decade, ooze, and worst of all the Black Sun. You didn't become part of the Syliran Knights without knowing what a member of the Black Sun was, that was like 'second day of orientation' stuff. "Orders?" the Akalak thought to himself, just barely catching the words of the automated voice in all of the commotion. "That wasn't in the briefing." he said simply, of course even Priskil admitted knowing very little about the inner most workings of the Towers and the Platform. He couldn't even get much further with potential 'orders' before a member of the Black Sun stepped out, ready to apparently take Weliardina's life. "I should say something interesting as well." he thought, looking to mirror the Ravokian's comment, but could find nothing appropriate, "But I missed Basic Intimidation Techniques class due to having to re-take Remedial Armor Reconditioning." Oh well. Xalet didn't waste much time getting right up in the leader's face. In fact he didn't waste any time at all, after he had taken the one careful breath he wanted to attempt to calm his nerves and smooth out his muscles he shot forward to engage. Both arms went to work, his short sword in one hand, and the knightly shield, his heater in the other. Long past were the days fo the young Akalak juvenile who flailed wildly in battle. Years of repeatedly being knocked to the ground by skilled Syliran Knights looking to help him improve had given his techniques quickness and edge. Each maneuver was keenly measured, as a veteran's would be, looking to appropriately lead into the next. Sergeant Irine Braklin had never let up on Xalet, and for that reason his breath of knowledge in the combat arts was very broad. With the shield he knew techniques such as screening. Utilize the size of the heater, obscure the opponents vision with it, then attack from behind with a small sword. Then there was gouging. Keep the sword level to parry attacks, raise the shield up to deflect an overhand blow, then drive the edge downward into the head and neck. With his shortsword he understood counter attacks such as the stop cut. Follow the curve of the slice, step in a circle to follow it's momentum, block with the shield, then cut at the attacking arm with the sword in one motion. As well as deceptive strikes such as the wrist cleave. Fire an attack past the opponent, keep the strike wide and miss on purpose, then yank the appendage backward and fold the wrist inward, utilizing the arm like a whip to cut from behind. In keeping with his Akalak heritage unarmed combat was not left out, and thus in the midst of a block or parry, Xalet had learned to collapse his arm and follow through with an elbow strike, or more up and displace an opponents stance with a low round kick or a swinging heel stomp. All around him the strange sensation of that light echoed within his mark. The weird sixth sense that came with the friendship of Priskil. It was enough to keep him focused. It forced him to filter out the chaos. Of course there was more to him than a clutter of techniques. The sculpting of the body had quite literally been beaten into him. His Patron had mentioned that a wise man once said skill and technique can overcome strength. She also mentioned that if someone was to obtain skill, technique, AND strength, it had the potential to overcome anything. When Xalet struck, when his sinew clenched, when his stabilizer muscles torqued, he had the weight of over three hundred pounds and the conditioning of some fifteen years to generate force greater than any man his size typically would. The platform had to be saved, this wickedness must be undone.

[Aidara]

Pillow talk was where Addy had gotten most of her information regarding a battle. She’d asked many an Endal what it was like to fight as they lounged between the sheets, and their answer was always typically the same. It was radiant. Time slowed down. The power they felt as they met their foe…

Perhaps it was a masculine thing, because as Addy stood there, bracing herself as she tried to both protect Sira and hold her back from doing something stupid, the little healer felt none of these things. There was no glory, only the clammy fingers of fear grasping at her windpipe. There was no “power”, only a weakness around her knees so that it was hard to stand upright. And time definitely wasn’t slow.

Everything was moving much too fast.

It seemed in the infinitesimal space between one tick and the next, the majority of the population on the platform gathered into an angry horde and turned towards where Addy, Sira and their strange companions stood. The sight alone made the woman’s heart skip a beat. She tried to gasp, but the sound caught in her throat, choking her momentarily.

Oh Goddess, help me. Though her patron goddess had already lent her some strength, Addy wasn’t going to be picky at this point, casting yet another prayer outwards with all her might even as she tried to keep herself from thinking that it wouldn’t do any good.

The thought had barely flickered through her mind before there was a bright flash of light that increased the platforms population further. Unlike the rest of them, however, these newcomers were growing brightly. Shock slowed Addys reaction to a near stop as she attempted to blink the spots from her vision, fear creeping up her spine as she was momentarily blinded. With everything happening so rapidly, she couldn’t afford even a few ticks to recover.

With her hands out in front of her, Addy searched for where Sira was last, a strangled cry forced its way past her lips as her fingers closed on empty air. When the spots finally cleared, a wild glance around showed the little healer her lover running straight in to the angry mob.

“Sira! NO!” What kind of self-sacrifice was this! Forgetting the Konti and the others that had stood behind them, Addy immediately threw herself after Sira, not that her bow would do any good in close quarters. But she couldn’t lose the woman. Or their baby.

Addy only made it a few steps, however, before Sira took her natural form and the healer immediately felt stupid. Of course. How could she have forgotten that little bit of information. Sira would never just willingly throw herself to her death without some kind of escape plan. Skidding to a halt, Addy reacted to Sira’s shout with the ease of many long flights together; it wasn’t all that hard for Addy to jump onto Sira’s back, clamp down her legs hard and grab handfuls of feathers in shaking fists.

That’s Priskil? I thought she’d be more…. Godly! Even though they were speaking directly to each others mind, Addy was still shouting over the noise around them. I mean, why hasn’t she just saved us yet? But there was no time for an answer. Sira had swooped down over the trio and Addy knew that she was meant to get off.

Landing awkwardly, the woman tumbled into a roll before she was able to regain her footing; her bow was up immediately and she found herself beside the three that had appeared only moments ago. Looking up at the glowing woman, Addy struggled to fit an arrow into her bow while she spoke. “You’re not Priskil, are you? Are you here to save-“

But Addy had noticed the other woman, the one that wasn’t breathing. A clash behind her made the little healer spin to see the giant purple man engage the advancing foe. With her heart in her mouth, Addy raised her bow and tried to aim past the Akalak despite her shaking hands. The arrow was loosed but it flew wildly to the side, skittering across the ground well past her target. The two men engaged before the healer could even reach for another arrow and Addy gasped.

Sword and shield flashed and she only had to watch for a few ticks to realize that with their skills so far outstripping hers there was nothing she could do to help. But the woman…

Rushing back to the two glowing women, Addy dropped her bow next to them and reached out to touch the prostrate one, instinctively wanting to check for a pulse, though it was clear that her chest wasn’t moving at all. If the woman who Sira thought was Priskil reacted to her sudden rush to aid, Addy held up her hands to show her innocence.

“I’m a healer, I can help! What happened to her?”

[Eridanus]

Hadrian's breathing returned to normal and his countenance relaxed as the last of the shields were completed, and Eridanus breathed a sigh of relief as well. From what he could tell the shields were sustaining no further damage, and they were somewhat safe from whatever the shield was supposed to protect them with... for the time being.

Turning his head around to look at the konti for any hints on the next course of action, he instead found her attention on that staff of hers. It was a curious sort of staff, with tiny statues that formed part of its craft. He wondered if it was for mere decoration, when a tiny beam of light shot out towards the continent of Mizahar. He did not know where, but he did know that he had seen a large map that vaguely resembled Mizahar, and if he put two and two together when he returned he should be able to figure out where the beam of light pointed to. If he survived.

Or he could ask the sorceress.

However, there seemed to be a new arrival to the station as three figures basically teleported, and the Black Sun's declaration was not lost on him.

Priestess of Priskil! She has finally responded to us!

"If you don't mind folks, there is a little pressing issue to attend to. See you around in a bit," The scholar told Hadrian and Kamalia conversationally, filing in his mind the thought to ask her about that beam of light and what it was supposed to represent later if they survived this nonsense.

The masses of bodies and people running about made it extremely dangerous for him to wield his blades without accidentally cutting someone innocent, but it was fine. It was not like he was harmless without his blades anyway.

He immediately spotted one of Wysar's children, the proud blue race that prided themselves on combat, who came with the Priestess and was already engaging a member of the Black Sun. Coming from behind, the ethaefal added his attack to flank the soldier, slamming his fists in vital points at precise moments when the acolyte dodged to avoid the akalak. In other words, while the opponent exhausted his resources in order to commit to a defence to avoid the akalak, Eridanus seized the opportunity then to strike the unguarded foe.

There may be no honor in such a combat, but war was gritty. There was no honor in reality, for the victors write history. The ends always justified the means to the moon-child, and he would not risk the very symbol of hope, freshly arrived, to be so easily slain.

"Priskil! She has responded to our prayers, hasn't she? Where is she?" He gasped to the Priestess.

[Jilitse]

Please read me. :

Hi, its me, Jilibaby. I just came back from a cryogenic state. I haven't RPed for a long time, and my social skill (as a Nuit) has always been rusty.

I am in understanding that Sira, Aidara, (and Cassandra in tow, who should be healed, if the ooze can be healed out of a person D:) Eridanus, have all rushed to our side, with Dina and Xalet (and Eri) engaging the Black Sun members. As Tarot is always fashionably late, I hope we could engage in we-are-in-the-middle-of-a-battle chit-chat, since the Priskil Rescue Team needs to be filled in about what happened so far. It might help if you tell her about the healing and chaon, as I believe the floor is voice activated. And if that fails, we try something else.

Jilitse is no Xena, but she will try to help solve the puzzle.

じゃタロトさんはこれを見える、さいごのあきらめないよ。

Benshiran clothes defined her, but her cowl was in disarray with her long and flowing but thinning black hair flying out in chaos. She was wearing sharp eyes and thoughtful pursed lips, seemingly serene. These interstellar flights using the Watchtowers are becoming too common for me, she thought. Twice a year was past her quota. And yet moving around places using magic slammed her with nostalgia, among other things. Her heart would be pounding loud enough for everyone to hear had it been beating. Together with Dina and Xalet, Jilitse was among those who had the guts to cast herself on the line to save the Platform.

Someone once said that courage could only be found in those with the greatest fear, for they are the ones who dare face whatever encroached their comfort zone. Fear was a good thing, too, as it brought to the Nuit an overwhelming sense of self-preservation. Though she showed no outward signs of panic, Jil was struggling to control her bursting djed. Her will to stay alive had manifested as raw energy enveloping her person. Jilitse was covered with mute djed, her magic transforming into unseen patches of protection. It should shield her from minor magic attacks, for now. As for flying arrows and cutting swords, she was counting on Xalet and Dina to be her defender.

Though untrained in physical battle, Jilitse had a keen sense of cognizance. She made a quick surveillance of the platform, and tried to get their bearings. It was complete chaos, with the monstrosity that was Ravarisk threatening to destroy the Platform, and the rest of what held Aquiras together. The broken dome was not left unnoticed, but it appeared like someone was at least trying to hold it together. Therefore, it was the least pressing of their concerns. Jilitse made no haste and called upon Priskil's blessing. The glow of her Light shimmered within and without, albeit faintly.

"...Masters." The unseen androgynous voice smelled so much like a supervisor, which brought images of Drainira. Was this disc a golem? Right then, Jilitse felt just as stupid as Priskil--who would they ask how to operate the Platform, and does it come with a manual?

"What the petch is that thing?!!" She called, pointing the obvious. The platform was under attack, she would recall Aquiras saying so. There was no time to mull over things and ask stupid questions. Right there was the Ravarisk, though Jilitse knew not its name, just seeing the swirling mass of vermilion slime and tentacles automatically made her decide it was what was attacking the Platform. Could it be leeching Aquiras' energy? What foul ancient creature was it? The ground was slightly shaking, perhaps due to the monster, but the Nuit had no time to comment, as menacing people drew towards them. While the fight broke between Dina and the members of the Black Sun, Jil stepped away from the skirmish and turned to someone who was not engaged. There was Sira and Aidara, who had came rushing to their aid. "I think that woman needs help." She said, referring to Cassandra.

"There's just as much commotion down there just as there is up here." She said, thinking that they might be somewhere uncountable miles up above the world. She thought it funny to be Alahean and among the stars. She could raise her arms and literally be reaching the sky and space of beyond. Alahea. Oops, but back to business, the Nuit said, loud enough for the wondering Eridanus to hear, Believe it or not, Priskil has more important business to attend to. I am not sure what you were expecting. But this is the rescue team." Tough luck. To Sira and Aidara, or whoever responds first, "Tell me quick what are we up against?" Jilitse's eyes darted to a commotion somewhere afar. It looked like the monster had made minions out of some of the pitiful beings and were now poised to attack other people. "Has anybody figured out anything yet?" The Nuit's voice was flat and had a chill to it. Without waiting for any response, she made her eyes look for answers. She examined the floor, just as others might have threw a cursory glance upon the dashes and rods and circles. What else was there to see? The dead were strewn all over the place, panic feeding the blazing fire of chaos. She screened was was important and what was not, people seem to be possessed by frenzy. It took every effort to be composed, but she could feel her djed swirling out, overlapping against the Shield that exists. It was her reaction to the sight of the Ravarisk. For that thing, she would be needing a bigger shield.

The Nuit held her Gnosis up, as if to show that she was a representative of her Goddess. Maybe the glowing sigils would respond to her mark? She let out a string of orders that might work. "Repair the barrier." If those would not work, "How do we repair you?" "Do you have weapons that could get rid of the foreign monster?" "Activate weapons." "Activate shield." But should all fail, "Help. HELP." She tried to be calm, poking and pushing, testing if the androgynous voice would somehow cooperate or drop a hint.

And then she realized, though a chime too late, what her presence meant to those who were waiting, or at least to those who were still sane and alive. Three of them, arriving barely in the nick of time--They were messengers of hope, bringers of hope. Jilitse reached out for Sira and Aidara, and even the dying Cassandra, pouring in her heart as she becomes a little candle that reflects part of Priskil's divinity. The light that Priskil saw in her, wouldn't it be within these people, too? And boy, wouldn't the burn brighter together?

So she said, almost sing-song, "Let the warmth wear away the coldness of fear, let the bright light cast off the shadows of doubt. May your hearts be steel and steadfast. Everything is going to be all right." And she said it like she really really really meant it. She was so sure and sincere that it was really really really going to happen.

[Tarot]

The arrival of Priskil's rescue team caused the balance to shift. Outside the dome, the Ravarisk's long tentacles stirred and came into view once more, as if attracted to the goddess' power. Sira took on the frenzied horde head on, turning into her animal form at the very last moment. Her sudden increase in size pushed back several of the creature's minion, while Cassandra latched on to the Wind Eagle's sharp talons. Aidara leaped onto her mate's back and together they fled the area on the wings of despair, heading towards the core of the disk where Priskil's team was facing off against Rhysol's soldiers. With Xalet engaging the twice-marked leader, Weliardina was free to rush to Talen's aid, tackling him just in time to avoid the mage's fireball that swished just over their heads. Talen hit his head in the process and was knocked unconscious, which was probably for the best. The priestess cursed even louder than she would dare in Priskil's presence and threw herself at her two opponents with her weapon out. Xalet and the leader began a careful exchange of blows, parries and repostes. Blades sang together as they circled each other, Xalet managing to repel every attack with his shield but unable to get any attack of his own past the man's defenses. Then, suddenly, Eridanus was on him from the side and his sword cut the Black Sun in the flank, spilling his blood on the disk's surface. The blow would have been deadly, had the man not reacted out of pure instinct and drawn back at the very last moment. He hissed at them, madness in his eyes - both the normal one and the white. "You think yourselves smart, don't you? Father of Chaos, let me be your hand today!" And maybe Rhysol heard and answered, because his Chaon surged forward and buried both his opponents in the malicious curse. Xalet suddenly felt sick and nauseous. If he took a moment to check his body, he would see it old and wasted, little more than a colorful skeleton clad in leathery skin. As for Eridanus, he saw himself covered in thin, long green worms that were entering his head through the ears - and they were feeding on everything he knew, everything he had ever attained. He was being eaten from the inside. The Black Sun grinned and began attacking Xalet with renewed strength, landing blow after blow on the heater shield. The androgynous voice answered Jilitse's orders with otherworldly tranquility. ***It is impossible to repair the barrier, master. Any further strain might kill Lord Aquiras who is relying on the Platform for survival.*** And ***I do not understand, master. This is a place of peace. What are these weapons you speak of?*** The voice was barely audible over the clash of blades. Weliardina grabbed the old-looking Ravokian wizard and smashed his face with her mace. She engaged the last remaining opponent just as she screamed at her companions. "Use your petching brains! You've met Priskil, did she strike you as the type to marry a guy who stockpiles weapons? It's got to be something else!" Some of the infected began crowding around her, but Weliardina glowed brighter than before, surrounding herself with a cocoon of light that repelled the invaders without hurting them. Priskil's powers seemed to be especially strong in this place, and the priestess just wished the others would start using them too. Finally, when Jilitse asked for help, the voice gave a slightly less useless reply. ***Master, would you like to alter the Platform's orientation or perhaps activate the transferral beam?*** But just before the Nuit could answer the question, the giant tentacle came crashing through the barrier, punching a three-foot hole into the light. The vermillion appendix coiled around Jilitse's waist and pulled her up as it withdrew. She found herself being lifted off the surface as the creature shattered her puny Shield and ooze sought entrance into her body - but it failed to take root. Apparently her unliving condition prevented her from being turned into its puppet, which made her the Ravarisk's natural enemy here. And so, before she could do anything but flail her legs around, she was forcibly pulled outside the dome of light. For those inside, it was really bad news. Air started gushing out of the once-sealed Platform at incredible speed. Suddenly they all felt lighter, as if breaking the wholeness of the barrier had let the normal laws of reality into the place. Not only was the suction force trying to suck them up, up and away, but gravity was lessening by the moment. Whoever couldn't find a way to anchor themselves to the disk would soon be parted from the ground and sent floating closer and closer to the hole that meant death. This would be the fate of most infected people. As for Sira, having dropped off Aidara and the unconscious Cassandra near Priskil's trio - now a duo - she was finding herself desperately trying to fight the tremendous air currents that were threatening to rip the wings off her body. Aidara would need to secure Cassandra to the ground along with herself, or she'd simply float away to her death. All the while Xalet and Eridanus were trying to fight in these conditions; Hadrian and Kamalia were doing exactly nothing. On the bright side, it would be all over in two chimes. Jilitse plunged into a world without sound. The tentacle wrapped around her waist, she was taken outside the barrier where only cold space existed. The stars were so pretty here, you could almost touch them, the Alahean way. She could see a tiny slice of sun beginning to rise from the planetary surface wrapped in clouds. She saw the entirety of the Platform, as well. An enormous mass of tentacled ooze was clinging to the lower half of the barrier, not visible from the inside where the disk blocked the line of sight. Any living person would just die now from lack of heat, pressure and air. A Nuit could move on, but if the tentacle let go of her, she would eventually fall towards Mizahar and end her days as a shooting star. It was... hopeless?

[Hadrian]

When a tentacle crashed through the Shield, ruining his work, even the presence of Priskil's envoys couldn't keep doubt from flickering in his heart. He felt the air grow rarefied, and gravity seemed to waver. Though he didn't know what magic in his modest arsenal might vanquish the thing, part of him worried that killing it would incur divine wrath, which might be worse than death. It seemed wiser to support the Konti sorceress with her magic staff, and so he began to extrude a pale yellow djed, letting it cloud around their heads and holding it there, a bubble of breathable air. He took her by the wrist and dragged her toward what remained of Priskil's garrison, hoping there might be strength in numbers, that they could cobble their skills together and make something happen. But things did not look good. Even the members of the Order of Radiance didn't seem to be turning the tide against the Ravarisk, and so he murmured a desperate prayer to Kelwyn instead. Hope was a wonderful thing, when it wasn't a curse, but it seemed more like more of a lost cause. But if they were close together, he might produce enough air for more than just the two of them to survive.

[Sira]

Sira didn't know what was going on. There wasn't much room for her to fly, and she circled quickly in the air above the chaos searching for a chance to land. The strange voice emitting from the platform confused her, and while she could hear it, she could not hear what the Nuit was saying to it. She did recognize the name Aquiras, though Sira was no expert on the topic, even if she did revere Priskil as her goddess of choice. As for the other stuff the voice said, all of it was confusing to Sira. What was a transferral beam? None of it mattered though when the tentacle came crashing through the barrier, shattering the one thing that was keeping them safe.

Sira began struggling against the suction, beating her wings as hard as she could to keep from being pulled against the three foot hole and being forced through. If the squeeze didn't kill her, the vacuum of space would. Of course Sira didn't know anything about vacuums either, but she did understand that she needed air to survive, and the air was getting lighter by the second. Her battle was a losing one, though she did not give up. In any other situation she might have lost hope, but the light from Priskil's champions gave her the determination she needed to survive.

Sira did not want to die. She did not want her baby to die. And, as her eyes locked onto Aidara down below, she realized that most importantly of all she did not want Aidara to die. Sira was born of a race that was unfailingly loyal to the one they bonded to, and that loyalty trumped all things. While her child was important to Sira, her animal instincts began to kick in and tell her that she could always make more. But her logical mind, the human side, also realized that the child was the key to her survival. Perhaps it was a warped effect of Priskil's light, but Sira's hope was restored, even if it was in a way Priskil would probably not like. Suddenly she reached out with her mind, calling to the Ravarisk again, shouting with all her fury.

You need to stop this! What good is my baby to you if it is dead!?

Sira didn't say what she was really thinking, because even though she did want to survive, and she did want to ensure her bondmate's survival, she still wasn't willing to admit to herself what she might have to do. If Priskil wouldn't save them. If no other god would save them.. there was still one option left. She could bargain the life of her child. Aidara would never approve, but Sira closed her mind to the healer, refusing to let her know the thoughts Sira was too ashamed to admit to herself. But deep down she knew.. she would let the monster have her child if it meant Aidara would live.

[Xalet]

Xalet's skill was carefully prepared. Never truly possessing the thirst for blood or battle instinct that other Knights had to back them up, he instead relied on years and years of drills. Most civilians perhaps did not realize, the very existence of a Knight always moved toward the perfection of warfare. Two hundred years of warfare. All those techniques were put into motion. As the Black Sun stepped forward to attack, Xalet quickly 'stance matched' him, bringing the same foot that the Leader was approaching with backwards to carefully corner the blow with his shield. Reaching up and around, Xalet fired a high cross, only to be repelled, but quickly re-purposed the force of the deflection to redirect his arm in a rearward arc which swung back around like an uppercut. The technique was known as 'slotting', a difficult attack that sought to reach upward into the armpit of an opponent between his defenses. Against a normal man Xalet could have been assured to hit the various muscles and arteries in such a vulnerable location, but this opponent had a significant level of skill of his own. The sudden appearance of a second aggressor seemed to push things in their favor, that was until Xalet suddenly found himself altered by the power of Chaos. Gritting his teeth his body couldn't prepare itself for the heavy weight of the attacks that came upon him now. What sort of magic was this? All his muscle, all his strength was gone? That huge body of his reeled from the impact, the body that before wrestled a charging warthog to the ground. With one final strike Xalet found himself down on his knees, barely able to keep his shield up in the 'cover' position above his head, as if he were shading himself from the blinding sun. "I can't move..." his thoughts reached deeply into his psyche, only to be answered by the awaiting Xuphim. "Bullshit. What kind of twinkle toes, candy ass crap is this? Get your ass up and stop being a little bitch. We're the strongest. The strongest. I'm not going to let some Human think he's stronger than us. GET. THE. PETCH. UP!" Xalet's body trembled from the forces trying to take it over. All that anger and instinct that Xalet lacked was focused inside of the Soul that was Xuphim. Through sheer arrogance alone, Xuphim had the uncanny ability to push aside fear, to turn doubt into anger. From his palm, through the shredded leather of the underside of his gauntlet the glow of Priskil began to illuminate. Arrogance, total assurance in yourself was a type of faith, wasn't it? Forcing himself back to his feet barely, Xalet wobbled a bit on unsteady legs, but while his body was withering his keen ears picked up something of definite note. ...activate the transferal beam? That sounded like an idea. Just as Xalet was about to call out for it, the air suddenly began rushing through the entire platform. The delicate membrane keeping the harshness of space out from the life preserving atmosphere inside had been breached. Feeling his body yanked from it's place of rest he tried desperately to dig his sword into the platform floor, while calling out with a volume that was a hard contrast from the normal soft tone of his voice, "Activate the transferal beam! Platform activate the transferal beam!"